Mei didn’t sleep that night.

She lay under her blanket, staring at the ceiling, replaying the moment their eyes met — that brief, inexplicable spark. It wasn’t just recognition. It was familiarity.

It’s not possible. He’s just a guy who happens to look like Aoi.
But even as she thought it, doubt gnawed at her logic.

The next morning, she left her apartment early, hoping to clear her head. She wandered the neighborhood with her sketchpad, trying to draw anything else — flowers, cats, street signs. Nothing came out right. Her hand only wanted to draw him.

Around noon, she returned to the building, arms full of groceries. As she stepped into the stairwell, a voice floated down.

A calm, rich voice. Male. Familiar.

“…don’t forget the key this time.”

She paused. The voice echoed faintly — soft but warm. It was him. Upstairs.

She crept to the second floor landing and waited, listening.

The footsteps came closer.

Her heart pounded. This is stupid. I should go. I should—

The door at the top of the stairs opened.

And there he was.

Up close, he was even more unreal — tall, broad-shouldered, hair slightly tousled, and those silver eyes calm and sharp all at once. He wore a gray hoodie and black pants, and there was something elegant in how casually he moved.

He looked down at her.

“Hey,” he said, noticing the bags in her arms. “Need help?”

Mei blinked. She might’ve forgotten how to breathe.

“…I… uh…” she stammered, gripping the bags tighter.

He took two steps down, reached for a bag. “You live in 202, right?”

She nodded.

He smiled — not wide, not forced. Just… gentle. The kind of smile she had drawn a hundred times for Aoi. “I’m Ren. Upstairs.”

Ren.

Aokawa Ren. The name from the mailbox.

She followed him numbly as he walked to her door.

“You’re new here,” he said. “I just moved in last month too.”

She blinked. “Wait… just last month?”

“Yeah. Rented the place for some peace and quiet.”

Of course he did, she thought. That’s exactly what Aoi said in Chapter 1.

Ren handed her the bags. His fingers brushed hers — warm and real.

“I’ll see you around,” he said, then turned, heading back up the stairs.

Mei stood frozen in her doorway, groceries forgotten.

He wasn’t just familiar. He wasn’t just similar.

He was identical — not just in appearance, but in manner, in speech, in history.

It didn’t make sense.

But one thing was now certain:
Aoi — or whoever he was — had stepped out of her sketchbook… and was now living above her.

LITARCHIVE