The world doesn’t shatter when he leaves.

It’s quieter than that.

There’s no shouting. No slammed doors. Just silence. The kind that slips into walls, weaves itself into bedsheets, and lingers in half-drunk coffee cups. The kind that teaches you: absence isn’t loud. It’s heavy.

Rika sits on the floor of her apartment, arms wrapped around her knees. The clock ticks above her like it’s mocking the stillness.

He packs two bags and walks out that morning.

“I think we’re just… different,” he says, eyes avoiding hers.

She doesn’t argue. Doesn’t beg. She just stands there with a hollow smile, while something inside her quietly unravels.

The days that follow are grey.

Not the poetic, rainy grey. Just dull. Faded. Still.

She quits her job the next week. Her manager doesn’t even ask why.

At first, she tells herself she just needs rest. But rest becomes isolation. Meals go untouched. The curtains stay shut. Her sketchpad lies by the window, gathering dust instead of dreams.

The mirror tells her she’s disappearing.

One night, after staring at the ceiling for what feels like forever, she whispers into the darkness:

“Is anyone out there? Am I still real?”

Then, it happens.

It starts like every other night—sleepless and aching. Rika lies in bed, the glow of her phone lighting her tired face. Out of habit, she opens the app she always returns to when she’s breaking: Naoki Jinnai’s fan page.

There’s a new video.

He’s singing in an old museum, his voice echoing through golden-lit halls, warm and haunting. The camera glides past ancient frames and soft shadows, but it’s his eyes that steal her breath.

Still kind. Still distant. Still him.

Her heart clenches.

She watches the video once. Then twice. Then again. She opens his profile. New photos. New concerts. New cities.

Faraway places.

Her hand trembles as she scrolls.

“I’ll never be part of that world,” she whispers.

And for the first time in months—

She cries.

Not quiet tears.

Not the ones you hide under your blanket.

These are sobs that shake her bones. The kind of crying that tastes like regret, like loneliness, like hunger for a life unlived.

She gets up. Not to stop crying, but just to breathe.

Barefoot, she steps onto the balcony. The night air touches her skin, cool and gentle, like an old friend returning after a long time.

Her eyes fall on the small snake plant in the corner—a gift from her college roommate. Its leaves stand tall and proud, so unlike her crumpled posture.

Through her tears, she lets out a shaky laugh. “Even you’ve got your life together better than me…”

And then—

A voice.

Soft. Playful. Not human.

“You can do it. You just need the right direction… and a little belief.”

Rika freezes.

Her eyes dart around.

“W-What?”

“Down here, genius.”

She stares at the plant.

It wiggles.

And then—

Out of it rises a tiny glowing figure. Wings like streaks of starlight. Hair tied in bubbly little buns. Eyes sparkling like moonlit water. A floating dress that shimmers with galaxies.

“Whoa. You’re messier than I expected,” the figure says, tapping her chin. “But your heart? Still intact. That’s rare.”

Rika stares, jaw dropped. “What… what are you?”

“Name’s Vini. I’m your guide. Kind of like a fairy. Kind of like your therapist. Kind of like… you, but shinier.”

“…I’m hallucinating.”

“Oh, totally. This is definitely your exhausted, emotionally suppressed subconscious talking. Doesn’t mean I’m not real.”

The world tilts.

Rika grips the railing.

“Rika you’ve been walking on autopilot for years,” Vini says, floating closer. “But tonight, your soul finally screamed loud enough for someone to hear. That someone is me.”

“How do you know my name?”

“Please. I live inside your heart. I’ve watched every meltdown, every lonely night, every spark you tried to bury. And guess what? I’m done watching.”

Rika blinks. Her chest tightens.

“You want to leave this country. You want to live your own life. You want to meet that singing boy who makes your heart flutter.”

“…Y-Yes.”

“Then listen carefully.”

Vini taps Rika gently on the forehead with her glowing fingertip.

“You don’t need a new life. You just need to wake up to your real one. It’s already inside you.”

And Rika falls to her knees.

Not out of fear—

But out of release.

Maybe she’s breaking.

Maybe she’s imagining it all.

But somehow, for the first time in months…

It feels real.