Threadless : A growing novel

"When two threads are stitched too tightly…

you can no longer tell which one is holding the fabric together."

Aro's dream that night wasn't hers.

She was standing by the inkmines, alone, hands in her pockets — only she wasn't herself.

She was quiet, unsure, reluctant to speak.

She felt the way Rin feels.

A voice whispered behind her:

"You shouldn't be here. You're not you."

She woke with ink on her fingertips.

Rin opened his notebook and found half a page filled with elegant, slanted handwriting — not his own.

At the bottom, it read:

"I don't remember writing this.

But I remember feeling it."

— A.

He stared at it for a long time.

Then crossed it out — not to forget, but because it felt like he'd already read it in her voice.

Later that day, in class:

Aro answered a question before it was asked.

The instructor paused.

"Did I already… say that?"

"No," Aro murmured. "But he was about to ask it."

She pointed to Rin — who looked stunned. "I was," he whispered.

Their classmates fell silent.

Only Mei spoke.

"Thread Saturation," she said under her breath.

Kaen nodded grimly. "It's starting."

📍Thread Saturation:

A forbidden condition. When two people have crossed loops too many times, the system begins to merge their emotional memory layers. If left uncorrected, their identities blur — and the story can no longer tell them apart.

It was rare.

And irreversible without system purge.

That night, Rin found Aro in the Threadroom again.

They didn't speak at first.

They just stood side by side, hands brushing, watching the same thread unravel.

"Did you ever… write a poem about snow?" she asked suddenly.

Rin nodded. "But I lost it. Long ago."

"I remember the second stanza," she said quietly.

"It started with— The snow forgot to fall today, so we became the silence instead…"

Rin froze.

He had never said that out loud.

"You're inside my memories," he whispered.

"And you're inside mine."

They looked down at their hands.

The threads were braiding themselves together.

Meanwhile, in the observation room, the developers issued a quiet flag:

[THREADED PAIR BREACHING IDENTITY BOUNDARY]

[RECOMMEND: UNDO LOOP + PARTIAL RESET]

[ERROR: AUTHOR-PROTECTED. NO RESET PERMITTED.]

A second signal appeared.

This one in different font.

Handwritten.

"Let them remember each other completely.

They've earned it."

— W.

And beneath it:

"Their story is strongest when they stop pretending it's only one."

— T.