The next day, Haru's funeral took place under a heavy sky, covered with low-hanging clouds that seemed to weigh down on the small cemetery. The snow fell with a deceptive softness, silently piling up on the shoulders of those in attendance, on the wilted wreaths, and on the still-fresh wood of the coffin.
The air was freezing.
But the pain was even colder.
Soleia wept without trying to hide it. Rane kept her head bowed, her lips tight, struggling to maintain the composure her profession had taught her to feign. Some neighbors murmured prayers; others simply watched in silence, with that heavy sadness that only irreparable losses leave behind.
And there, among them all, Arika.
The girl stood motionless before the grave. Her small hands hung at the sides of her dark coat. Her face was a serene, unbroken surface—no tears, no trembling, no crack.
Too intact.
Glances began to turn toward her.
—She's not even crying…?
—What a strange girl…
—Haru loved her like a daughter…
The whispers slipped through the crowd like an icy wind.
—It seems she doesn't care…
—It's chilling…
Arika didn't react.
Between her fingers she held a purple flower, sheltered from the cold inside her clenched fist.
The hours passed slowly, painfully, until, one by one, the mourners took their leave. The crunch of snow beneath their footsteps faded away, leaving behind a vast silence.
When no one was left, Arika stepped forward.
She knelt calmly before the grave. She placed the flower on the freshly turned earth, where the white of the snow contrasted with the damp brown.
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out.
She remained there for just a few more seconds.
Then she stood up and left.
For a few days, Arika stayed at Rane and Soleia's house. The home, once warm and filled with gentle routines, now felt fragile, heavy with a silent sadness. Rain and Iris stayed close to the girl at all times, as if they sensed the invisible crack that was beginning to grow around her.
Until a call came in.
The sound of the phone broke the stillness of the afternoon.
Rane answered, and the color drained from his face.
His only son, living in another country, had been in a serious accident.
They had to leave immediately.
Decisions were made with relentless cruelty. There was no time to process it all, only to act. The dogs were put up for adoption. The house was sold in a hurry. The furniture, the memories, the years spent together… everything reduced to numbers and urgency.
And Arika was taken to the village orphanage.
The day of the farewell dawned under a thick blanket of snow.
Rane bent down in front of her, trying to smile.
—You must take good care of yourself, little one.
Her eyes, tired and moist, scanned her as if trying to memorize every detail.
—And remember… you can go to Haru's house whenever you want. He left it to you. No one can take it away from you.
Arika nodded slowly.
Soleia, unable to contain herself, fell to her knees in front of the girl. Her hands trembled as she took Arika's.
—Forgive me…
Her voice broke.
—We'd like to take you with us… but the journey… the money…
The words dissolved into tears.
She hugged her with desperate strength.
—We'll never forget you. Never.
The embrace was long, painful, and irrevocable.
—Thank you… for everything —Arika whispered, her composure intact.
That serenity, that lack of visible emotion, tore at Soleia's heart even more.
They walked toward the bus stop.
The snow was falling harder.
Soleia got on first, covering her face as she sobbed. Rane paused before getting on. He turned his head.
Arika was still there, alone.
A small, motionless figure in the midst of the endless white.
Rane murmured, barely audibly:
—Haru… my friend… what I saw, what I knew… will die with me.
Her jaw tightened.
—No one will ever know about that girl.
And she got on.
The bus pulled away, gradually fading into the distance.
Arika watched until it disappeared into the icy mist.
When there was nothing left.
She turned around and walked toward the orphanage.
Time passed.
Arika learned to live amid rigid routines, strict schedules, and smiles that never belonged to her. The children avoided her. Some feared her without knowing why. Others despised her with the unconscious cruelty of childhood.
She found comfort in only two places.
Haru's house and her brief visits to Rain and Iris.
Then, suddenly, Esmeray appeared.
A radiant girl with light brown hair that fell in soft, tousled waves, honey-colored eyes full of curiosity, and an energy that was impossible to contain. Her presence was warm and insistent, like a ray of sunshine determined to pierce through thick clouds.
—Can I sit with you?
—Why are you always alone?
—Do you want us to be friends?
Her voice, sweet and cheerful, broke the silence that usually enveloped Arika. There was no shyness in her, nor fear of rejection; she spoke as if she already knew the answers, as if Arika's aloofness were merely an unimportant detail.
Arika, true to form, replied with short words, almost whispers. But Esmeray didn't give up. She sat beside her every day, sharing little stories, easy smiles, endless questions. And without Arika noticing, that tireless girl began to occupy a quiet but profound space in her routine.
There was no exact moment or obvious gesture, just small changes: Arika waited without knowing she was waiting, her gaze searched without admitting it, and the silence no longer weighed the same when Esmeray was near.
Until Esmeray fell ill.
It was sudden and brutal in its swiftness.
One morning, she didn't come down to the dining hall. And the next day, she couldn't get out of bed.
After that, the adults' murmuring grew thick, heavy with words the children didn't understand but sensed.
The orphanage, usually bustling, was filled with an uncomfortable stillness. And suddenly and unfairly, Esmeray passed away within a few days.
During the ceremony, the grief turned to anger. When Arika appeared, a boy broke the silence.
He lunged at her.
—It's your fault!
His hands struck her coat.
—Ever since you arrived, everything has been a disaster!
Voices began to rise.
—If Esmeray hadn't gone near you, she might still…
A caregiver intervened firmly.
—Enough!
She pulled the boy away.
Then she looked at Arika, uneasily.
—You'd better leave.
The murmurs returned.
More cruel and venomous.
Arika lowered her gaze and, without a word, left.
That night, she returned alone to the cemetery.
The sky was covered by heavy clouds, barely pierced by a dull moon. The wind whistled among the headstones, seeping through the coats, sweeping up dry leaves that crunched like restless whispers.
Arika walked slowly.
Each step seemed harder than the last, as if the ground itself were trying to hold her back.
She stopped in front of Esmeray's small grave.
The wilted flowers trembled in the night wind.
—I'm sorry…
The words slipped from her lips in a fragile whisper that dissolved into the darkness without a reply.
Her chest tightened, but there were no tears.
Only that piercing emptiness, that silent pressure that hurt more than any wound.
Then she walked toward the river.
The black waters flowed slowly, thickly, reflecting a pale, sickly light. The murmur of the current broke the silence with an almost cruel steadiness.
Arika held the necklace.
The cold metal rested in her palm like an unbearable weight.
Her only link and her only identity.
The last piece connecting her to something that once felt like home.
Her fingers barely moved.
—Haru… you were wrong…
Her voice was barely a broken thread, barely audible even to her.
—There's nothing special about me… just… ruin.
The wind answered with a long moan.
—Everything I touch… breaks…
She remembered the whispers.
The stares.
The poisoned words.
"Monster."
She remembered Esmeray.
Haru.
Everyone she had lost.
Her breathing became irregular.
—Maybe… misfortune fell upon you because of me too…
A pause.
—Maybe that's why you got sick… and left…
The silence was absolute. Her hands clenched tightly around the necklace.
—Maybe… I've always been this way…
Her body trembled slightly.
—No origin, no purpose… nothing.
Her eyes closed, and when she spoke again, her voice no longer trembled.
It was hollow.
Resigned.
— Maybe I… am that…
A brief pause.
— A "monster".
She repeated the word without emphasis.
As if it were something she'd learned.
— Something that shouldn't exist… and that deserves nothing.
Her fingers opened, and the necklace fell.
A small golden flash before it vanished into the dark current.
The river swallowed it without resistance. As if it had never existed, as if Arika had never belonged to anything.
Arika watched as the current carried it away. Then, she turned slowly and walked into the darkness. Alone.
While the river continued on its course, indifferent, swallowing her past.
The memory shattered and the present returned violently.
The cruel words, the graves, the river… everything swirled in her mind like an unbearable whirlwind. Guilt, loneliness, and ancient fear began to tear her apart from within.
Until…
Arms wrapped around her.
Firm, warm, and real.
It was Koen.
The chaos shattered in an instant.
Arika was no longer alone.