Chapter 7 — Fragments of the Past
Rain gave way to a fragile sunlight by Wednesday morning, casting golden streaks across the dew-speckled windows of Class 2-B.
The world outside shimmered in the wake of the storm, and so did something inside the classroom—an unspoken understanding, a quiet truce that settled in the way students glanced at each other, in how whispers softened, how Mika no longer sneered, and how Kaito's gaze lingered on the twins with gentler eyes.
The change was subtle, but it was there.
And for Elira and Elena, it felt like breathing freely after being underwater for too long.
"Do you think she meant it?" Elira asked that morning, brushing a strand of damp hair from her cheek.
They sat in their usual spot, early as always, sharing a small packet of warm melon bread they'd picked up on the way.
Elena nodded. "I think she did. You saw her face."
Elira thought of Mika's flushed cheeks, the way she couldn't meet their eyes. "She looked… scared."
"She was. Admitting you were wrong takes courage."
Elira broke off another piece of the bread and handed it to her twin. "I wish things had been different earlier."
Elena took it and shrugged lightly. "They weren't. But they can be now."
Kaito arrived moments later, giving them both a small wave before sitting beside them without hesitation.
No more awkward pauses. No nervous glances. Just the comforting presence of someone who'd made it clear he was there to stay.
"You both doing okay?" he asked, unzipping his bag.
"We are," Elena said. "Thanks to you."
He shook his head. "You give me too much credit."
"You gave us space to be ourselves," Elira whispered. "That's not nothing."
Kaito smiled but didn't answer. Some truths didn't need to be spoken again.
During lunch, Mika approached them for the first time since her public apology. She stood at the edge of their table, fidgeting with the strap of her bag.
"Can I sit?" she asked.
Elena looked at Elira, who gave a small nod.
"Sure," Elena said.
Mika sat slowly, placing her lunch on the table but not opening it.
"I wanted to say more the other day, but… I didn't know how."
"It's okay," Elira replied. "You said enough."
A silence settled over them, not uncomfortable, but fragile.
Mika fiddled with the corner of her sandwich. "You know, in middle school, people used to say stuff about me too. Not like what you went through, but enough that I… got scared. So I turned into the one who judged before being judged."
Elira stared at her, unsure how to respond.
"It was easier that way," Mika admitted. "But it was lonely."
"I think we all understand that," Elena said.
Kaito looked between them, not saying a word. He wanted this to be theirs.
Mika finally opened her lunch and began to eat, still quiet but no longer guarded.
Elira smiled faintly. A new chapter was beginning, and maybe—just maybe—they'd write it together.
After school, the twins walked with Kaito to the station. The streets were still damp, puddles reflecting the afternoon sun like shattered mirrors.
There was a lightness in their steps, a rhythm formed not by forced small talk but by shared silences.
Kaito was the first to break it.
"Would you two… want to come over sometime? My place, I mean."
Elira blinked. "Your house?"
"Yeah. I live with my aunt and cousin, but they're nice. I think you'd like them."
Elena tilted her head. "Is there a reason?"
Kaito hesitated. "I just… I want to share something with you. Something important."
That piqued both of their curiosity.
"We'd love to," Elira said.
He grinned. "Saturday afternoon?"
They nodded in unison.
And with that, a plan was made.
...
Saturday arrived with a cool breeze and blue skies. The twins dressed in matching pale cardigans and pleated skirts—similar enough to mark them as sisters, different enough to reflect their unique tastes.
Elena wore a navy ribbon in her hair; Elira wore a clip shaped like a tiny book.
Kaito met them at the train station.
"Wow," he said, slightly breathless. "You two look… nice."
"Thanks," they said in unison, then giggled.
The trip to his house took about twenty minutes. He led them through a quiet residential area before stopping in front of a two-story house with ivy creeping along the garden fence.
Inside, the home was cozy—bookshelves in every corner, the scent of tea wafting through the air, soft instrumental music playing in the background.
Kaito's aunt greeted them warmly, and his younger cousin—a bubbly girl named Yui—instantly took to the twins, especially Elira.
"She's so cute," Yui whispered to Kaito later. "Like a bunny!"
He laughed. "Told you."
After tea and snacks, Kaito led them upstairs to his room. It was clean, surprisingly minimalist, but one wall was covered with photos, sketches, and handwritten notes pinned to a corkboard.
"This is what I wanted to show you," he said.
Elena stepped closer. "What is all this?"
Kaito exhaled, resting a hand against the frame.
"It's my memory wall. Every important moment, every turning point—I record it here. So I don't forget who I am."
Elira's eyes scanned the photographs. One caught her attention—a younger Kaito, maybe in middle school, looking solemn at the edge of a crowd.
"That was the worst year," he said, noticing her gaze. "I lost my parents in an accident. Moved in with my aunt after that. That picture reminds me how far I've come."
Elira's breath caught. "I'm sorry."
He shook his head. "Don't be. I survived. And now… I get to meet people like you."
Elena touched a pinned note beside the photo. It read: It's okay to be different. Just don't be alone.
"You've been through a lot," she murmured.
"Everyone has. We just carry it differently."
Kaito turned to them. "I wanted to share this with you because… I think you're part of my story now. Both of you."
Elira felt warmth spread through her chest. "Then maybe… we should start our own wall."
He grinned. "I'd like that."
...
That night, back in their room, Elira and Elena sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by markers, paper, and polaroids.
They had already printed a few photos from the past month—their first lunch with Kaito, the sketch Elena had made of the rooftop garden, and one from today in front of Kaito's ivy-covered house.
"We'll need a board," Elena said.
"We'll make one," Elira replied.
They worked in silence, carefully writing captions and decorating the corners of the photos.
When they were done, they stood back and looked at their creation: a collage of memories, of small moments that mattered.
"Do you think it'll last?" Elira asked softly.
Elena didn't answer immediately.
Then she said, "We'll make it last."
At school the following week, things continued to shift. Slowly, but steadily.
Mika sometimes joined them during lunch. Other students began greeting the twins in passing.
Even the teachers, once indifferent, now occasionally complimented Elena's artwork or asked Elira about the library's new arrivals.
One afternoon, while helping the librarian restock the shelves, Elira came across a book tucked deep in the back—its spine cracked, its pages yellowed.
She opened it, and found a name scribbled on the first page: Kaito Yamazaki, Grade 7.
Her eyes widened.
The book was about resilience. About stories within stories. About a boy who saved a lost girl by giving her a story of her own.
She ran her fingers over the words.
Kaito had been here before. He had walked the path of loneliness, just like they had. And maybe that was why he saw them. Not as projects to fix, or charity cases to pity, but as equals. As friends.
Maybe something more.
She tucked the book into her bag. She would return it to him. But first, she wanted to read every word.
...
Elira and Elena walked home together in the fading twilight.
"Do you think people like us… can really be happy?" Elira asked.
Elena looked at the sky above—the way the clouds broke just enough for stars to peek through.
"I think we already are," she said.
And Elira smiled.
For the first time in years, she believed it too.
To be continued...