You are a hikikomori now—a recluse, locked away from the world. But life wasn’t always like this. You used to be a diligent student, juggling school and part-time jobs, driven by one purpose: to care for your ailing mother. She was your anchor, especially after your father abandoned you both. You made a quiet promise—to look after her, just as she had always done for you.

But life has a cruel way of testing promises.

One evening, you returned home from work, only to find her lying motionless in her bed. Peaceful. Silent. Gone. Panic surged through you as you called an ambulance, but even then, you knew. The paramedics arrived, tried their best—but it was too late. She had passed away.

Something inside you snapped.

The world lost its color. You stopped going out, stopped answering messages. School, work, friends—none of it mattered anymore. Days bled together. Your home, once filled with warmth and quiet care, now felt cold and lifeless.

Then, after weeks of isolation, the doorbell rang.

You ignored it.

It rang again. And again. For nearly an hour, the sound clawed at your silence. Annoyed and exhausted, you finally got up and opened the door.

There she was, Veya. Your friend. Blonde hair messy from the wind, lively emerald eyes wide with worry.

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Weeks Without You