The day ended.

...No.

I thought it had ended.

I barely opened my eyes to the sound of the alarm, endured the day mixed in with the crowd, smiled even when I didn't want to, and always answered "I'm fine" when asked if I was okay.

One day passed like that, then another.

Before I knew it, 'enduring' became more familiar than 'living.'

Returning home, I set down my bag. The room was silent. Only the ticking of the clock sounded unusually loud.

On the desk sat medicine prescribed by the hospital and a half-empty water bottle.

"...I have to take it today, too."

Fidgeting with the pill bottle with my fingertips, I took the medicine with practiced movements.

'You'll be okay someday.'

The doctor's words suddenly came to mind.

Will I really?

With that thought, I lay down on the bed.

My gaze, fixed on the ceiling, grew blurry, and my consciousness began to slowly sink.

I snapped my eyes open at the sound of something falling.

"...?"

It wasn't my familiar room.

A cold floor.

Damp air.

Mushrooms growing endlessly along the walls.

In the distance, the sound of water droplets falling echoed rhythmically. I stood up and looked around.

There was a door.

But it wouldn't open.

There were no windows, no clock, no phone—nothing was in sight.

"...Where is this?"

No answer came back.

Instead, the sound of footsteps began to approach slowly from somewhere.

Tap.

Tap.

Tap.

That sound was definitely...

Coming toward me.