The city never really slept.

Even at 2 am, the light from Miyu’s monitor washed her small apartment in a pale blue glow, the hum of her monitor was louder than her own heartbeat.

Coffee cups crowded at the edge of her desk- some half full, some weeks old and a sketchpad lay beside her tablet, untouched.

The blinking cursor waited, as if the tiny flash of light might tell her what to draw next. Her tablet screen glowed with the last panel of her manga- unfinished, where the colours should have been.

“You’re behind again” her editor’s voice echoed in her mind. “We can't keep waiting Miyu, everyone delivers on time, you used to be so promising”.

“Yes I'll finish it by today” she said, but it was tomorrow already.

A message popped up on her screen

[Sato- editor]: The deadline is in four hours. No more excuses. If this keeps up, we’ll have to hand this series to someone else.

She pressed her stylus down, trying to sketch, but the line came out shaky.

Once people used to say she was too good

Too kind. Too soft. Too much of a perfectionist

They used to tell her, “Miyu, you’d burn yourself out if you keep being this nice”.

And she had.

Now, those same people said she wasn’t good enough anymore.

“You’ve lost your spark.”

“You’re not like before.”

“Maybe Tokyo’s too big for you.”

Each word had built a quiet wall inside her– until she stopped reaching out at all.

She pressed her stylus against the tablet screen. Drew a single curve- stopped midway. It looked like a hand reaching for something it couldn’t touch.

“I used to draw better,” she whispered. No one answered. The silence of the room felt heavier than usual, like it had soaked up every word she’d never said aloud. Miyu leaned back, rubbing her eyes. Her reflection in the dark window stared back- tired, 26, unsure if she was still the same girl who once believed stories could change people.

She wondered when she’d last laughed with someone who actually listened. Her phone buzzed again, this time from her mother. “Miyu, it’s been years, just come home for a few days. The house misses your footsteps.”

She ignored it. Tokyo was everything she’d dreamed of- until it wasn’t. Now, it just felt like a place that forgot how to be kind.

The stylus slipped from her fingers. She watched it roll across the desk and fall to the floor, the soft clink echoing louder than the city outside.

She pressed her face into her hands. For a second, she wanted to cry, but even tears felt like too much effort

Her phone buzzed again, this time she opened it. “Your father’s bookstore is still standing, it's been quiet since he passed. I could use your help for a bit.”

She read the message again and again until her eyes blurred. Her father’s bookstore- she hadn’t been there since his funeral. She promised to visit, she never did.

Now it stood there without him, collecting dust and memories she’d run from.

Her throat tightened. “I’m sorry, dad,” she whispered into the empty room.

She turned off her monitor.

The city light outside still burned bright, but suddenly looked cold.

“Maybe…maybe I just need to see it once more.” she told herself.

She pulled her suitcase from under the bed that had gathered a thin film of dust - a sign of how long she’d stayed in one place without truly living. When she unzipped it, the sound felt too loud for the silence. She started folding her sweaters, sketchpads, and a few tangled charging cables, all while talking under her breath, like she was trying to convince herself.

“It’s not running away,” she murmured, tucking her tablet safely into the corner.

“It’s just… a break. Just a few weeks. ”But even she didn’t believe that.

Her phone rang - Yuka, her editor.

Miyu hesitated, then picked up.

Yuka: “Miyu, please tell me the new draft is at least half done.”

Miyu : “It’s..not.”

Yuka: “Not? Miyu, this is the third extension this month.”

Miyu: "I know. I’m sorry.” she sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Yuka, i just - I need to go home for a bit.”

Yuka: “Home?? As in that small town you never even talk about?”

Miyu: “Yes.”

Yuka: “Miyu, people would kill to be where you are. You’re one of our most talented artists. Dont throw it away.”

Miyu: “I’m not throwing it away,” she said softly. “I just…forgot why I started drawing. I think I need to remember.”

There was silence on the other end. Then Yuka’s tone softened.

Yuka: “Then go. Just - don’t disappear on me, okay?”

Miyu: “I won’t. I promise”.

When the call ended, Miyu stood in the middle of her apartment and looked around. Every corner felt tired - her desk cluttered with empty coffee cans, her wall covered in draft she no longer liked. She ran her fingers across her sketch table one last time, as if it were an old friend she’d grown apart from.

She brushed her hair into a messy bun, too tired to care if it looked neat. Then she opened the window slightly - just enough for the cold Tokyo air to sweep in. She stood there for a long time, watching raindrops trail down the glass.

“Goodbye, Tokyo” she murmured, voice barely audible. “You were..something.”

She smiled faintly - not out of happiness, but relief.

She finally lay in the bed, suitcase zipped and waiting by the door, she stared at the ceiling. Her chest ached, but for the first time in months her mind wasn’t buzzing with deadlines or sketches. Just one thought played quietly in her head: The bookstore is still standing.

Sleep came slow - soft, heavy, and strangely peaceful.

The next morning, Miyu double checked her lock twice before leaving. She lingered for a moment at her apartment door, staring into the dim hallway.

“You’ll be fine,” she whispered to no one in particular, then pulled the door shut with a final click.

Tokyo was grey that morning- streets wet from rain, crowds already rushing, coffee steam rushing from corner stands.

She walked to the station, suitcase wheels thudding gently against the pavement.

When the train pulled in, she hesitated before boarding. The glass door reflected her face - pale, tired, but softer somehow.

She took a seat by the window, watching the city slip away.

Each passing stop blurred into another until tall buildings gave way to open skies and green fields.

“I think..I’m finally going home.” she said as she leaned her forehead against the glass. Outside, the world looked brighter, the air lighter.

For the first time in years, she wasn’t running towards something. She, was running back.