Inspired by a real story

>be me

>26

>August 5th, 2026

>Still don't know how to describe the feeling.

>It's like static now. Just static.

>Everyone keeps asking me what I'm feeling.

>Grief, maybe.

>Shock.

>Anger.

>I don't know.

>I keep expecting the phone to ring again.

>Maybe they'll tell me there was a mistake.

>Maybe someone got the wrong name.

>Maybe Mina will call me herself and laugh about the whole thing.

>She'd probably say I was worrying too much.

>She always did that.

>Let me go back.

---

>be me, age 7

>Mina is 6

>Mom is making takoyaki in the kitchen

>Mina's standing on a stool next to me, both of us watching the oil bubble

>She keeps stealing them before they cool down, burning her fingers

>I'm laughing so hard I can't breathe

>She's laughing too, even though it hurts

>"Onee-chan, try this one."

>She hands me the burnt one.

>I eat it anyway.

>It tastes like love.

>I remember the exact sound she made when she laughed.

>I don't know why.

>Of all things, that's what stayed.

>Not her voice saying my name.

>Not the things she said when she was scared.

>That laugh.

>Sometimes I play old videos just to hear it.

>Sometimes I stop the video before she starts laughing.

>I don't know why.

---

>be me, age 16

>Mina is 15

>She's discovered K-pop

>Our small apartment in Osaka suddenly has posters everywhere

>ENHYPEN, HYBE, Ni-ki

>She plays the same songs over and over

>I pretend to be annoyed but I learn all the lyrics

>She'd catch me singing along sometimes.

>"You said you hated this song."

>"I do."

>"You're literally singing it."

>"Shut up."

>She'd laugh.

>She's so happy.

>I've never seen her so alive.

>She talks about moving to Seoul someday, being close to the group.

>I think it's just a phase.

>It wasn't.

>I remember her room.

>The posters.

>The cheap little decorations.

>The way she'd leave her headphones on the floor and complain when I stepped on them.

>They're still in my apartment.

>I don't know why I kept them.

>I don't know why I can't throw them away.

>Sometimes I catch myself thinking:

>"Mina's going to want those."

>And then I remember.

>She isn't.

---

>be me, age 26

>Mina is 25

>She made it to Seoul

>She's got 80,000 followers now

>I'm in Osaka, working, watching her live her dream through a screen

>Sometimes I feel like I'm losing her.

>She'd send me messages at ridiculous hours.

>Pictures of food.

>Concerts.

>New merch.

>Her face half-hidden behind some stupid filter.

>I'd tell her she looked ridiculous.

>She'd send another one.

>But she's happy, and that's what matters, right?

>That's what I keep telling myself.

>I should have called more.

>That's the thought that keeps coming back.

>I know it's stupid.

>I know people can't predict the future.

>I know I didn't know.

>But grief doesn't care about what makes sense.

>It just keeps asking the same question.

>Why weren't you there?

---

>be me, August 5th, 2026

>5:33 AM

>Phone rings

>Unknown number

>Korean voice

>Something about the hospital

>Something about "attempted"

>My brain doesn't process words right after that.

>Everything gets quiet.

>Like someone muted the world.

>I remember sitting up.

>I remember looking at the wall.

>I remember thinking:

>"I need to call Mina."

>Then I remembered she was the reason they were calling.

>I don't remember what happened after that.

>People tell me I cried.

>I don't remember crying.

>I remember asking them to repeat her name.

>Once.

>Twice.

>Three times.

>Like if I heard it enough, the sentence would change.

>It didn't.

---

>The days before are a blur.

>I know now that Mina was spiraling.

>The sunflower thing at the concert.

>Some idol said something.

>The fandom turned on her like a switch.

>Posts everywhere.

>Comments I didn't know about.

>Accusations about "overstepping," "delusion," "obsessed."

>She apologized.

>She deleted everything.

>She closed her fan page.

>None of it mattered.

>The internet doesn't forgive.

>The internet doesn't stop.

>Thousands of people, real people, typing real words about my sister.

>About a person.

>Like she was less than human.

>Like she deserved it.

>I keep reading them.

>I shouldn't.

>I know I shouldn't.

>But I keep scrolling.

>One post.

>Another.

>Another.

>I keep looking for the exact moment everything went wrong.

>As if there is a sentence somewhere that explains why she's gone.

>As if finding it will let me go back.

>Sometimes I imagine replying.

>Sometimes I type her name.

>Sometimes I write:

>"She's my sister."

>Then I delete it.

>Because what does that even mean to people who never knew her?

>They didn't know the girl who burned her fingers on takoyaki.

>They didn't know she hated being cold.

>They didn't know she used to fall asleep with music playing.

>They didn't know how she laughed.

>They only knew a username.

>A picture.

>A story they made up about her.

>And somehow that was enough to hate her.

---

>be me, now

>sitting in my apartment in Osaka

>Can't sleep

>Can't eat

>Can't turn off my phone

>Because if I do, maybe I'll remember that moment again.

>The moment they told me she was gone.

>The moment I realized I never got to tell her:

>"I'm sorry I wasn't there."

>"I'm sorry I didn't know."

>"I'm sorry the world was cruel."

>Sometimes I say these things out loud.

>There's nobody here.

>I still say them.

>Sometimes I accidentally say:

>"Mina?"

>When I come home.

>Just habit.

>Just habit.

>I wait a second anyway.

>Nothing.

>The apartment is quiet.

>And for some reason, that hurts more than anything.

---

>Sometimes I think about the livestream.

>How many people were watching.

>How many people saw.

>How many people did nothing.

>How many people added to the pile.

>How many people made jokes about it afterward.

>How many people forgot by the next day.

>I wonder if any of them remember her now.

>Probably not.

>That's the part I can't understand.

>How can someone be everything to you and nothing to everyone else?

>How can the same person be a whole world to one person and just another username to millions?

---

>The worst part is I can still hear her laugh.

>The burnt takoyaki laugh.

>The carefree laugh.

>But it gets quieter every day.

>And I'm terrified that one day I won't remember it at all.

>And then I'll lose her twice.

>So I keep listening.

>Again.

>Again.

>Again.

>Sometimes I fall asleep with the video playing.

>Sometimes I wake up and for one second—

>just one second—

>I think she's still here.

>Then the room comes back.

>And she's gone again.

---

>I go through her accounts sometimes.

>Old videos of her smiling, unguarded.

>Before the internet found something to hate about her.

>She was just a girl who loved something.

>She was just my sister.

>She was just a person.

>I scroll through everything.

>Old posts.

>Old pictures.

>Messages.

>Things I remember.

>Things I don't.

>I keep finding pieces of her.

>And I keep putting them together.

>Like if I collect enough pieces, she'll become whole again.

>I know that's not how it works.

>I do it anyway.

---

>People keep asking me what I want to say.

>What statement I want to make.

>I don't know.

>I just know that somewhere, someone is being told they're too much.

>That their love is wrong.

>That their existence online is a problem.

>And they believe it.

>Because thousands of people are saying it.

>Because parasocial means nothing when the mob is real.

>Because the cruelty is real.

>Even if the connection was parasocial.

>I don't want people to remember Mina as a tragedy.

>I don't want her name to become another story people share for a week.

>I want them to remember that she existed before all of this.

>She had a childhood.

>She had a favorite food.

>She had annoying habits.

>She had dreams.

>She had someone who loved her.

>She had me.

---

>I just want people to remember

>That the person on the other side of the screen

>is a person.

>That words matter.

>That a pile-on is real violence.

>That my sister was real.

>That her pain was real.

>That her laugh was real.

>And now she's not.

>Sometimes I hate that sentence.

>Sometimes I can't say it.

>Sometimes I still say:

>"Mina is..."

>And then I stop.

>The grammar feels wrong.

>The past tense feels wrong.

>Everything feels wrong.

---

>be me

>August 12th

>Looking at a photo of us as kids

>Both smiling

>Both whole

>Both here

>I stare at it for a long time.

>I don't remember taking this picture.

>Mina probably does.

>I wish I could ask her.

>I wish I could ask her so many things.

>Did you know I loved you?

>Did you know I was proud of you?

>Did you know I didn't care about the followers?

>Did you know I didn't care about the stupid fan page?

>Did you know I would have chosen you over everything?

>I don't know if she knew.

>That's what hurts.

>I don't know.

---

>I don't know how to live in a world where she isn't anymore.

>But I guess I have to try.

>For her.

>For the girl who stole burnt takoyaki.

>For the sister who dreamed too big.

>For the person the internet decided didn't matter.

>Sometimes I talk to her.

>Not because I think she'll answer.

>I know she won't.

>I just don't want the silence to have the last word.

>I tell her about my day.

>I complain about work.

>I tell her when I see something she'd like.

>Sometimes I even get angry.

>"You were supposed to be here."

>Then I feel guilty.

>Then I apologize.

>Then I remember there's nobody to apologize to.

>Grief is strange.

>It makes you angry at someone you'd give anything to have back.

---

>I just wish

>She knew

>Before the end

>That she mattered to me.

>That she always did.

>I hope wherever she is

>She finally has peace.

>Away from the screens.

>Away from the words.

>Away from people who never knew her

>but hated her anyway.

>And maybe someday

>I'll be able to remember her

>without remembering how she died.

>Maybe someday the first thing I think of

>will be the takoyaki.

>Her burnt fingers.

>Her stupid laugh.

>Her voice.

>"Onee-chan, try this one."

>Maybe someday

>I won't hear the silence afterward.

---

>If you're reading this

>And you're being cyberbullied

>or you're cyberbullying someone

>Please remember

>There's a person there.

>There's always a person there.

>It's too late for Mina.

>But it's not too late for someone else.

>Be kind.

>Or at least, be silent.

>That's all I'm asking now

Your role is simply the person living next to Mina apartment.

Scenario 1: Denial.

Scenario 2: Anger.

Scenario 3: Bargaining.

Scenario 4: Depression.

Scenario 5: Acceptance.