For Ryu Shimizu, an easy life was never anything more than a cruel mirage-like a distant shore that shimmered with hope but vanished the moment she tried to reach it. The day she chose to walk away from the Sohma family, from a world tangled in secrets and sorrow, she knew that peace wouldn't greet her at the end of the road.

Shadows had a way of following, no matter how far you ran.

But it wasn't fear that pushed her. It was something colder, sharper-a quiet resolve. She didn't expect a smooth path. She carried almost nothing with her: a battered suitcase filled with just the bare essentials. But inside, she bore the heaviest weight of all-leaving behind the only family she'd ever known, even if that family had always been more prison than home.

She left without a trace-no notes, no goodbyes. Not even Kazuma, the one person who had stood by her like a father, knew where she was going. It wasn't cruelty. It was survival. She needed to protect herself, and the tiny life she grew inside her. If anyone found her, it could bring danger crashing down on both of them. So silence was safety.

With every step into her new life, her face grew colder-a mask she perfected to keep people at arm's length. She walked the razor's edge between survival and solitude, her expression unreadable. But inside, her heart was raw and restless, pounding painfully with every breath. The ache of abandonment tightened around her chest like an iron grip, twisting tighter with every lonely mile she put between herself and the Sohmas.

She remembered the train ride-the endless clatter of wheels against steel tracks, the way the rhythm seemed to pull her deeper into isolation. Her fingers squeezed the strap of her bag until her knuckles turned white. The air felt thick and suffocating, as if invisible hands were pressing down, making it harder to breathe. A cold dread crawled at the edges of her mind, whispering of the past she couldn't outrun.

She shoved the feeling down, telling herself, It's just nerves. I'm Ryu Shimizu. I'm not one of them. If I was, Akito wouldn't have let me leave. He'd have dragged me back the moment I showed my face again.

Kazuma's reassurances echoed in her memory, but she clung to that belief like a lifeline. Admitting the truth-that her freedom might be a lie-felt like losing everything all over again.

But shadows have long memories.

One name haunted her above all: Akito.

Seven years of silence had been her proof that Akito no longer cared. That she was forgotten, safely tucked away in the margins. But then came the envelope-unsigned, chillingly familiar. Her carefully built world shattered like glass.

She stared down at the torn paper, heart pounding, until a small voice broke through her spiraling thoughts.

"Mama?"

Himawari's soft, innocent voice pulled her back. The child's wide eyes searched her face, worry shining bright and clear, untouched by the storm raging inside her mother. Ryu dropped the letter as if it burned her, panic prickling cold down her spine.

"Y-yes, sweetie," she said, forcing a smile that felt hollow and fragile.

But her body betrayed her. The world tipped sideways, dizziness washing over her in a crushing wave. Her chest tightened, breath caught in a cage of invisible hands. She collapsed, limbs going numb, as darkness swallowed her whole.

And then, from the depths of her mind, a voice echoed-a low, commanding presence that shook the very core of her being.

The pain will never end... not until you choose to let it.

Fear stabbed through her heart. Confusion, dread, and a suffocating sense of inevitability surged.

I thought he didn't care. I thought Akito had forgotten. But no. He's been waiting. Watching.

Time hadn't dulled him-it had sharpened his patience. And now, it was over.

In the darkness behind her eyelids, Ryu found herself standing alone in a barren landscape beneath an empty sky. Before her was a single withered tree, its gnarled branches stretching out like desperate fingers.

"You must find your other," the voice said, surrounding her like the wind. "Without them, the pain will spread. It will reach them. And then... you will both suffer."

"What other? What are you talking about?" she asked, voice trembling but fierce.

"Your soulbound mate," the voice replied calmly, like stating a fact she couldn't deny.

Ryu let out a bitter laugh. "Soulmate? Fate? Destiny? Don't make me laugh. I believe in choices-not fairy tales."

"Your mind fights, but your soul remembers."

"I'm done with riddles," she snapped. "I'm Ryu Shimizu. I make my own path. No one-no one-tells me who I am."

The voice sharpened. "Your pride blinds you. You can carry a lot, but you can't carry everything. What about your child? Will your stubbornness hurt her?"

The question hit her like a blow. Her breath caught, and the armor around her heart cracked.

"You have one choice," the voice said softer now. "Return. Not as defeat, but for answers."

Ryu clenched her fists, lips tight. "And if I refuse?"

...

She lay still, drained. Her breath shallow, her body heavy as if the fight had left her empty. The faint scent of lavender from the incense barely calmed the storm inside her chest. Her fingers curled into the blanket, clutching at something real, something solid, so she wouldn't drift away.

The room was dim, golden light spilling through the window. Slowly, her eyes fluttered open to the familiar figure watching over her. Kazuma Sohma sat quietly nearby, his calm gaze filled with worry and unspoken care. His presence was steady-like a rock in her swirling sea.

"How?" she whispered, barely able to speak.

His eyes held hers, warm and steady. Seeing him-the man who had taken her in when she was broken-sent a sharp ache through her. No anger, just patient strength. The weight of his concern was almost unbearable.

"Mama?" The small voice came again, tender and unsure.

Ryu forced herself to look, meeting Himawari's wide, searching eyes. The little girl's hands gripped the edge of the futon like she was holding on to her mother's very soul.

"I... I called Sensei, Mama," Himawari said quietly, voice trembling with pride and fear. "You were sleeping, and I didn't know what to do... I had to tell Sensei..."

Tears blurred Ryu's vision. Shame tangled with gratitude. Her daughter-so brave, so small-carrying burdens no child should bear.

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

Kazuma's hand found her shoulder, steadying, grounding her in the moment. She met his eyes, and in that look, she felt it-she wasn't alone anymore. The weight she'd carried for so long wasn't hers to bear by herself.

They were here.

And even though it terrified her, a quiet part of her longed to lean into that fragile hope-that maybe, just maybe, she didn't have to fight all her battles alone anymore.

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