As the years passed, the once-vibrant town seemed to lose some of its lustre for Haru. The golden glow of summer mornings no longer held the same magic, and the cheerful chirping of birds felt like a stark contrast to the heaviness in his heart.

Haru found himself sitting in yet another therapist's office, the soft ticking of a clock on the wall marking the passage of time. Dr. Tanaka, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a gentle voice, leaned forward in her chair, her notepad balanced on her knee.

"Haru," she began, her tone measured and calm, "can you tell me again about that night? I know it's difficult, but sometimes talking about it can help."

Haru sighed, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere beyond the window. He'd lost count of how many times he'd recounted the events of that fateful night. Each retelling felt like reopening a wound that never quite healed.

"I've told you before," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "My father... he was on fire. But not burning. The flames were part of him." He paused, bracing himself for the look of disbelief he knew would follow.

Dr. Tanaka's pen hovered over her notepad, her expression carefully neutral. "Haru," she said gently, "we've discussed this before. Our minds can play tricks on us, especially during traumatic events. What you're describing... it's not physically possible."

Haru's shoulders slumped. He'd heard these words, or variations of them, countless times over the years. From therapists, from police officers, even from Aunt Miko in her gentler moments. No one believed him. No one could understand.

"I know what I saw," he murmured, more to himself than to Dr. Tanaka.

As he left the therapist's office, Haru's mind wandered to the official police report he'd read years ago. The clinical language described a tragedy born of domestic violence: a father who, for reasons unknown, had set fire to their home, killed his wife, and attempted to harm his son before meeting his own end in a construction site accident. The report mentioned nothing of flames engulfing a man without burning him.

Walking home from the session, Haru found himself taking a detour past his old house. The lot stood empty now, the charred remains long since cleared away. Weeds poked through cracks in the foundation, nature slowly reclaiming the space where his childhood home once stood. He paused, staring at the empty plot, feeling the familiar ache in his chest.

"Maybe they're right," he whispered to the ghost of his former life. "Maybe it was all in my head."

But deep down, a part of him clung to the truth he knew, the reality he'd witnessed with his own eyes. The memory of that night, vivid and terrifying, refused to conform to the neat explanation everyone else seemed to accept.

As he turned away from the empty lot, Haru caught sight of his reflection in a shop window. At fifteen, he was taller now, his features sharper, but his eyes still held the same haunted look they'd had since that night. He adjusted his school bag on his shoulder and continued his walk home to Aunt Miko's house.

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The familiar scent of green tea greeted him as he stepped inside. Aunt Miko called out from the kitchen, her voice warm and welcoming. "Haru? How was your session?"

"Fine," he replied automatically, the same response he gave every week.

As he settled at the kitchen table, homework spread out before him, Haru felt the weight of unspoken words and unanswered questions pressing down on him. But he pushed them aside, focusing instead on the equations in his math textbook. High school, at least, offered a semblance of normalcy, a world where the laws of physics were constant and unchanging, unlike the reality he'd witnessed that night.

Aunt Miko placed a steaming cup of tea beside him, her hand lingering for a moment on his shoulder. Haru managed a small smile in return, grateful for her unwavering support, even if she couldn't fully understand what he'd been through.

As night fell and the house grew quiet, Haru lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The nightmares had become less frequent over the years, but the memories remained, vivid and unyielding. He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come, knowing that tomorrow would bring another day of pretending, of trying to fit into a world that had no place for the truth he carried.

In the darkness of his room, Haru clenched his fists, remembering the terror of that night and the questions that still haunted him. "One day," he whispered to himself, "I'll understand what really happened. One day, I'll make sense of it all." With that thought, he drifted into an uneasy sleep, the echoes of his past mingling with dreams of an uncertain future.

The next day dawned like any other, the routine of high school providing a deceptive sense of stability that Haru had come to depend on. He made his way through the crowded hallways, his presence barely noticed by his peers. In class, he took his usual seat in the corner, as far from the others as possible.

Throughout the day, Haru alternated between burying himself in his studies and pretending to sleep, his head resting on his folded arms. It was a strategy he'd perfected over the years, a way to discourage any unwanted attention or attempts at conversation. The chatter and laughter of his classmates washed over him like white noise, a reminder of a carefree life he no longer knew.

As the final bell rang, signalling the end of another school day, Haru packed his bag with mechanical efficiency. He waited for the initial rush of students to subside before making his way out of the building. The afternoon sun was warm on his face as he began his solitary walk home, his mind already drifting to the homework waiting for him.

Suddenly, the world went dark.

A rough fabric scraped against his face as something was forcefully pulled over his head. Before Haru could process what was happening, before he could even raise his hands to pull off whatever was covering his head, strong hands gripped his arms and legs.

Panic surged through him as he felt himself being lifted off the ground. He tried to shout, to struggle, but his voice was muffled by the fabric, and the grip on his limbs was unrelenting. In a matter of seconds, he was airborne, then landing hard on what felt like a metal surface.

The inside of a van, he realised with growing terror.

Haru's heart raced, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps. He could hear muffled voices around him, but couldn't make out what they were saying. He tried to move, to fight back, but his limbs felt leaden and unresponsive.

A sharp pain in his arm made him flinch. A needle. They were injecting him with something.

Almost immediately, a wave of dizziness washed over him. The world seemed to tilt and spin, even in the darkness of whatever was covering his head. Haru's thoughts became sluggish, his panic giving way to a creeping numbness that spread through his body.

As consciousness slipped away from him, one last thought flashed through Haru's mind: "What...the...fu..."

Then, darkness claimed him completely, leaving him at the mercy of unknown captors and an uncertain fate.