The morning light spilled into Ili’s room, brushing the walls with warmth. The faint hum of his alarm clock pulled him from sleep, the tune oddly familiar but unplaceable. He groaned, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair, and slapped the snooze button.
He sat up, the silence of his room settling over him. Everything looked as it always did—his desk cluttered with open notebooks, his bag slung carelessly over a chair—but something felt... off. He frowned, rubbing his eyes.
“Just tired,” he muttered to himself, forcing his legs over the side of the bed.
In the mirror, his reflection stared back, eyes shadowed with unease. He caught sight of the small wisteria pendant hanging on a hook nearby, its surface catching the morning light. It struck him as beautiful and strange—something that should have been significant. Yet, no memory surfaced. He hesitated before tucking it into his pocket, as though it might anchor him somehow.
Walking downstairs, the familiar scent of miso soup wafted toward him. Mrs. Nakamura moved gracefully around the small kitchen, her gentle humming blending with the rhythmic sound of the knife against the cutting board.
“Morning, Ili,” she said warmly, glancing over her shoulder.
“Morning,” he replied, sliding into his usual seat at the table.
She placed a steaming bowl of soup in front of him, sitting across from him with her tea in hand. “You look pale today,” she said, her tone tinged with concern. “Did you sleep well?”
Ili shrugged, stirring his soup. “I guess. Just been feeling... off, I guess. Like something’s not adding up.”
Mrs. Nakamura tilted her head, her expression thoughtful. “Off, how?”
He hesitated, unsure of how to explain the gnawing sensation that had plagued him all morning. “I don’t know,” he admitted finally. “It’s like… I’m forgetting something. Something important. But I don’t even know what it is.”
Her eyes softened, a flicker of something unreadable passing over her face. “Sometimes, Ili,” she said gently, “our minds choose to let go of things we aren’t ready to face.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She smiled faintly, sipping her tea. “It means you should give yourself time. Answers often come when we least expect them.”
Her words left him more unsettled, but he nodded, finishing his soup in silence. Before he left, she called after him. “Ili.”
He turned at the door, his bag slung over his shoulder. “Yeah?”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she said, her gaze soft but intent. “You’re stronger than you think.”
The café was bustling with students, the hum of chatter and clinking dishes filling the air. Ili spotted Haru and Daiki by the window, deep in conversation. As he approached, Haru waved him over.
“Morning, sleepyhead,” Haru teased. “Finally decided to join the land of the living?”
“Yeah, yeah,” Ili muttered, sliding into his seat. “Cut me some slack.”
Daiki smirked, pushing a cup of coffee toward him. “We were starting to think you were avoiding us.”
Ili snorted, taking a sip. “If I wanted to avoid you two, I’d move to another planet.”
The banter continued, light and easy, but Ili couldn’t help noticing the way Haru’s eyes darted to Daiki when the conversation lulled. There was a tension between them, subtle but present, like they were guarding a secret.
At one point, as Haru described an upcoming student council event, Daiki nudged him under the table, cutting him off mid-sentence.
“What’s that about?” Ili asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Nothing,” Haru said quickly, laughing it off. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Ili pressed, leaning forward. “You two have been acting weird all morning. What’s going on?”
Daiki waved a hand dismissively. “Come on, man. Not everything’s a conspiracy. Maybe you’re just stressed.”
“Yeah,” Haru chimed in, his grin a little too forced. “You’ve got midterms coming up. That’s enough to mess with anyone’s head.”
Ili frowned but let it drop. Still, the unease lingered as they finished their drinks and left the café. Haru and Daiki exchanged another glance as they walked ahead of him, their voices dropping into whispers he couldn’t quite catch.
That afternoon, Ili wandered aimlessly through the campus park, seeking a reprieve from the storm of unanswered questions swirling in his mind. The soft rustling of leaves in the breeze and the faint chirping of distant birds offered a fragile sense of calm. As he passed beneath the pergola draped in wisteria vines, his steps slowed.
The blossoms swayed gently, their vibrant hues vivid against the muted sky. Something about this spot tugged at him, a feeling both comforting and unnerving. His hand reached out almost instinctively, brushing against a cluster of blossoms. The delicate petals were cool and soft under his fingertips, but the sensation stirred something deeper—an ache that felt both ancient and raw.
The air seemed to grow heavier as he stood there, his gaze fixed on the wisteria. The subtle movement of the vines, the way the shadows danced beneath them—it all felt hauntingly familiar, like a scene from a dream. Ili closed his eyes, letting the strange familiarity wash over him.
For a moment, the world fell away.
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He heard laughter—soft, light, but tinged with something bittersweet. The sound was close, yet distant, as though carried on the breeze. A fragment of a voice followed, low and sincere, its tone laced with urgency.
“No matter what happens, we’ll protect each other. Always. Even if it means….”
The words trailed off, replaced by a sudden chill, sharp and piercing, running down his spine. The laughter shifted, turning hollow, as though warped by an unseen force. The air thickened, and Ili saw a shadow stretching beneath the wisteria, too long and too dark. A figure stood at its edge, their face obscured, their presence both familiar and terrifying.
His breath caught as the figure turned slightly, and a wave of dread crashed over him. The wisteria swayed above, their blossoms almost seeming to whisper, but the words were drowned by the pounding in his chest.
His eyes snapped open, his heart racing as the peaceful park reasserted itself. The shadows beneath the pergola were soft, harmless, yet the heaviness lingered, pressing down on him like unseen hands. He stumbled back, his hand dropping from the blossoms as his breath came in uneven gasps. His pulse thundered in his ears, and the chill in his chest refused to fade.
“It’s a beautiful spot, isn’t it?”
The voice startled him, and he turned quickly, his wide eyes meeting the kind gaze of Mrs. Nakamura. She stood a few steps away, her umbrella tucked neatly under one arm.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ili said, his voice strained. He tried to steady himself, but the lingering chill in his chest refused to fade.
She smiled gently, tilting her head. “I often walk this way. It’s a good place to think.”
Ili nodded, his gaze drifting back to the wisteria. His hands clenched at his sides as he spoke, his voice quieter now. “I feel like I’ve been here before,” he admitted. “Like… something important happened here. But I can’t remember what.”
Mrs. Nakamura stepped closer, studying him carefully. Her expression was thoughtful, almost knowing, but she said nothing for a moment. Finally, she reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “Sometimes our hearts remember things our minds don’t. Give it time, Ili. It’ll come to you.”
He wanted to believe her, but the weight in his chest said otherwise. The memory—or whatever it was—had felt too real, too urgent, to simply be left forgotten.
She smiled again, gently tugging his arm. “Come on. Let’s go home. I’ll make you that nice bowl of miso soup you like.”
Ili exhaled a shaky laugh, the sound hollow in his ears. “That sounds good,” he murmured, though his thoughts were still tangled in the fragments of what he’d seen.
As they walked away, Ili stole one last glance at the wisteria. The blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, their beauty unchanged, but to him, they seemed darker now, like silent witnesses to something long buried. His steps faltered for just a moment before he forced himself to move forward.
The shadows beneath the tree stretched long in the fading light, reaching across the ground like they were trying to pull him back.
At home Mrs. Nakamura placed the steaming bowl of miso soup on the table, her warm smile as steady as ever. “There you go, Ili. A little comfort food to start your day.”
“Thanks,” Ili murmured, his fingers tightening around the chopsticks. He glanced at her briefly before focusing on the soup, hoping to suppress the strange knot in his chest.
She sat across from him, her calm demeanor unshaken, though her eyes held a subtle depth that Ili couldn’t ignore. After a moment, she spoke, her voice gentle yet deliberate. “You know, memories are funny things. Sometimes they slip away when you’re not looking. But the ones that matter... they find their way back.”
Ili paused, his chopsticks hovering mid-air. Her words lingered in the air, delicate and weighty. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual, though the unease in his chest tightened further.
Mrs. Nakamura’s smile softened, and she shrugged lightly. “It’s just something I’ve noticed in life. The heart tends to hold onto what’s truly important, even if the mind forgets.”
Her gaze flicked toward the pendant resting near the edge of the table, catching the faint morning light. Ili followed her eyes, his stomach tightening as the intricate wisteria carving seemed to glint knowingly. He hadn’t even realized he’d set it there.
He picked it up, turning it over in his fingers. The weight of the small object felt heavier than it should have, as though it carried something intangible. Something he should know. “It’s just a pendant,” he said quietly, more to himself than to her.
“Is it?” Mrs. Nakamura’s tone was light, almost playful, but it left a strange echo in the air.
Ili frowned, his gaze shifting between her and the pendant. The hum of cicadas outside filled the silence, and for a fleeting moment, he felt like the room wasn’t quite the same as it had been seconds ago. Like he was missing something—something just beyond his reach.
“I don’t know,” he admitted finally, his voice subdued. The pendant suddenly felt cold against his palm, and he slipped it into his pocket, as though hiding it might quiet the storm in his mind. “I guess... I don’t think about stuff like that much.”
Mrs. Nakamura chuckled softly and stood, collecting her cup of tea. “That’s alright, Ili. Sometimes, it’s better to let things come to you naturally.”
She turned toward the sink, leaving Ili alone with his thoughts. He stared at the bowl of miso in front of him, the scent that had once comforted him now clinging too heavily to the air. Her words echoed again: Memories find their way back.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The phrase wasn’t just lingering—it was clawing at him. It stirred something deep within, something cold and unyielding. Find their way back. But to what? To that fleeting moment at the park?
The glimpse surfaced again, unbidden: the golden light filtering through branches, a voice so close yet muffled, like it was reaching for him across a great distance. He felt it—the weight of that moment, heavy and unshakable. And then, the words returned, fragmented and haunting.
“No matter what happens, we’ll protect each other. Always.”
His breath caught, the echo of the promise pressing against his chest. He didn’t know when he had said it, or to whom, but the emotions tied to it were as sharp as if it had just happened. It wasn’t a promise of comfort or hope—it was darker, heavier. Sadness, guilt, and something almost desperate lingered in the memory, leaving a hollow ache in its wake.
Ili clenched his fists, his gaze fixed on the table. Why does it feel like I lost something that day? The thought whispered through him, cold and unrelenting. The promise felt like a chain, binding him to something he couldn’t name, and yet it also felt irrevocably broken.
He shook his head sharply, trying to push the thoughts aside. “Okay, this is too much,” he muttered under his breath, his voice wavering slightly. “Don’t… don’t get worked up over it. It’s probably nothing.”
But even as he said it, he felt the weight in his chest grow heavier. The golden light, the muffled voice, the somber tone of the promise—it all lingered on the edges of his mind, refusing to fully disappear. He pressed his palms against the table, forcing a steady breath, trying to ground himself. Don’t spiral, Ili. Just let it go.
As his breathing steadied, the images began to slip away, their sharp edges softening into a haze. He didn’t notice it fading—just a slow unraveling, like the fraying of a thread. The promise, the voice, the light—all of it dissolved into the background noise of his thoughts, leaving only an ache he couldn’t name.
“Yeah, nothing,” he murmured, standing abruptly as if motion would shake off the lingering unease. But the hollow feeling in his chest remained as he stepped toward the door, the sunlight spilling onto the floor before him. The pendant in his pocket shifted again, a weight both familiar and foreign. His fingers brushed against it, but this time, he didn’t stop to think. He couldn’t.
By the time he stepped into the sunlight, the memory was gone—buried somewhere deeper, unreachable for now. But the ache it left behind lingered, faint yet unrelenting, as if a part of him already knew it wasn’t nothing at all.