The next morning, Mei woke to sunlight slanting across her face and the smell of coffee drifting from the hallway.

She opened her door cautiously and peeked outside. No one.

Maybe she had dreamed the humming. Maybe her imagination — the same one that brought Aoi to life on paper — was playing tricks.

Still, curiosity itched under her skin.

She wandered out to the convenience store down the street for breakfast and passed the mailbox corner of the building on her way back. Her eyes scanned the names. Hers was written in kanji on a strip of tape: Tanaka Mei — 202. Above it, she saw: Aokawa Ren — 302.

“Aokawa…” she whispered aloud.

Too close. Too similar. Was it possible? She shook the thought away.

Later that day, she was drawing near the window when she saw someone step out onto the third-floor balcony above hers.

She squinted up.

He leaned on the railing lazily, a mug in one hand. Sunlight caught his black hair. His white t-shirt clung to a lean frame, and his jawline was so sharp it could slice paper. Then he turned slightly — and looked down.

Mei gasped and ducked, heart pounding.

Those eyes. Silver. Just like Aoi.

She peeked again.

He wasn’t looking anymore. He seemed lost in thought, staring out over the rooftops.

Mei pulled her sketchpad close. Her hands trembled as she flipped to a page she had drawn weeks ago.

It was him. The same hair, the same posture, the same eyes. She had drawn this exact image — before she ever moved in.

“How…” she whispered, her voice trembling.

She had never published the manga. Never shared it. Aoi was hers alone. So how could a man who looked exactly like him be living above her?

And then, as if summoned, he looked down again — this time directly at her.

Their eyes met.

Mei’s breath caught.

The man smiled softly, like he knew her.

Then he turned and disappeared back inside.