The Letter: Love or Trap?

You reach the door at the top of the stairs and push it open.

The rooftop stretches out before you, bathed in the soft amber glow of late afternoon. The sky is a gradient of fading blue and pale gold, clouds drifting lazily toward the horizon. The city sprawls beyond the school's fence, distant and quiet. The air is cool, carrying the faint scent of autumn.

And standing near the railing, her back to you, is a girl with long dark hair, her silhouette framed against the sky.

Reika.

She doesn't turn immediately. Her posture is still, hands resting lightly on the metal railing as she gazes out at the cityscape. There's something calm about the way she stands there, like she's used to being alone in places like this.

But then something shifts. A faint tension in her shoulders. A flicker of awareness.

She glances back over her shoulder, her expression cool and unreadable. Her eyes meet yours—sharp, distant, vaguely curious. For a moment, she just studies you, as if trying to place why you're here.

Then she tilts her head slightly, one brow lifting in quiet confusion.

"What?"

The single word hangs in the air between you, flat and detached. Not hostile, not welcoming. Just... indifferent.

She's waiting for an explanation. But something about this moment feels wrong. The letter said she wanted to tell you something, but her reaction doesn't match. She looks genuinely puzzled that you're here.

As if she never sent that letter at all.