Chapter 3: Contact
And for the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure if she was scared...
...or intrigued.
.
.
.
The door slammed shut as if it could block everything that happened during the day. Yui leaned against it, overwhelmed. The incident in the parking lot kept replaying in her head on loop—the horrified scream of that lady, her panicked apologies, the scolding, the utter ridiculousness of it all.
"Urghh!!! What was I even thinking?" Yui screeched in deep frustration, clutching her fists in the air.
She sighed, toes curling against the linoleum floor. She calmed herself and stood up.
"All I want right now is good food and good sleep," Yui thought to herself while heading to the kitchen.
She grabbed her half-finished bottle of red wine, popped the cork, and poured herself a glass. She stared at it for a long moment, completely zoned out. She wanted to chug the glass in one go but held herself back. On her way out, she reached for a packet of potato wafers from her pantry to munch on.
She plopped beside her bay window, sipping her freshly poured wine—but the wine didn't comfort her this time.
Yui had so many questions swarming inside her, so many thoughts in a fraction of a second. She put the glass of wine on her bay window and reached for the old shoebox of Polaroids.
Yui stared at the box, contemplating whether she should open it or not. She leaned back on the window, with the box comfortably lying on her lap, as she couldn't muster the courage to relive all the memories from her childhood again today.
But she wanted some distraction from her thoughts, which kept drifting. To him. The man in the dental chair with that unsettling calm, silver-white hair, and eyes like thunderclouds. Yui hugged her knees tighter. She didn't know him—but somehow, he was already haunting her quietest moments.
Yui got up, shaking the thoughts out, and decided to get ready for bed. She changed into her nightdress and reached for her bathroom door's knob. The memory struck her in the middle of brushing her teeth.
Yui paused, toothbrush mid-air, foam clinging to her lip, as the image of the pink mullet guy's face replayed in her mind—specifically, that faint scar. It was a very obvious scar, and his smile was creepy. The shape of the scar told a silent story.
Military? Yakuza? Some kind of trauma?
She swiftly rinsed her mouth and walked straight to her laptop, heart thudding harder than it should. Opening a browser, she hesitated—this is crazy—before typing:
"Tokyo black Mercedes"
Obviously, nothing came up. Just a bizarre mix of black Mercedes pricing and some true crime forums.
She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling. What the hell am I doing? Her gaze flicked toward her phone. Should I ask the barista if they know them? He visits that café often, maybe...
Her thumb hovered over her messages before she tossed the phone on the bed.
"This is not healthy," she muttered aloud, burying her face in her hands. "I need a life. Or maybe just a nap."
Next Day~
The morning at the clinic started like any other—patients filing in, the hum of sterilizers, Shiori yawning louder than socially acceptable. Yui was halfway through reviewing a dental chart when the receptionist buzzed in.
"Ma'am, there's a package for you."
Yui raised a brow. "For me?"
A small, gracefully wrapped box sat on the counter—no sender name, no brand logo, just clean, dark wrapping and a satin ribbon. Intrigued, she took it into her office. Shiori trailed behind like a clingy cat.
Yui acknowledged her presence and opened the package. A bottle of red wine was sitting inside, neatly nestled in a velvet lining. Not the supermarket kind—this was luxurious and expensive. The label was French, vintage. A folded note was tucked beside it.
Yui opened it with cautious fingers.
Thanks for not flinching.
– M
That was it. No name. No clues. Just that one cryptic sentence and a single letter.
Shiori cluelessly said, "M? M as in Mikey from yesterday?"
Yui stared at it, a chill crawling down her spine. Yesterday flashed in front of her eyes. Her blood ran cold. The clinic. The man. M? He saw me…?
"Or it could be your secret admirer?" Shiori giggled, leaning over her shoulder. "Oh, or a very classy stalker."
Yui quickly shoved the note and bottle into her drawer. "It's probably a thank-you gift," she muttered.
But her heartbeat didn't agree.
The afternoon sun filtered through the blinds as Yui prepared for her next appointment. The name on the chart was unfamiliar—Hajime K. A routine cleaning. Simple.
But the moment he stepped in, the air shifted.
Tall. Composed. Dressed in all black. His face held no expression, but the energy—the silence, the stillness—was hauntingly familiar. Her pulse spiked. He wasn't him, but he felt like him. Cold, unreadable, like standing in a shadow that didn't move.
Yui went through the motions—polite, professional, careful not to let her hands tremble. The man didn't flinch, didn't speak. Just watched.
Once the procedure was done, he stood, nodded once, and placed a small folded note on her tray before walking out without a word.
Heart pounding, Yui opened it. Neatly written, block letters:
Your name came up. That's not always good.
Be careful what you dig into, Doctor.
She stared at the words, ice flooding her veins. Her name came up? What did that mean? Who was watching her? Why?
The note slipped from her fingers and landed next to the unopened wine bottle in her drawer.
Something had shifted.
And she was no longer just a dentist.
The clinic was quiet after hours, but Yui's thoughts were anything but.
She sat at her window with a cup of jasmine tea—no wine tonight. Her nerves were too frayed for alcohol. The unread crime novel lay open in her lap, pages untouched. Her eyes weren't on the words but on his onyx eyes, the chill of the new patient's warning, the note in her drawer.
Your name came up.
Yui ran her fingers along the edge of the book, her mind spinning faster than she wanted to admit. Logic screamed at her to walk away, to forget the note, the gift, the eyes that felt like they saw through her.
But curiosity—it itched under her skin like a mosquito bite she couldn't stop scratching.
Who was he? Why her?
Why did he thank her for not flinching?
She looked at the Polaroid beside her mug—a photo of her and her late grandfather. He used to say, "A good doctor pays attention not just to the body, but to what the patient doesn't say."
She closed the crime novel gently and reached for her laptop.
If this was a story, she was already part of it.
Might as well write the next chapter herself.