kanamafu
I woke up today, or at least, I think I did. It’s hard to tell anymore. I sat on the edge of my bed and stared at the wall for a long time.
My room was dark—darker than usual. The blinds were drawn tight, but even in the dim light, I could see the cracks.
The small imperfections. Things I used to fix, things I used to care about. Now, they only felt like silent reminders of everything I no longer had the energy to do.
I stood up, slowly, letting the weight of my limbs drag me across the room. I couldn’t remember when I had last felt truly awake.
I looked at the mirror, but I didn’t recognize the face staring back at me. The reflection seemed like a patchwork, a collection of mismatched pieces that didn’t quite belong together. I was a puzzle, but not the satisfying kind where all the pieces fit. There was no one there to answer. No one to tell me it would get better. No one to say that everything would make sense eventually, like everyone always promised when they had no idea what they were talking about.
I ran my hand through my hair, which had somehow become a tangled mess of overworked curls.
“I don’t know how to fix this,”
I whispered, half to myself, half to the person who wasn’t in the room. “I don’t know where to even start.” I sat up slowly, feeling the weight of the day pressing down before it had even begun. My room was a mess — clothes strewn across the floor, half-empty coffee mugs, papers stacked in chaotic piles on the table counter.
I used to care about these things, about tidying up, about making everything look put together. But now, the clutter seemed to reflect the clutter in my mind. "How did i even get here?" I muttered to no one.
But the truth was, I knew. It was like the threads of who I was had started unraveling, and I’d just let them fall away, piece by piece. Her heart had become a mirror of the world around her—a place devoid of warmth, of connection. Every day felt like an endless loop, an insurmountable distance between her and the world she once knew.
Why am i really here?
Mafuyu clenched her hands tightly by her sides, eyes fixed on the gray horizon that never seemed to change. The air, though it should have been soft and comforting, felt distant. Cold. Her thoughts swirled with uncertainty. “i feel nothing,i feel nothing.” Mafuyu whispered to herself.
The words hung in the air for a moment before they dissolved into the emptiness. It was like she was speaking to no one, to nothing. The more she tried to grasp for something—anything—to fill the void inside her, the more it slipped away. Each attempt, each memory, faded faster than she could hold onto it. She was trapped. But she didn’t care. She didn’t care anymore.
As she closed her heavy eyes, she felt like something is dragging her. As she opened her eyes once again, she woke up to an strange place...something so stiff about the air.
The walls seemed to close in around her, thick with the heavy silence that had been his constant companion for so long. She could feel it pressing against her, suffocating her. The moonlight filtered through the half-drawn curtains, casting pale, muted shadows across the room. Her piano sat in the corner, silent, untouched.
It had been days—weeks, perhaps—since Mafuyu Asahina had last played it. Each key was a note that had once resonated with emotion but now seemed devoid of meaning.
The studio was a hollow place, where dust clung to the forgotten corners, and the faintest touch of light seemed afraid to linger. Mafuyu Asahina sat at the piano in the dimly lit studio, fingers poised above the keys like a hesitant soul lingering on the edge of the unknown.
The keys were cold, distant, almost mocking. In the quiet, all he could hear was the whisper of his own thoughts, taunting her.
Why bother? he thought, eyes tracing the lines of the piano like an old lover he no longer recognized. His thoughts sank deeper, spiraling into an abyss of uncertainty. The room felt smaller as if the walls themselves were inching closer, suffocating him in the weight of his own despair.
The music was fragile, but it was there. Soft, tentative, a fragile rebirth of life. Each note that filled the air was a whisper of hope, a faint defiance against the silence. "Why do you still try?" A voice, familiar yet strange, broke the silence. It was Luka, but her words were slow, languid—almost detached.
She was standing in the corner of the room, her form faint, translucent, like a dream slipping away. "Music is a thing of the past,"
she continued, her voice echoing as if it were an afterthought. "Why do you refuse to let go?" Luka continued, her form drifting closer. Her words felt like a wound—soft but cutting deep.
Mafuyu didn’t answer. He could feel her throat tightening as though something within him was trying to break free, but she couldn’t summon the strength.
̪̻͉̞̞̗̠̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͜s̸̷͖̖̹̝̦̮̹̫̭̲͔̑͒ͭ̓̂̈̏͋̇̂̾h͚̬̲̘̥͈̼̯̜͐͋̒ͣ̔͆͂̇͟͢͢͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀ͩ̃͛̊̒̄͢͜͞ͅ҉̖͚̪͙l̤̯̞͖̩͔͉̙̪̘͓̟ͦ̈ͬ̀͌ͥ̉ͤ̏d̸̴͕̹͓͍̘ͭͮ̽ͧ͗͊́̏͒ͣ͛͠͞͞n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿̕'ͫ̂͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̰̟͙͙̤̲̍ͣͬy̧̛̘̬̫͈̼̯̜͂̅̃̅̽̓̇̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀͢͜ͅ ̵͚̗ͬb̷̷̼̠͕͔̯̟̖͙̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺̋ͥ̋ͯ͆̍̏̀̚̕͢e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳ ̨̬̜̖̫̝͓̯͔̇͗ͭͬ͡f̨̤̪̫͈͙̺͈̼̯̜͑ͯ̀͒̽̄̔͆͂̇̕͢͝ͅo͇̬͎̯͉ͦ̀̇ͥ̕c̸̷̡̠̦̞̱͕̲̖͛̔ͨ̀̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞̪̻͉̞̞̗̠ͫ̀̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͢͜͜ͅs̸͖̖̹̮̘̣̭̰͓̖̗̑͒ͭ̓̂̈̆͗̊ͮ̏̑ͯ̈̉͞i̓͏̸̴͙̬̝̹͓͍̘͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿ͤͦ̅̽̈̍̕͏̩̠͚ḡ͕̤͕ͪ̉͟ ͈̼̯̜̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̸̴͇̬͎̹͓͍̘ͦ͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿̕ ̪̻͉̞̞̗̠̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͜s̸͖̖̹͈̼̯̜̑͒ͭ̓̂̈̔͆͂̇͝ͅo͇̬͎͕̩̠̬̪̟ͦͦ̎̂̄͂m̷̤̲̣̻̮̞̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺ͧ̂͛̓̌͑ͬ̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳ͫ̂͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̷̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̝̦̮̹̫̭̲͔̄͋̏͋̇̂̾h͚̬̲̘̥̮̘̣̭̰͓̖̗͐͋̒ͣ̆͗̊ͮ̏̑ͯ̈̉͟͢͢͞i̓͏̸̴͙̬̝̹͓͍̘͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿ͤͦ̅̽̈̍̕͏̩̠͚ḡ͕̤͕ͪ̉͟?
The room was darker now, as if time itself had slowed. Mafuyu, still paralyzed at the piano, heard the soft shuffle of footsteps approaching. The others began to gather around him, their forms equally as ethereal and lifeless as Luka’s.
Mafuyu looked at them, his gaze falling to the keys. He could feel their presence, cold and suffocating, like the weight of a thousand unspoken words. "Is that what you want?" Meiko added, her voice a rough whisper. "To keep us here, locked in your emptiness? To make us suffer with you?" Mafuyu let out a bitter laugh, a sound that barely left his chest. "I don’t know how to fix this," he whispered, voice breaking. "I don’t even know if I want to anymore." Mafuyu knew they would never return to the way they were, and perhaps they didn’t need to.
There was a new weight in the air—a pressure that wasn’t entirely from the silence. A sound, faint yet insistent, tugged at him from the depths of his mind. It was like a memory of a song, something half-forgotten, a voice he hadn’t heard in what felt like an eternity.
ẃ̸̝̝̰͋͒ŏ̸̡̼̺̫̥̻͈̞̍͆̏̓́͜͝ͅu̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓l̶̬̞͎̖͉̹̝͕̝͖̣̉͆d̶̡̲̗̼̮̤̤̳̲͖͓͍͔͓̓̎̽́̽̏̐͂̆͆͘͘͘ I̸̺̺͎̰̥̜̯̼̮̰͖̜͂͆̿̈́̿̔ ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ṽ̵͇̟̺̣͓̰̭̲̼̻̪̩̰͒̓̿̄̾̔̊͝ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ǹ̷̨͍̮̥̹̘͙̗̻̬̬̜̥̮̃̒̈́̽͗̿̍̄̂̏͆͠͝ ë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅc̵̛̥͊ǎ̴̯̀͠p̴̩͙̺̩͓̣͈͖̎ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝ t̸̫̫̤͕̳̻̰̣̭́̌̉͝ͅḥ̸̨̧̗̮̖̽̂̓̀̍̋͋́̅̃͘͜͝i̶̡̹͈͎̳̞͙͖̾̂̀͑̀͆̑̓̽̉͐͘͘ͅs̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅ c̵̛̥͊u̷̬̩̰̫͕̘͎̔́̃̄̍͋̓r̵̡͕͈͚͍͍̼͕̍̀̈́̽̎̍͗̍́̏̚͜͠s̴̹̀̎̇͗̍͗̾̋̏̈͐͒̕͠͠ͅë̸͓̮͉͈͇͍̖͎̩̞͈́́́̋̇̾͋̈́̾͆͑͘͘͜͠͝?
̮̘̣̭̰͓̖̗̆͗̊ͮ̏̑ͯ̈̉͞i̓͏͙̬̝ͫ̂͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋'̪̻͉̞̞̗̠̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͜s̸͖̖̹̑͒ͭ̓̂̈ ̪̻͉̞̞̗̠̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͜s̸̷̡͖̖̹̱͕̲̖̑͒ͭ̓̂̈̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̨̘͔͎̖͍͍̞̬̜̖̫̝͓̯͔ͫ̀̇͗ͭͬ͢͜͡ͅf̨̨̤̪̫͈͙̺̬̜̖̫̝͓̯͔͑ͯ̀͒̽̄̇͗ͭͬ̕͢͡f̨̤̪̫͈͙̺͈̼̯̜͑ͯ̀͒̽̄̔͆͂̇̕͢͝ͅo͇̬͎̯͉ͦ̀̇ͥ̕c̸̠̦̞͛̔ͨ̀a̷̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪͗̀ͫ̂͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̮̘̣̭̰͓̖̗̄͋̆͗̊ͮ̏̑ͯ̈̉͞i̓͏̸̴͙̬̝̹͓͍̘͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿ͤͦ̅̽̈̍̕͏̩̠͚ḡ͕̤͕ͪ̉͟...
Mafuyu sat in front of her computer late into the night, the soft hum of the machine the only sound in the room.
The glow of the screen illuminated her face in a cold, almost ghostly light. The virtual world had become both her escape and her prison. Conversations with lifeless Vocaloids, clicking through endless streams of empty music—nothing seemed to fill the void.
She had almost grown used to it, to the silence that followed the end of each song, the disconnect that clung to her even when the digital world buzzed with simulated life. But then there was Kanade. Kanade’s messages were different.
When Mafuyu reached out, there was no delay, no mechanical response. Kanade listened. Kanade understood. It wasn’t that she could fix the emptiness, but somehow, her words seemed to stitch together the pieces of something Mafuyu had long stopped believing in.
Mafuyu's fingers hovered over the keyboard, hesitating before typing. Mafuyu exhaled a slow breath. It felt strange, this quiet connection, like the screen was the only thread still holding her to something, anything, that felt real.
Yuki: " Are you there? "
She watched as the cursor blinked for a few moments,
Yuki: " I don’t know if I can keep doing this. And the silence... it’s louder than ever. "
Her fingers trembled as she typed the last few words. The weight of what she hadn’t said, the thoughts she hadn’t voiced, felt too heavy to carry. She wanted to say more, but the words always seemed to get caught in her throat.
It had been too long since she’d felt anything other than hollow. Kanade’s reply came almost immediately, a soft, gentle message that seemed to cradle Mafuyu’s fragile thoughts.
K. : " Sometimes, it feels like everything is just… too much. Like no matter how hard you try, the weight never lightens. But you don't have to push through it alone. It’s okay to just exist in that space, to be with the sadness without having to make it go away. "
...
Yuki: " What if I’m stuck, Kanade? What if I’ll never get out of this...? "
Her words were soft, barely a whisper. The fear that clung to them wasn’t just about the sadness—it was the fear of never escaping.
The fear of always being trapped in a world of numbness and isolation. Kanade’s response was quiet but firm, a gentle hand reaching through the digital space to grasp Mafuyu’s heart.
K. : " You’re not stuck, Mafuyu. Not forever. Maybe right now it feels like you’re caught in an endless loop, but even the deepest sorrow doesn’t last forever. You’re allowed to feel the weight, but you’re not meant to carry it forever. "
The message lingered, suspended in the space between them. Mafuyu could feel the ache of it—the sense of isolation that wrapped itself around her heart like cold fingers, squeezing just enough to remind her of its presence.
The heaviness of everything was overwhelming. The room felt heavier now, the quiet growing deeper as Mafuyu allowed herself to absorb Kanade’s comfort. Maybe she didn’t have to make the silence go away.
Maybe it could sit with her, without overwhelming her.
̮̘̣̭̰͓̖̗̆͗̊ͮ̏̑ͯ̈̉͞i̓͏͙̬̝ͫ̂͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̨̬̜̖̫̝͓̯͔̇͗ͭͬ͡f̷̨̤̪̫͈͙̺̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺͑ͯ̀͒̽̄̏̀̕̕͢e̒ͦ̇̈҉̷͙͓̳̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳ͩ̃͛̊̒̄͞҉̖͚̪͙l̤̯̞͖̪̻͉̞̞̗̠ͦ̈ͬ̀̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͜s̸͖̖̹̑͒ͭ̓̂̈ ͩ̃͛̊̒̄͞҉̖͚̪͙l̤̯̞͖̮̘̣̭̰͓̖̗ͦ̈ͬ̀̆͗̊ͮ̏̑ͯ̈̉͞i̓͏̷͙̬̝̺̺͙͐ͫͫ̃͟k͛ͨ̉̚҉̷̳̬̼͓͔̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺̀̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳ ̝̣͔̝͎̎̃̈́̾̈̇̓̑́͞I͕̣͛̏ͨͦ̃'͕̩̠̬̪̟ͦ̎̂̄͂m̤̲̣̻̮̞ͧ̂͛̓̌͑ͬ ̮̘̣̭̰͓̖̗̆͗̊ͮ̏̑ͯ̈̉͞i̓͏̸̴͙̬̝̹͓͍̘͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿̕ a̷̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪͗̀ ̯͉̀̇ͥ̕c̸̷̠̦̞̝̦̮̹̫̭̲͔͛̔ͨ̀̏͋̇̂̾h͚̬̲̘̥͈̼̯̜͐͋̒ͣ̔͆͂̇͟͢͢͝ͅo̷͇̬͎̺̺͙ͦ͐ͫͫ̃͟k͛ͨ̉̚҉̷̳̬̼͓͔̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺̀̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉̷͙͓̳̝̦̮̹̫̭̲͔̏͋̇̂̾h͚̬̲̘̥͈̼̯̜͐͋̒ͣ̔͆͂̇͟͢͢͝ͅo͇̬͎ͦͩ̃͛̊̒̄͞҉̖͚̪͙l̤̯̞͖̩͔͉̙̪̘͓̟ͦ̈ͬ̀͌ͥ̉ͤ̏d͕ͭͮ̽ͧ͗͠͞͞..
̬̱̣̠͌̑͗́K̥̹̳̖̭̖̝͎ͯ̒̆͛̍͐ͣa̷̸̴̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̹͓͍̘͗̀͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿̕a̷̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̩͔͉̙̪̘͓̟͗̀͌ͥ̉ͤ̏d̷͕̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺ͭͮ̽ͧ͗̏̀̕͠͞͞e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳...
̬̱̣̠͔͌̑͗́K̥̹̳̖̭̖̝͎ͯ̒̆͛̍͐ͣa̷̸̴̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̹͓͍̘͗̀͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿̕a̷̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̩͔͉̙̪̘͓̟͗̀͌ͥ̉ͤ̏d̷͕̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺ͭͮ̽ͧ͗̏̀̕͠͞͞e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓.
̬̱̣̠͔͌̑͗́K̥̹̳̖̭̖̝͎ͯ̒̆͛̍͐ͣa̷̸̴̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̹͓͍̘͗̀͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿̕a̷̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̩͔͉̙̪̘͓̟͗̀͌ͥ̉ͤ̏d̷͕̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺ͭͮ̽ͧ͗̏̀̕͠͞͞e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳...
̛̛̲͍̮̼͚̮̘̲͍̮̼͚̮̘̓͑̓͑w͚͓͈̼̯̜̃ͤ́ͮ͆ͧ̑ͫ̔͆͂̇͢͝ͅo̸̴͇̬͎̹͓͍̘ͦ͊́̏͒ͣ͛n̨̥͍̬͈ͧ̓́̿̕'ͫ̂͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̄͋ ̰̟͙͙̤̲̍ͣͬy̧̛̘̬̫͈̼̯̜͂̅̃̅̽̓̇̔͆͂̇͝ͅo̷̡͇̬͎̱͕̲̖ͦ̋̊̃͂͗̚͜ų̘͔͎̖͍͍̞ͫ̀͢͜ͅ ̩͔͉̙̪̘͓̟͌ͥ̉ͤ̏d͕̮̘̣̭̰͓̖̗ͭͮ̽ͧ͗̆͗̊ͮ̏̑ͯ̈̉͠͞͞͞i̓͏͙̬̝̪̻͉̞̞̗̠̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͜s̸͖̖̹̪̻͉̞̞̗̠̑͒ͭ̓̂̈̎͂̃̑ͧ͘͜s̸͖̖̹̑͒ͭ̓̂̈a̷̛̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪̪͍̘͕̥̠̮͇͚͗̀ͩ̈́̍ͮ́ͦ̈̎̀p̛̙̞͍̪͍̘͕̥̠̮͇͚ͪͨ̔̂ͩ̈́̍ͮ́ͦ̈̎̀p̷̙̞͍̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺ͪͨ̔̂̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳a̷̵̙̬͍̪̗̝̤̪͕̺͗̀ͮ̀̚ͅr̨̲̦̰̪̿̅̓̇̀̒̐͜͟ ̛̲͍̮̼͚̮̘̓͑w͚͓̮̘̣̭̰͓̖̗̃ͤ́ͮ͆ͧ̑ͫ̆͗̊ͮ̏̑ͯ̈̉͢͞i̓͏͙̬̝ͫ̂͏̨̯̲̭͞t̵̷̡̠̘̙̮̥̯̰̝̦̮̹̫̭̲͔̄͋̏͋̇̂̾h͚̬̲̘̥͐͋̒ͣ͟͢͢ ͕̩̠̬̪̟ͦ̎̂̄͂m̷̤̲̣̻̮̞̠͈̥̻̗̣͚̺ͧ̂͛̓̌͑ͬ̏̀̕e̒ͦ̇̈҉͙͓̳...?
Kanade sat in front of her laptop, her fingers hovering over the keys as she gazed at the screen. The glow of the monitor illuminated the room, but it felt like the world outside was distant, as if it didn't matter.
She wasn’t composing for anyone in particular.
At least, that’s what she had told herself at first.
But as the melody began to form, her thoughts turned to Mafuyu. Mafuyu, who had always seemed so quiet, so distant—yet, there was something about her that resonated with Kanade.
Mafuyu’s silence wasn’t an absence, it was an invitation, a space where things could exist without words, without explanation.
The song began with soft piano notes, each one chosen carefully, with purpose. Kanade worked in the solitude of her room, her mind focused only on the melody that swirled around her.
She didn’t know if Mafuyu would ever understand the full meaning behind it, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that Kanade was expressing something she couldn’t put into words—something more than just friendship, something deeper, but still gentle.
As she worked, Kanade’s thoughts wandered back to Mafuyu. She pictured her, sitting in the quiet of her room, perhaps with a cup of tea or something else small and comforting.
She wondered if Mafuyu ever thought about the way silence wrapped around her like a second skin, something both familiar and soft. Kanade’s fingers moved over the keys, her music creating the kind of space Mafuyu seemed to crave—one where nothing was rushed and everything was allowed to just... be.
After hours of composing, Kanade finished the song. She let the last note ring out, feeling a sense of calm settle over her. The song wasn’t loud or grand.
It was soft, introspective, like a memory that had no words but lingered in the mind anyway. It was for Mafuyu, though Kanade would never say it aloud. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Mafuyu’s silence felt different lately.
Her messages had become more sparse, and yet, somehow, they still held an intensity—like Mafuyu was speaking volumes without saying much at all.
Kanade could sense it. Even through the small, seemingly insignificant exchanges, there was something deeper, something unspoken.