The soft morning light filtered through the curtains of Haru's room, casting gentle rays across the floor. Haru sat at his desk, staring blankly at the notebook in front of him, his pencil resting idly in his hand. The quiet hum of the world outside felt distant, almost like a dream he couldn't reach.

He ran a hand through his white hair, his reflection faintly visible in the window. His pale blue eyes, once full of life, now seemed heavy, burdened by a weight only he could feel. Every day felt the same—empty, distant, disconnected. He glanced at the photo frame on his desk, one of the few things he had brought with him from his old home. It held a picture of his parents, smiling on a sunny day. The day before the accident.

Haru’s chest tightened. That familiar wave of guilt crashed over him, like it did every morning. If only he hadn’t argued with them. If only he hadn’t distracted his father. The thoughts spiraled, trapping him in the same painful loop.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. It was Yuki, his adoptive mother, her voice gentle and careful, as always.

“Haru? Breakfast is ready... if you’re hungry.”

He hesitated for a moment, staring at the door. He wasn’t hungry. He hadn’t been for a while, but he knew Yuki had been trying. She always tried. He could hear her quiet hope in the pauses between her words. The kind of hope he felt undeserving of.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear. He didn’t know if he meant it, but it was easier than talking about what was really going on.

The silence returned as Yuki’s footsteps faded down the hallway. Haru looked back at the photo. Another day to get through. Another day pretending he wasn’t still stuck in the past.