For Ryu Shimizu, the notion of an easy life was always an unattainable illusion—a distant shore that shimmered with false promise before dissolving into a fog of reality. The day she chose to sever her ties with the Sohma family and step away from a world drenched in secrets and sorrow, she knew there would be no respite from the shadows that haunted her.

Yet, it was not fear that drove her, but resolve—a cold, clear certainty that her path would be fraught with challenges no matter where she went. She carried little with her—a single worn suitcase containing only the barest necessities—but in her heart, she carried the heaviest burden of all: the unspoken knowledge that she was leaving behind the only semblance of family she had ever known.

In her departure, she had left no traces, no letters, no hints of her destination. Even Kazuma, the man who had become her father in all but blood, was kept in the dark. It was an act born not of malice, but of necessity—a desperate bid to protect both herself and the fragile new life growing within her. She convinced herself that cutting ties was the only way to ensure their safety. To reveal her whereabouts would be to invite danger, a risk she could not afford.

Her demeanor had grown colder with each step into her new life, a carefully crafted mask of indifference that shielded her from prying eyes. She walked the narrow line between survival and solitude, her face an unreadable canvas devoid of weakness. Yet behind that stoic facade, a storm raged. Her heart, raw with the pain of abandonment and the ache of unspoken truths, throbbed with each beat. The tension of holding it all inside tightened around her chest like a vice.

The train ride away from the Sohma estate marked the first leg of her solitary journey. She remembered the sound of the wheels clattering against the tracks, each mechanical thud driving her deeper into isolation. Her hand had clutched the strap of her small bag so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The air around her felt suffocating, pressing in on her like an unseen force. Every breath came harder, her chest constricted by an inexplicable dread that gnawed at the edges of her mind.

She pushed the feeling away, burying it beneath layers of stubborn denial.

It's nothing. Just nerves. I'm Ryu Shimizu, not a Sohma. If I were truly one of them, the family head would never have let me leave. Akito would have dragged me back the moment I discovered the truth.

No matter how many times Kazuma assured her otherwise, she clung to this conviction as if it were a lifeline. To admit otherwise was to accept that her freedom had always been an illusion—that her escape had been allowed, not won.

Still, her thoughts betrayed her. Shadows of the past clung to her like mist, and one name—one presence—loomed larger than all the rest.

Akito.

She had spent years convincing herself that the family head had no interest in her. Seven years of silence had been her proof. Seven years of anonymity, of living in the margins, far from the cursed ties that bound her to the Sohmas. But when the envelope arrived—unsigned but unmistakable—her carefully constructed world shattered.

The torn envelope lay abandoned in her lap as a small voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Mama?"

Himawari's voice, sweet and questioning, jolted Ryu back into the present. Her daughter's wide, innocent eyes peered up at her with concern, oblivious to the weight her mother carried. Ryu dropped the letter as if it burned her, her heart racing as a chill swept down her spine.

"Ye—Yes, sweetie," she stammered, forcing a smile that did not reach her eyes.

But her body betrayed her. The world tilted sharply, her head spinning as a crushing pressure clamped down on her chest. Her vision blurred, and the ground seemed to rise up to meet her. She collapsed with a dull thud, her limbs going limp as darkness swallowed her whole.

As she slipped into unconsciousness, a voice echoed in the abyss of her mind. Deep and resonant, it reverberated through the void with an authority that could not be denied.

The pain will never end... not until I choose to allow it.

A dagger of fear pierced her heart. Confusion, dread, and a terrible sense of inevitability surged within her.

I thought he didn't care, she thought. I thought Akito had forgotten about me. But he hasn't. He's been waiting. Watching.

Time had not dulled his reach—it had merely given him patience. And now that patience had run out.

In the depths of her subconscious, Ryu found herself standing in a vast, featureless landscape. The sky above was a void, and before her stood a single withered tree, its gnarled branches clawing at the emptiness. The sense of loneliness was so profound that it pierced her soul.

"You must find your other," the voice spoke again, reverberating from all directions. "Without them, the pain will spread. It will reach them. And then... you will both suffer."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her voice sharp with defiance.

"Your soulbound mate," came the answer, calm and certain.

Ryu's lips curled into a bitter smile. "Soulmate? Don't make me laugh. I don't believe in fate, in destiny, or in some mythical other half. I make my own choices."

"Your mind resists, but your soul remembers."

"I'm tired of your riddles," she snapped, her anger flaring. "I am Ryu Shimizu. My path is my own. No one—not you, not Akito, not some abstract concept of fate—gets to define me."

The voice grew sharper. "Your pride blinds you. Your strength can carry you far, but it cannot carry you alone. And what of your child? Will you let your stubbornness be her undoing?"

The question struck her like a blow. The breath left her lungs, her resolve cracking under the weight of truth.

"You have one choice," the voice said, gentler now. "Return. Not in defeat, but in search of answers."

Ryu's fists clenched. "And if I refuse?"

Defeated, Ryu lay still, her breath shallow and her heart weighed down with a heaviness that seemed to sink her deeper into the futon beneath her. Her body felt fragile, each limb too heavy to move, as if her very spirit had been drained by the struggle she could no longer deny.

The faint smell of lavender from a nearby incense burner filled the air, its calming scent doing little to quell the tumult within her chest. Her hand trembled slightly, fingers curling into the fabric of the blanket as though she could anchor herself there—cling to anything tangible to stop herself from slipping further into the abyss of her own mind.

The room was dim, shadows from the evening sun casting long, golden streaks across the wooden floor. Slowly, she opened her eyes, the blurred vision sharpening just enough for her to take in the familiar, steadfast presence seated beside her. Kazuma Sohma, his expression calm but his eyes filled with worry, sat cross-legged, watching over her like a guardian who had weathered many storms. His strong, calloused hands rested lightly on his knees, yet his entire posture was poised as though ready to act at the first sign of distress.

"How?"

She felt his gaze settle on her, warm and steady. The sight of him, the man who had taken her in when she was a broken, frightened girl, brought a pang to her heart so sharp that she closed her eyes again, unable to hold it. There was no anger in his expression—only patience and quiet strength—but the weight of his concern was more than she could bear.

"Mama?" A small voice pierced through the haze of her thoughts, soft and hesitant, like the lightest touch on a wound that had not yet healed.

Ryu forced herself to look, her eyes landing on the bright, wide gaze of her daughter. Himawari's dark lashes framed her round, anxious eyes, and her little hands gripped the edge of the futon tightly as though holding on to her mother's very existence.

"I... I called Sensei, Mama," Himawari confessed quietly, her voice trembling with a mixture of pride and fear. She sniffled once, her small chin quivering. "You were sleeping, and I didn't know what to do... Mama... I being talking to him for a long time."

Tears welled in Ryu's eyes, blurring the edges of her daughter's worried face. Shame and gratitude warred within her as she stared at the small figure who had been her greatest source of strength—and her greatest vulnerability. The thought of Himawari being forced to act so bravely, of her child shouldering responsibilities no seven-year-old should have to bear, shattered something deep inside her.

"Himawari..." she whispered, her voice breaking like glass.

Kazuma's hand moved gently, reassuringly, to her shoulder, the weight of his touch grounding her in reality. She turned her head, meeting his steady gaze once more, and in that moment, she realized that the burden she had carried for so long was no longer hers alone. These people—this man who had been her father in every way that mattered, this little girl who looked at her with such fierce, unconditional love—would not let her fall alone.

They were here.

And though it terrified her, part of her longed to let herself be held, if only for a moment, in the fragile, uncertain hope that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to fight her battles in solitude anymore.

an: i never realized how much i missed ryu and himawari - I'm a terrible creator.