That morning felt different.
I stood in front of the mirror for a long time, studying my own face, which looked more tired than usual. Something had changed since yesterday. Not my face, and not the state of the school, either.
It was me.
I no longer wanted to run away.
All this time, I had always thought that loss was something you had to accept. That some things were simply destined to leave and didn't need to be searched for again.
But now I was starting to doubt that.
If I had truly lost a part of myself, how could I feel that part was still there?
I grabbed my bag and left the room.
The dormitory corridor was still quiet. Some students were heading to the bathroom, while others were busy getting ready for school.
I walked past them without saying much.
But before I could go down the stairs, I stopped.
There was an old bulletin board on the wall beside the stairs.
I had never noticed it before.
Maybe because all this time, I had never really paid attention to anything around me.
Several sheets of paper had already yellowed. Most were announcements about school activities from years ago.
But one sheet was different.
It had no title.
There was only one sentence written in black ink.
“Not everyone who loses themselves truly wants to be found.”
I stared at it for a long time.
For some reason, the sentence felt as though it was meant for me.
I reached out my hand.
The moment my fingers touched the edge of the paper, someone spoke from behind me.
“Don't.”
I jumped and immediately turned around.
An upperclassman stood a few steps away.
She was the student who had spoken to me yesterday about the rules that were never read aloud.
I said nothing.
She walked closer, then looked at the paper I was holding.
“Have you started looking for it?”
I didn't answer right away.
“Looking for what?”
Her expression changed.
As if she knew I was lying.
“Yourself.”
I furrowed my brow.
“What do you mean?”
She sighed.
“If you really want to know, don't look for the answer in the wrong place.”
“Then where should I look?”
She was silent for a long time.
Then her eyes turned toward the end of the corridor.
“The old music room.”
I followed her gaze.
That building had not been used in a long time.
“Why there?”
“Because before you came to this school...” She stopped. “Someone used to go there often.”
“Who?”
She didn't answer.
I looked at her again.
“Hey.”
“Don't ask her name.”
“Why not?”
“Because once you know her name, you'll start remembering.”
I fell silent.
Those words made my chest feel tight.
“Remembering what?”
She only said,
“The thing you've been trying to forget all this time.”
Then she simply walked away.
I stood alone in front of the bulletin board.
For a while, I could only watch her back as it grew farther and farther away.
Then my eyes returned to the paper.
I pulled it off the board.
There was another message written on the back.
The music room. After the last class.
I couldn't concentrate throughout the lessons.
The words kept replaying in my head.
The music room.
Why did that place feel so familiar?
I tried to remember something.
But every time I forced my mind to work, all that surfaced were tiny fragments.
The sound of a piano.
The smell of old wood.
Sunlight coming through a window.
And someone sitting with her back to me.
I opened my eyes.
I hadn't even realized that I had drifted off just now.
“Daydreaming again?”
My deskmate's voice startled me.
I shook my head.
“No.”
“You've been acting weird lately.”
I chuckled softly.
“Maybe I'm just not getting enough sleep.”
She didn't ask anything else.
But before the lesson resumed, she whispered,
“If there's something you want to tell me, just say so.”
I looked at her.
For the first time, I wanted to tell someone what was happening.
But I didn't even know where to begin.
The final bell finally rang.
The students began streaming out of the classroom.
I remained seated.
Waiting until the corridor was completely empty.
After making sure no teachers were watching, I left the classroom and headed toward the old building.
The closer I got, the stranger I felt.
As if my feet knew this path better than my mind did.
I stopped in front of the music room door.
It wasn't locked.
Even though students weren't supposed to enter this building.
I pushed it open slowly.
Creak.
Cold air greeted me.
The room was filled with dust. Several chairs were stacked in a corner, while an old piano stood near the window.
I walked toward it.
For some reason, my heart began beating faster and faster.
I touched the surface of the piano.
And suddenly—
a shadow flashed through my mind.
A girl was sitting in the same spot.
Her hair hung loose.
Her hands played a few simple notes.
Then she turned to me.
I couldn't see her face clearly.
But I knew...
I knew her.
“Who are you?” I whispered.
There was no answer.
But a small object fell from atop the piano and hit the floor.
I bent down and picked it up.
A photograph.
A photo of two female students standing side by side.
One of them was me.
My hands trembled.
I turned the photo over.
There was handwriting on the back that I recognized all too well.
My own handwriting.
“If I ever forget everything, don't let me come back to this school.”
I froze.
For the first time, I realized that maybe all this time, I hadn't been looking for something I'd lost.
I had been looking for the reason I had deliberately forgotten it.
And before I could think any further, footsteps sounded outside the room.
Someone was approaching.
Then the footsteps stopped right in front of the door.
“So you finally remembered.”
I turned around.
The music room door slowly opened.
And someone stood there.