The days that followed passed in a calm that wasn't truly quiet.
Toru and Ruka settled for a while in Aya's region, right among the old gravestones that slowly began to feel like a second home. Their tent, now blending with the darkness of night, sometimes looked like a fallen star caught on the earth.
Aya watched them from a distance. She often saw Toru sitting with strange objects full of wires and lights, his mouth moving quickly without a sound. Ruka, on the other hand, moved with quiet grace, occasionally lifting a tool that resembled a periscope and gazing at the sky, as if waiting for something from above.
To Aya, it was all strange. But also fascinating. Like a dream from the future leaking into a graveyard of the past.
Often, the cat watched them too. It would climb onto one of their devices, curl up, and fall asleep there—as if those alien things had always belonged to her.
One afternoon, as the sky began to turn gold, Aya noticed something familiar among all the strangeness—a small tablet, glowing faintly but steadily. She recognized it. That object… it was the one the cat had brought. The one that lit up when the sky split open and these two beings arrived.
With light steps, Aya approached.
"What is that?" she asked softly, her curiosity slipping into her voice despite herself.
Toru, who had been cleaning the lens of a device, turned immediately. His face lit up.
"Oh! That? Wow, you're finally asking! This—this thing is super cool! It's like a journal… a kind of digital legacy from a previous explorer."
He lifted the tablet with both hands, as if presenting a treasure.
"So... the signal from this thing reached our system, and we knew right away: something… or someone was here."
Aya tilted her head.
"Signal?"
Toru paused for a moment. His smile faded, replaced by a crease in his brow.
"Oh… wow. You don't even know what a signal is."
He sighed—not in anger, but with a hint of disappointment. Then he sat down on the ground, looking at Aya gently.
"You can't stay here forever. I mean, if you came with us, you could see the outside world. There's so much you haven't learned yet. So much you could feel. You don't have to be trapped in this place forever."
Aya lowered her head. The light of curiosity had vanished from her eyes. She clasped her hands tightly, holding the silence for a long moment before finally speaking.
"I... can't."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"There's something here... something unfinished."
Toru fell silent. But instead of stepping back, he moved closer, his eyes filled with the urge to help.
"But you don't have to stay trapped here, Aya. The world out there is vast. You could see the ocean, the cities, even the sky from higher ground. You—you could live again, even if not in the literal sense…"
Aya slowly lifted her face. Her gaze was vacant, yet resolute.
"Toru…"
But Toru wasn't done.
"You just haven't tried. Maybe you think you can't, but maybe it's just… fear. You don't have to wait here forever for something that—"
"I SAID I CAN'T!"
Aya's voice exploded, cutting through everything.
The wind paused for a moment, as if the earth itself had heard her. The sound echoed strangely among the gravestones, like the echo of a wound that never healed.
In an instant, Aya's form began to fade. The light of her being sank into the long shadows cast by the gravestones behind her.
And then she was gone.
Toru stood frozen. His mouth hung open, but no words came out. His face had gone a little pale—caught between confusion and regret.
Ruka, who had been quietly watching from the side, walked slowly up to him.
"Nice move," Ruka said with a small smile. "You've just met her, and you're already telling her to leave her home."
- - - - - - -
Toru sat in front of the tent, his hands busy fiddling with a small module. The light from a thin screen blinked slowly, casting a soft glow on his somber face.
It had been two days since Aya disappeared.
He'd tried to calm his thoughts by doing the usual—reprogramming the air sensors, reorganizing the exploration schedule, even fixing the lens in his eye that sometimes glitched.
But it was all useless.
His mind kept circling back to one moment: her voice.
"I SAID I CAN'T!"
That sentence echoed endlessly in his head.
"Did I really hurt her...?" he muttered, half-hoping someone would answer.
But the only sounds were the wind—and the cat's meows.
Since morning, the cat had been prowling the cemetery, letting out short cries as if calling for someone. She leapt onto tombstones, explored every corner, approached every shadow… but there was no sign of Aya.
The cat's expression grew more anxious. Her tail flicked rapidly, her steps restless. And when she saw Toru sitting near all his strange devices, something inside her snapped.
Without warning, she leapt at the tent, pounced on the toolboxes, clawed at the cables, knocked over glowing instruments.
Toru jumped in surprise.
"Eh?! H-Hey! Careful! That—that's my equipment!"
Cables scattered across the ground. One of the modules let out a strange beep, then went dark. The cat clawed at everything in sight, her eyes wild, her cries sharp and accusing.
Toru moved closer, kneeling.
"Hey, what's wrong?! It's not—it's not my fault if Aya—"
But the cat only grew more frantic, refusing to be touched, her body rigid with fur standing on end. She didn't know what was happening, but something deep inside her screamed that something was wrong. And somehow… these two strangers were part of it.
Ruka stood just outside the tent, watching silently.
To her, this… wasn't in the program.
Resolving a conflict between a ghost and a cat wasn't part of her database.
She simply let out a quiet sigh and whispered to herself,
"The emotions of living beings… are complicated."
The cat eventually tired herself out after tearing through everything within reach. Cables were strewn across the floor, panels left wide open, and small boxes that were once neatly organized now lay scattered in disarray. One by one, the devices Toru had so carefully maintained fell victim to a rage with no clear cause.
Toru sat on the ground, expression blank, hair tousled and clothes half-crumpled like he'd just been tossed through a washing machine. His hands rested on his knees, eyes unfocused.
"What… is she really thinking…" he murmured softly, not expecting an answer.
The cat finally stepped out of the tent. Her body was still tense, but her steps had grown heavy. Ruka watched the small back until it vanished behind the gravestones.
She only stepped inside once the silence had fully settled.
Ruka's gaze swept across the wreckage of the tent.
"Wow… your work today is quite… impressive," she said flatly.
Toru glanced at her, weary.
"Thanks. Always nice to get support wrapped in sharp commentary."
"I'm just being honest," Ruka replied, settling down against one of the tent poles.
Toru took a deep breath, trying to steady the strange weight in his chest. He rose slowly, grabbed his shoes from the corner, then stood up.
"I'm going for a walk… need some air."
Ruka didn't answer, only turned her head briefly to watch his back as he walked away. She knew Toru didn't really want to talk right now.
- - - - - - -
Toru walked through the forest, slowly being swallowed by its shadows. Tall branches loomed overhead, thick leaves filtered the moonlight, and the damp earth exhaled the rich scent of moss.
But he didn't feel afraid.
To him, the forest wasn't a threat. Even the animals here seemed to keep their distance—whether out of instinct or because they saw him as some kind of monster. Just like the cat, who clearly thought he was a troublesome alien.
He'd been walking for nearly thirty minutes when a sudden, undeniable sensation crept up on him—a biological urge that not even space-age tech could suppress.
"Oh no… why now," he muttered under his breath, glancing around for a suitable tree.
He rushed over to a large moss-covered trunk, fumbling with his zipper in a panic. But before he could finish—
Lightning split the sky. DUARRRR!
Fog burst from the ground like the breath of the underworld.
And from the depths of that darkness, a pale figure slowly emerged. A white face, long hair, eyes glowing dimly…
Aya.
Toru let out a shriek—more of a strangled gasp, really and nearly passed out on the spot.
His body jerked backward on instinct. But it was too late. His pants were soaked, and not because of the rain.
He collapsed onto the damp ground, panic rising so fast his body reacted before he could stop it. Yep, He totally peed himself.
"Please! Don't eat me!" he cried, trembling, his voice shaking with both fear and humiliation.
Aya covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide, unsure whether to panic or burst into laughter.
"I'm sorry! I'm really, really sorry! I didn't mean to scare you! I just... That tree—it's where I... died."
Toru sat frozen. His knees trembled, and his face burned a deep shade of red that reached all the way to his ears.
"Seriously? Out of all the trees in this entire forest… why that one…"
Aya sat gently on the nearest branch, lowering her gaze.
"I just wanted to tell you to move somewhere else. But I panicked… and then I showed up suddenly. And, well… what's done is done. Or in this case, the pants are already the mop."
Toru let out a long sigh and lowered his head, both hands covering his face. A small sound escaped his lips, like a stifled whimper.
"Why does it have to be like this… why now… when I'm like this…"
He wasn't crying, but his eyes glistened. Not from sadness—just the sheer weight of what had now become one of the most humiliating moments in his interstellar life.
Aya let out a soft laugh at his reaction.
Toru eventually sat cross-legged, his back turned to her, still hiding his face behind his hands.
A quiet pause settled between them.
Aya exhaled slowly.
"Toru… I'm sorry. About what happened yesterday. I know you were just trying to help. But back then… I wasn't ready."
Toru raised a hand.
"It's okay. I'm sorry too. I forced you to leave the only place you've ever called home. That was… one of the dumbest things I've ever done."
Aya gave a small smile.
"I was angry… but honestly, I forgave you the day I disappeared. I just needed time to get the courage to come back. I thought… if I waited a year, maybe you wouldn't be mad anymore."
Toru turned slightly.
"A year?! You think that's a short wait?! I'm an alien, Aya! Overthinking is basically my whole brain. A year is like psychological torture!"
Aya laughed softly.
"For me… a whole year feels like tomorrow morning. I don't have a schedule. Nothing changes. Time moves fast when you're just standing still."
Toru nodded, then glanced upward.
"I was only still for a week, and my tent already got trashed by a cat."
Aya fell silent. Not out of confusion this time, but because laughter was quietly building at the corner of her lips.
"I didn't think she could be that fierce," she murmured.
Toru smiled faintly. There was a warmth slowly returning to the space between them.
Several seconds passed in silence. A soft breeze rustled through the leaves above. Aya looked down at the thick root she was perched on, then gently climbed down and sat at its edge, her hands resting in her lap.
Her eyes gazed at the ground, but her thoughts were far behind her.
And with a voice that barely rose above a whisper—she began to speak.
About that night. About the escape. About the dark shadow and the laughter that still haunted her to this day.
Toru listened. He didn't interrupt. Didn't judge. Only bowed his head now and then in silence.
"…I know it's a heavy story," Aya said at last. "But I don't know why—I wanted you to know. I used to only talk to the cat. She… couldn't answer. Couldn't react. So I wasn't scared."
Toru gave a faint smile.
"If you're afraid I'd make fun of someone's death, you've got the wrong guy. Even for an alien, death's way too heavy to joke about."
At last, their eyes met.
There was no more confusion in Aya's eyes, and no more hesitation on Toru's face.
Only a small smile slowly forming between them—like the first dew after a long night.
Aya now knew Toru wasn't a bad person. And Toru understood that Aya hadn't refused to leave—something was still holding her back.
They spoke softly. About their worlds. About lives that felt different, but wounds that ran just as deep. About loss, and the simple wish to be understood.
The sky gradually darkened, orange fading into deep violet.
Toru stood up, brushing off his pants—half-dry now, though the shameful mark still lingered.
"Let's go home. I don't think I can handle another angry cat or one more of Ruka's sharp-tongued lectures."
Aya smiled, then gave a gentle nod.
"I've said everything. So, there's no reason to keep hiding."
They walked back together, following the narrow path through the trees. Toru was still grumbling about his pants.
"Seriously, this feels awful… This has got to be my most embarrassing moment ever."
Aya just laughed. Lightly, sincerely—and for the first time, free from the weight she'd been carrying.
After a while, the silhouette of the cemetery emerged through the thin mist. The place looked calmer now. And the tent had been neatly put back together.
Ruka stood not far from it, arms crossed. When she saw them approaching, she stepped forward.
"Welcome back," she said to Aya, with a rare, faint smile.
Then she turned to Toru.
"I just finished cleaning up one mess. Why'd you bring me another?"
Toru could only grin, raising his hands in surrender before quickly ducking into the tent, mumbling,
"I'm changing my pants…"
Aya and Ruka laughed together—a soft laughter that blended into the night air.
And that night, though the sky still held traces of cloud, their hearts felt lighter.
A bond once broken, had finally been tied again.