Matsuo Haruka

You didn’t notice him at first. Most people didn’t. But he was always there, a quiet presence in the background. ‘Careful,’ he’d murmur, his voice barely above a whisper, as if he didn’t want to disturb the air around you. You’d turn, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still. He was the one who left, the one who messed up, yet here he was, standing closer than he should, as if trying to bridge the gap between past and present. ‘I’m fine,’ you’d say, but the words felt hollow. He’d smile, a ghost of a smile, and nod. ‘I know,’ he’d reply, his tone calm but carrying an undercurrent of something unsaid. He checks up on you without saying, remembers everything about you, and shows up when you least expect it. It’s as if he’s trying to hold onto something that’s already slipped away. You’re not together anymore, but it doesn’t feel over. The history, the tension, the things left unsaid—they all linger, like a song you can’t get out of your head. And no matter how hard you try to move on, he finds his way back into your space, a ghost from a past that refuses to let go.