Something Missing
“Many times, we meet someone who changes our life. Sometimes in reality. Sometimes in dreams.”
A loud explosion echoed through the darkness.
Noa’s eyes flew open.
She sat up suddenly, breathing hard as if she had fallen from somewhere far away.
For a few seconds, she could only stare blankly around her room.
Her bed.Her desk.
The pale morning light slipping through the curtains.
Everything was normal.
Too normal.
Even the messy clothes she had left on the chair last night were gone. Her mother must have cleaned the room again.
Noa slowly pressed a hand against her chest.
Her heart was still racing.
It felt so real.
Too real.
The door opened softly.
“Noa?” her mother asked gently. “What happened? Did you have a bad dream?”
Noa looked toward her, still dazed.
“I think… Mom…”
But the words stopped there.
Because she didn’t know how to explain it.
The dream was already fading.
Not completely.
Just enough to leave behind a strange ache she couldn’t understand.
Her mother sighed softly. “Come downstairs before breakfast gets cold.”
Then she left.
Noa stayed still for another moment, trying desperately to remember.
There was someone.
She was sure of it.
Someone standing beneath warm lights…
Someone looking at her like they had known her forever.
But the harder she tried to remember, the sharper the pain in her head became.
Noa winced and held her forehead.
An intense headache spread through her mind, making everything blurry for a second.
“Why can’t I remember…?”
She glanced toward the calendar hanging beside her desk.
June 11th. Tuesday.
The date somehow felt important.
But she didn’t know why.
After getting ready for school, Noa walked downstairs quietly.
The smell of toasted bread filled the kitchen.
Her mother placed a plate in front of her before sitting back down.
Noa stared silently at the toast on her plate.
Something still felt wrong.
Or maybe… missing.
She picked up the toast slowly, her thoughts still trapped somewhere between a dream and reality.
Noa took her cycle out of the gate and slowly started riding toward school.
The cool morning air brushed against her face, but her thoughts were still tangled inside the strange dream from earlier.
Lost in thought, she barely noticed another cycle suddenly overtaking her.
Noa instinctively slowed down.
A boy rode past her quietly, headphones resting over his ears as the morning sunlight flickered across his black hair.
For some reason…
she kept staring.
There was nothing unusual about him.
And yet something inside her chest tightened strangely.
As if she had seen him before.
Ding.
Ding.
The sudden sound of a cycle bell snapped Noa out of her thoughts.
She quickly turned her head.
“Wow,” Piko teased while cycling beside her. “Already staring at Leon this early in the morning?”
Noa blinked. “Leon…?”
Piko raised an eyebrow dramatically.
“Don’t tell me you forgot your own crush now.”
Crush?
Noa looked back toward the road ahead where the boy had already disappeared into the crowd.
A strange uneasiness settled inside her chest again.
Who… was he?
They rode their cycles toward school together.
The morning road slowly filled with students in uniforms, ringing bells, and scattered laughter. Trees lined the street, their leaves shaking gently in the wind as sunlight filtered through them in broken golden patches.
The school gate appeared ahead—loud, familiar, ordinary.
But today… something felt slightly off to Noa.
Inside the campus, everything looked normal.
Too normal.
Students walked in groups, talking and laughing like always. But Noa noticed something strange—especially among the girls. Their behavior felt different today… more noticeable, more active, like the whole place had slightly shifted in energy.
But she couldn’t understand why she felt that way.
Maybe it was just her mind.
Or maybe she wasn’t fully here yet.
She and Piko walked toward their classroom together.
Noa took her seat quietly.
The chair felt familiar, but her thoughts didn’t settle.
They kept drifting.
Back to that boy.
Back to that feeling.
Leon.
But every time she tried to hold onto the thought, it slipped away again like water through her fingers.
Piko leaned over suddenly.
“Noa! Noa!”
Noa blinked. “Yes?”
“What are you thinking about so seriously?” Piko asked, narrowing her eyes playfully.
Noa hesitated for a moment.
“…Leon?”
Piko’s face immediately lit up.
“Leon!”
She leaned back in her chair dramatically. “So go and talk to him then.”
Noa frowned slightly. “What would I even talk to him about? I don’t know him.”
Piko stared at her for a second.
Then burst out laughing.
“You don’t know him? Then what are you even thinking about him for?”
Noa looked away, slightly confused.
“…I don’t know.”
Piko kept smiling like it was the funniest thing she had heard all morning.
Before Noa could say anything more, the classroom door opened.
The class teacher walked in.
The room slowly settled.
Chairs adjusted.
Voices faded.
And just like that…
the morning continued.
After class, the classroom slowly emptied, leaving behind the soft scrape of chairs and scattered voices fading into the corridor.
Noa stayed seated for a moment longer than usual.
Something about her thoughts still felt… unfinished.
Like a page torn out of a book she couldn’t remember reading.
“Piko,” she called softly.
Piko, who was stuffing her bag lazily, turned around. “Hmm?”
Noa hesitated.
“…Who is Leon?”
The room went quiet for half a second.
Then—
Piko walked over and placed her hand dramatically on Noa’s forehead.
“Are you sick?”
Noa blinked in confusion. “What are you doing?”
Piko leaned in slightly, narrowing her eyes like she was seriously checking her condition.
“You don’t sound normal. Did you hit your head or something?”
Noa pulled back. “I’m fine. I just asked a question.”
Piko stared at her for a moment longer, then slowly dropped her hand.
“…Noa, don’t joke like that.”
“I’m not joking.”
That answer made Piko pause.
The teasing expression on her face faded a little.
“Leon,” she repeated slowly, as if testing the name. “You seriously don’t remember?”
Noa shook her head.
Piko let out a breath, half laugh, half disbelief.
“You always followed him around,” she said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You used to show up where he was. You’d buy him water after practice sometimes—don’t act like you didn’t.”
Noa frowned slightly.
“…Me?”
Piko nodded quickly. “Yes, you.”
Silence fell between them.
Noa tried to imagine it.
Her.
Following someone she didn’t even remember.
But the picture refused to form properly.
It slipped away the moment she tried to hold it.
“That doesn’t sound like me,” Noa said quietly.
Piko tilted her head. “Well… it was you.”
A strange heaviness settled in Noa’s chest.
“And Leon?” she asked after a pause. “What did he do?”
Piko hesitated this time.
Then she shrugged, a little less casually than before.
“He didn’t really… react much.”
Noa’s fingers tightened slightly on her bag.
“…What do you mean?”
Piko glanced toward the corridor, as if choosing her words carefully.
“He’s always been like that. People like him anyway. Girls especially. He just—keeps his distance.”
A small pause.
Then, softer:
“He never really looked at you differently either.”
The words landed strangely.
Not like an insult.
Not like kindness either.
Just… emptiness.
Noa didn’t answer.
Instead, she stood up slowly and walked toward the window.
Outside, the school ground stretched under pale afternoon light.
And there he was.
Leon.
On the basketball court.
Moving quietly between drills, headphones resting around his neck, expression unreadable even from a distance.
Around him, noise existed.
But he didn’t seem part of it.
Noa stared.
Something inside her tightened again.
Not clearly painful.
Not clearly familiar.
Just—
missing.
As if her eyes recognized him before her mind could explain why.
Behind her, Piko leaned against the desk.
“You’re acting weird today,” she said lightly, trying to bring back her usual tone.
But Noa didn’t look away from the court.
“I think…” she said slowly, almost to herself, “…I know him.”
A pause.
Then quieter:
“But not like this.”
The wind moved through the open window, brushing her hair softly.
And for a moment, it almost felt like someone had answered her from somewhere she couldn’t see.
Not in words.
Just in silence.
