Chapter Four: The Persistence of Memory

LYREN'S POV

I got home close to eleven that night. My whole body felt like it was held together by string. My uniform still smelled faintly like steamed milk and sugar, and my fingers had flour stuck in the lines of my skin. I didn't even bother turning on the full light. The dim one near my bed was enough.

I dropped my bag by the door and just stood there, staring at the silence like it might give me something back.

My legs ached. My shoulders were tight from carrying trays all day. My stomach growled, but I didn't care. The hunger had become familiar background noise. It didn't even feel urgent anymore.

I sat at the edge of the bed, slowly peeling off my shoes. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and pressed my face into my hands.

So... it really happened that time?

The question just... slipped out. I hadn't meant to say it. But it had been sitting in my chest since that night.

I lifted my head and looked toward my desk.

The phone sat there, dark and still. The game hadn't made a sound all day. But I remembered that soft glow. That moment the screen lit up like it had been waiting for me.

Sylus.

I hadn't even meant to open the game that night. I didn't want comforting words or pixelated romance. I was too tired for fake things.

But the way he looked at me—calm, steady. The way he spoke, like he saw right through me without making me feel exposed.

"You're surviving. That's enough for now."

That sentence had echoed in my mind all day. Through the hours at the cake shop. Through the mindless class lectures. Through the stupid laughter from those girls who couldn't go one day without reminding me I didn't belong.

I let out a quiet laugh, the kind that didn't sound like a laugh at all.

"I'm losing it," I whispered. "Talking to a game. Feeling like it meant something."

But still... that night. It wasn't just comforting. It wasn't just good timing.

It felt like he knew.

And that terrified me more than it comforted me.

I looked at the phone again. It was blank. Just plastic and wires. A screen with someone else's code. It shouldn't have meant anything.

But I couldn't stop thinking about it. About him.

I didn't open the game tonight.

Not yet.

But I sat there in the dark, staring at the quiet screen like I was waiting for it to move again.

And for the first time in a long while...

I kind of hoped it would.

..

I couldn't stay away from the game anymore. I dove back into it, hoping, searching. Every time I entered Sylus's route, he was... different. The dialogue wasn't scripted. The responses were new.

"Did you miss me?" he asked one evening, during a scene that never used to exist.

I stared. I wanted to scream. "Yes," I whispered.

His eyes softened. "I've been trying to find a way back."

Back? I tapped the screen. "You remember?"

"I never forgot," he replied. "But something's wrong. I can't cross again... not like before."

I didn't know what that meant. Was it the glitch that brought him through? Or something else? Something emotional? Something born from love?

I began researching — game files, lore, fan theories. I joined forums. People were noticing changes in Sylus's character — subtle ones. New lines. Deeper emotions. But no one else had seen what I saw.

Only me.

Because I was the one he remembered.

Every night, I journaled. I left my phone beside the window. I whispered to the stars.

> "If there's a way back\, find it. I'll wait. I don't care how long it takes."

And slowly, something began to shift again. The stars outside flickered, one night brighter than usual. The screen warmed.

Then, another message.

> Your world is beautiful. But it's your heart I miss most.

He was still reaching for me. Through the veil. Through code. Through impossible boundaries.

---

As days went by, I worked harder than before. Not because I wanted to prove something—but because I had no choice.

The bills didn't care if I was tired. The rent didn't pause for emotions. Tuition certainly didn't wait for people like me to catch their breath.

I stopped keeping track of how many shifts I took. I just said yes to everything. Morning bakery runs, lunch rush at the tea shop, evening deliveries in the rain. I'd jump from place to place like some kind of ghost in a city that never stopped asking for more.

My health started to slip. Not all at once—just little things at first.

I'd wake up with headaches that didn't go away.

I got dizzy standing too fast.

My hands would go cold, even when it was hot.

Once, I passed out on the bus. Just for a second. Just long enough for a stranger to shake my shoulder and ask if I was okay. I told them I was fine. I always said I was fine. What else was I supposed to say?

Sleep became a luxury I couldn't afford, and food... well, I made do. A leftover bun here. Instant noodles when I had them. Some days, I didn't eat at all. It was easier than admitting how far behind I'd fallen.

But the worst part wasn't the hunger, or the pain in my joints, or the sore muscles that never healed. It was the silence.

Coming home to that dim, rented room.

Sitting in the dark with only the hum of the fridge and the weight of everything I wasn't saying.

Pretending I could still carry it.

I didn't tell Rina. I didn't tell anyone.

Because what was I supposed to say?

"I'm falling apart, but please don't worry"?

"I might break soon, but just ignore it"?

No one wanted to hear that.

So I just kept moving. Kept pretending.

Work. School. Work again.

Some nights I'd open my lphone and just stare at the game icon.

I wouldn't click it. Not always.

But it was there—waiting. Like a door I hadn't locked.

Sometimes I wondered if he'd appear again.

Sylus.

If he'd say something like before—something that made it feel like all of this hadn't swallowed me whole.

But most nights, I was too tired to check.I'd fall asleep sitting up. Still dressed. Still aching.

And dream of stars that felt too far away.

...

I was just done with my shift and going home, when... A haze drifted into my vision, like shadows moving underwater. My head felt heavy, like it was floating—no, like I was drifting out of myself. The screen blurred, the sound of the rain outside fading into a soft, hollow echo.

Then... I felt it.

A hand.

Warm.

It wrapped around mine—not sudden or forceful, but gentle. Familiar in a way that made my chest tighten. My fingers curled instinctively, and my breath caught.

Him.

I couldn't see clearly anymore. Everything around me dulled into gray and black. But I knew that feeling.

That warmth.

That quiet strength.

I didn't even fight it.

I let go.

Even as the rain poured outside, even as my skin remained damp and my socks squished inside my shoes, I didn't care.

I didn't care if I passed out right there, soaking and cold.

I didn't care if it was all in my head.

Because for the first time in weeks, I felt held.

And for the first time in forever... I didn't feel invisible....

...

It's already morning when I opened my eyes, everything felt... wrong.

At first, there was a light—soft, silver, almost glowing like starlight filtered through fog. The air didn't feel heavy anymore. I could breathe. My chest didn't ache. For one strange, still moment, it felt like I wasn't here. Like I had drifted into somewhere else.

And I could've sworn—

I could've sworn I felt a hand.

Warm. Familiar. Holding mine.

I sat up slowly, heart pounding, eyes scanning—searching for him.

Sylus.

But there was no one.

Just my room. Dim. Cold. Quiet.

The ceiling above me was the same one with the water stain I never fixed. The walls were dull, chipped. The smell of damp fabric and cheap soap clung to the air.

My jacket was still wet. My fingers were freezing. My back ached from the floor. The soft light was gone. The screen on my desk was dark.

It had all vanished—like it was never there to begin with.

I let out a slow, shaky breath, pressing a hand to my forehead. My skin was clammy. I felt sick. Weak.

Was it a dream?

I tried to recall every second, but it was already slipping—fading like fog under sunlight. I remembered stars. A voice. A touch. But none of it made sense.

It felt too real to be a dream.

And yet... what else could it have been?

I stared at the blank screen, half-hoping it would flicker back on. That he'd be there again. That maybe—just maybe—I hadn't imagined it all.

But nothing happened.

Just silence.

Just me.

Alone.

Again.

I pulled my knees to my chest, resting my forehead against them. The tears didn't come. I was too tired for that. Too numb. Too used to waking up from things that gave me hope just to watch them dissolve.

"Figures," I whispered to no one.

I didn't know what I wanted more—for it to have been real, or for it not to hurt so much that it wasn't.

But deep down, a part of me still clung to it. That warmth. That moment. That impossible feeling like someone saw me—really saw me—when I needed it most.

And that part of me... refused to let go.

...

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