Threadless : A growing novel

"An echo once named me, and I forgot to answer."

It rained in the middle of the night.

Aro didn't notice when it began, only when it stopped. Her window was cracked open, and all that remained now was the scent of earth, like the silence had washed its face.

She sat up in bed, hair uncombed, thoughts even more scattered. She hadn't slept properly in days — not because of nightmares, but because of something quieter. Something that waited at the back of her breath every time she closed her eyes.

She touched the inside of her wrist. Faint. But something had pulsed there earlier. She was sure of it.

Her phone buzzed once.

[2:13 AM]

Are you awake?

— Rin

She stared at it. Then typed:

Yeah.

No reply. But she didn't expect one.

Not in words, anyway.

He was already at the gate when she stepped outside.

No umbrella. No jacket. Just Rin, in his hoodie, staring up at the sky like it still held a question that belonged to him.

"You came," he said.

"You called."

They didn't move for a moment. Then walked.

Not toward any place in particular — the town was asleep, and they walked like they weren't. Streetlights flickered as if uncertain whether they were real.

After a while, Aro said, "I dreamt of an orchard last night."

Rin didn't look at her. "You told me that already."

She shook her head. "No. That was the dream before. This one was different. There were strings tied to all the trees, but they didn't hang from the branches. They grew into them."

Silence.

Then Rin whispered, "Did they pull?"

She stopped.

He did too.

"…What?"

Rin turned to her, slow. "The strings. Did they pull you toward something? Or someone?"

Aro blinked. "I—"

"Never mind." He looked away, like he'd just broken his own rule.

But it was too late. The question stayed.

Later, they ended up in front of the old train station.

It hadn't run in years, not since the project to rebuild the outer districts was mysteriously halted. There were always rumors about that — people disappearing, strange figures at night. But Aro never believed any of it.

Until now.

Because Rin stopped walking. He turned to the station.

And she followed his gaze.

Two figures stood in the window. Not reflected. Not hidden.

Watching.

One was Mei. Or something that resembled her.

The other, half-formed, blurry at the edges, but smiling.

Jun?

No. Not Jun.

Something older. Wearing him.

Rin reached into his pocket and pulled out a thread.

Aro stared. "You still have it?"

Rin's hand trembled. "I don't know where it came from. But it burns when I lie to myself."

The thread glowed faintly.

Aro stepped closer. "And now?"

Rin met her eyes. "Now it's silent."