Chapter 7: Fading into Shadows

The days passed in a strange blur. Ren barely registered the world around him as he drifted from one class to the next, a ghost navigating through familiar hallways. His connection with Aoi, once a source of quiet solace, now felt like a reminder of all that he would never have. She continued to sit with him, talking as she always did, her words punctuating the silence that wrapped around them both.

But now, her conversations had taken on a different tone. Every day, it was Kaito. She spoke of him as if he were still right there in front of her, a lingering presence that occupied her thoughts even in his absence.

"I’m really trying to move on," Aoi would say, her voice full of forced cheer. "I thought I’d be okay by now, but it still feels strange. I guess I just…need more time."

Ren nodded, as he always did, his own voice lost in the spaces between her words. He wanted to respond, to tell her he understood, to let her know he felt that same emptiness gnawing away at him. But he remained silent, caught in the familiar grip of his social anxiety, trapped by his inability to break free.

As Aoi continued talking, Ren felt himself slipping further into the background, like he was fading into the wallpaper, a piece of the scenery that no one noticed. She was so caught up in her own world that she seemed oblivious to the pain he held just beneath the surface. He was invisible to her, a silent observer of a story in which he could never play a starring role.

Each day, after their lunch conversations, Ren would retreat to the quiet corner of the school library or a deserted hallway, seeking refuge in the pages of his notebook. It had once been a place where he could find solace, where he could pour out his emotions and make sense of the confusion that clouded his thoughts. But now, even the notebook had taken on a darker hue, its pages filled with fragments of despair, scrawled hastily in uneven lines.

I’m nothing. Just a background character in her story. I don’t matter.

The words spilled out of him, each sentence more desperate than the last. He found himself writing things he’d never dared to think before, thoughts that seemed to come from some shadowed corner of his mind. The self-hatred that had always simmered beneath the surface now bubbled over, staining the pages with his darkest fears and insecurities.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Why can’t I be enough? Why can’t I be someone worth noticing?

He scratched the words into the paper with a force that left indentations on the following pages, his pen a weapon turned inward. The notebook had once been a place of refuge, a way to cope with the challenges that seemed insurmountable. But now, it had become something else entirely—a reflection of his deteriorating mental state, a mirror that showed him the depths of his own hopelessness.

As the days wore on, Ren found himself sinking deeper into isolation. He began to avoid eye contact with others, ducking his head whenever he passed someone in the hallway. He felt like he was shrinking, retreating further into himself, pulling away from the world that seemed indifferent to his pain.

The scribbled notes in his notebook became more frantic, the pages filled with jagged lines and fragmented thoughts. He couldn’t stop the flood of emotions that threatened to consume him, the feeling that he was trapped in a cage of his own making. He was tired—tired of pretending, tired of hoping for things that would never come to pass.

I’m drowning in silence. And no one even notices.

Even Aoi, the one person who had once seemed to care, was slipping away. She didn’t mean to hurt him—Ren knew that. She was simply lost in her own struggles, unaware of the way her words cut him like knives. But that knowledge did little to ease the ache that had settled in his chest, a constant reminder of all that he’d never be.

One afternoon, as Aoi talked animatedly about how she was trying to move on, Ren felt a surge of frustration that he couldn’t contain. He wanted to scream, to tell her that she wasn’t the only one who was hurting, that he was just as lost, just as broken. But the words caught in his throat, choked off by the fear that she’d never understand, that she’d look at him with pity or, worse, indifference.

So instead, he nodded along, his face a mask of calm that belied the storm raging inside him. And when she finally stood to leave, offering him a small smile and a wave, he simply watched her go, his heart sinking further with every step she took.

In the quiet that followed, Ren opened his notebook again, flipping through the pages that now seemed to blur together in a chaotic mess of ink and paper. He could see the darkness spreading, creeping across each line, a testament to the thoughts he could no longer keep at bay.

What am I even doing here? Why am I holding on when there’s nothing left to hold onto?

He closed the notebook, pressing his hand against the cover as if that could somehow contain the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. He knew he couldn’t keep going like this, couldn’t continue to pretend that everything was fine when he felt like he was falling apart.

And yet, he had no idea how to change. He was caught in a cycle he couldn’t escape, a prisoner to his own mind, shackled by the weight of unspoken words and unfulfilled dreams. Each day felt like a repetition of the last, a relentless loop that offered no reprieve, no hope of something better.

As the school day ended and the halls emptied, Ren lingered in the shadows, his mind a maze of thoughts he couldn’t unravel. He watched as his classmates filed out, their laughter and chatter echoing in the distance, a reminder of the world that felt so far beyond his reach.

He knew he’d see Aoi again tomorrow, that she’d sit beside him and talk about things he couldn’t bring himself to care about. He knew he’d smile and nod, playing the part she expected, all the while sinking deeper into the darkness that surrounded him.

And as he finally left the school, his notebook tucked under his arm, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was disappearing—slowly but surely, fading into the background, a shadow slipping into the night.