Nara stopped looking for Naya for three days. Not because her curiosity had disappeared, but quite the opposite. She had simply begun to fear what she might find.
Ever since that last message, one sentence had kept circling in her head: Don’t trust anyone, Nara! She didn’t know who had written it, and she didn’t know whether those anonymous messages were meant to help her or mess with her.
And the most troubling part was one possibility she didn’t want to consider: ‘What if all her suspicions had been wrong this whole time?’ For the first time, Nara tried to do something she had never done before: stop looking for evidence, checking photos, playing the tapes, and contacting her mother for information. She didn’t even go back to her grandmother’s house. To take her mind off things, she returned to her routine.
But normal life no longer felt normal once someone began doubting their own thoughts. Even simple things could turn into questions that kept repeating in their head, disturbing them and draining their energy. When Maya took four hours to reply to a message, Nara immediately thought: ‘She’s avoiding me.’ When her coworker whispered with someone else in the corner of the room, Nara felt like they were talking about her. When her mother didn’t call as usual, Nara assumed she was deliberately distancing herself. Everyone seemed suspicious, every silence felt like rejection, and every distance felt like betrayal. Nara began to realize something uncomfortable. Maybe the problem wasn’t that everyone had changed. Maybe it was the way Nara saw them that had changed.
Maya finally asked her to meet up. They sat in a small, fairly crowded café. Nara had deliberately chosen the place because she felt safer surrounded by lots of people. She thought the noise might dull the discomfort in her mind and emotions. Maya arrived twenty minutes late, and Nara didn’t say anything—not even asking or confirming why. But inside her head, a story had already taken shape: Maya was starting to distance herself. Maybe she knew something. Maybe she was talking to my mother. Maybe they had been working together all along.
“I’m sorry I’m late. Something came up.” Maya sat down and set her bag aside. Nara nodded and smiled. “It’s okay.” At least, that was what Nara answered internally, though not out loud. Maya seemed to notice. “Are you mad?” “No.” “You look mad.” “I said I’m not.” Maya fell silent, visibly uncomfortable. To break the awkwardness, Nara took a sip of her drink. A few seconds later, Nara said, “Are you afraid of me?” “Why would I be afraid?” Maya looked confused and met Nara’s gaze. “Because you’ve been acting weird lately.” Though her voice held a hint of hesitation, Nara finally said it. “Weird how?” “Like you’re hiding something.” Maya stared at her for a while, then sighed. “I actually feel like you’re the one hiding something.” This time, Maya’s gaze seemed to pierce Nara, who responded defensively. “Me?” “Yeah.” “What am I hiding?” Maya didn’t answer, and her silence only made Nara more certain of what she had been thinking lately. “See? You can’t even answer.” Nara stirred her drink, her tone suggesting she had won the argument. “I’m not answering because I don’t want to fight.” Maya said it as if she were explaining something to a little kid, which made Nara give a small laugh. “So now I’m the one who likes to pick fights?” Nara grew even more defensive, her voice rising. “I didn’t say that.” “But you think it.” Maya looked at her, then said slowly, “Sometimes you get angry at other people over something you’re actually feeling yourself. You’re just confused and looking for someone to take your emotions out on.”
Nara fell silent. She didn’t like what Maya had said. Not because it was wrong, but because it felt too close, too accurate. Those were the last words Maya said before finally leaving Nara behind, visibly struggling to suppress her emotions.
That night, Nara reopened their conversation and read through their old messages. There was nothing strange. Maya had been late replying several times, but Nara knew how busy she was with the project she was working on. Nara should have been able to understand without overthinking it. Maya had asked about how Nara was doing before. She had also reminded Nara to stop investigating the past when it started wearing her down, because after that incident, Maya had seen Nara become a different person. Even her work productivity had declined, affecting the team—including Maya.
There was no evidence that Maya was hiding anything. All there was was Nara’s subjective interpretation, labeling Maya according to negative assumptions born from her own overthinking. She reread the message: ‘Are you starting to remember again?’ The message Maya had sent felt strange, and Nara suddenly realized something. It had been sent three months ago.
At the time, Nara had been telling Maya about a recurring childhood dream—a dream about a house, a door, and a little girl. Nara opened that old conversation and read through the whole thing. And there, just a few messages before Maya’s question, Nara found her own words: “I feel like I used to have a childhood friend at Grandma’s house, but I don’t know who.”