CH8 Time Capsule

After the beach trip, life slowly settled back into its usual rhythm. The days felt familiar again— work in the daytime, and the quiet nights spent at home. Yet, in a strange way, it was anything but normal. Aya was always there with me now, her presence constant, blending into my daily life like a shadow. But she wasn't a shadow, not anymore.

I’ve become so accustomed to her that it felt natural seeing her in my home, though I was still the only one who could. She had stopped floating around the way she used to when she first appeared. Now, Aya moved through the house as if she belonged there, her bare feet softly padding across the floor, sometimes humming quietly. There were moments when, if I let myself forget that she wasn’t really there—wasn't alive like the rest of us—she seemed like a normal person, maybe even more normal than I was.

I would catch myself staring sometimes, watching as she moved around the kitchen, washing dishes or preparing meals. Aya had somehow taken it upon herself to handle these little tasks. I never asked her to, but she did them anyway. I could see the soft concentration in her face as she cleaned, drying plates and neatly stacking them as though it was something she had always done. Her movements were graceful, precise—like she was used to doing chores, or at least pretending to.

And then there was her cooking. Sometimes, I’d find the kitchen filled with the comforting smell of dinner. Aya would stand there, stirring something on the stove, apron tied neatly around her waist, looking oddly... domestic. I always found it a little surreal that a spirit could even do that. Her meals were surprisingly good too, often simple but with a touch of something that felt special. I couldn't help but wonder—Who taught her how to cook?

One evening, after another tiring day at work, I sat at the small dining table, fork in hand, about to dig into the meal she had made. Aya sat across from me, resting her chin on her hands, watching me eat with a soft smile. She always seemed to enjoy watching me react to her cooking, as if my approval mattered to her.

"You’ve been cooking a lot lately," I said between bites, "This is really good, Aya."

She beamed at the compliment. "I enjoy it," she replied, her voice soft and content. "It feels nice to have something to do, to help you."

I took another bite, glancing at her as she watched me with a gentle gaze. She really was a wife material, I thought to myself. It was a silly thought, but it popped into my mind more and more these days. I didn’t know if it was because of the way she had seamlessly integrated into my life or how she made this place feel like less of an empty house and more of a home. Either way, I had grown to rely on her presence.

It was strange. Before Aya, I was used to living alone. Coming home to a quiet apartment, eating meals by myself, and spending long nights with only the hum of the city outside my window. But now? It felt like those days were so far away, like a different life altogether. I hadn’t realized how lonely I had been, how much I had gotten used to the emptiness.

Now, with Aya here, the silence wasn't so heavy. She filled the spaces in my life that I didn’t even know were empty. She would sit next to me while I watched TV, comment on whatever was happening on the screen, or read over my shoulder when I was working on something.

Sometimes, I would feel her standing just behind me as I washed up, drying the dishes alongside me.

One night, after dinner, we sat together on the couch, the soft glow of the TV filling the room. Aya curled up beside me, her form just a little hazy around the edges but still so solid, so real. I glanced at her, her hair cascading down her shoulder, her eyes focused on the screen but her mind seemingly elsewhere.

"Do you ever think of ... your previous life?" I asked her quietly, unsure why I brought it up.

Aya blinked, her eyes shifting to me, a soft sadness flickering behind her calm expression. She was quiet for a moment before answering, "Sometimes I wonder... But I think I've found a new purpose here. With you." Her voice was soft, but there was a weight to it that made my heart tighten in my chest.

I nodded, not knowing what to say. I wasn’t sure what kind of life she had before she met me, or even how she ended up this way—trapped between the world of the living and the dead. But one thing was clear: Aya wasn’t just some ghost haunting my apartment. She was part of my life now.

"I don’t know what I’d do without you here," I admitted, surprising even myself with the honesty of my words.

Aya smiled at that, a gentle warmth in her eyes. "You’re not alone anymore," she said softly.

And in that moment, I realized how true her words were. Alone? No, not anymore. Aya was here, and in some strange, impossible way, she had become my constant.

I’ve started to change little by little. It’s funny how it crept up on me, but I noticed it more and more as the days went on. I became conscious of her—Aya—about the little things, things I would’ve never thought twice about before. Now, I found myself caring about her opinions, wanting to hear what she had to say about anything, really.

I couldn’t pinpoint exactly when it started. Maybe it was the way she always seemed to anticipate what I needed without me even asking. Or the way she would offer her thoughts,

subtle but meaningful, whenever we talked. At first, it was small stuff—like what to eat for dinner, or whether we should rearrange the furniture to make the place feel more "open."

Before, I would’ve just shrugged it off, done whatever I wanted, but now? Now I found myself

actually listening to her, considering her input, and even agreeing with her more often than not.

It wasn’t just that I cared about her opinions. I cared about her. About what made her happy, about what she thought. I started noticing little things, like how she liked to listen to the soft hum of rain through the windows, or how her eyes sparkled when I complimented her cooking. And I found myself adjusting, making small changes here and there—just to see her smile.

I tried not to argue with her anymore. There were moments, early on, where we would clash— about whether I was working too late, or when I’d tell her to stop worrying about the small stuff.

Aya would get frustrated, not angry but... disappointed, like she just wanted me to see things her way for once. And for a while, I stubbornly resisted. After all, she was just... Aya, right? She wasn’t even real. At least, that’s what I used to tell myself.

But now, I tried to avoid those arguments. Instead of brushing her off or pushing back, I started to listen, really listen. When she suggested things, I tried to see things from her perspective.

And I realized that more often than not, she had a point. It wasn’t just about keeping the peace—it was about realizing that her thoughts mattered. That she mattered.

It was strange, this change in me. I was becoming more mindful, more aware of the way her

presence affected me. I’d catch myself pausing before I said something, wondering how it would make her feel. I even started asking for her opinion on things that I never would’ve before—like what color I should repaint the bedroom walls, or whether I should take on an extra project at work. She’d always offer her thoughts, sometimes practical, sometimes lighthearted, but always thoughtful.

In the past, I would’ve just gone with my own gut instinct. Now? Now I wanted to make decisions with her in mind. Maybe it was because she had become such a big part of my daily life, or maybe it was something deeper—something I wasn’t quite ready to face yet. Either way, I couldn’t deny that Aya had changed me in ways I hadn’t expected.

It wasn’t just that she was around all the time, or that we had grown close. It was that I had started to care about her in ways I never thought I would. What started out as something

surreal—this invisible presence in my life—had become something real, something meaningful. And that realization made me want to be a better person, for her.

I wasn’t sure where this was all headed, or what it even meant. But one thing was for sure: I didn’t want to lose her. Not now. Not after everything.

We hadn’t really talked about Saki yet. The person I met at the beach, the one Aya said she

recognized, though she couldn’t place exactly how. It felt like a puzzle piece dangling just out of reach. And despite the days that had passed since, Aya didn’t bring it up either. It was as if both of us were avoiding the topic—whether out of uncertainty or something deeper, I didn’t know.

But it lingered. The thought of Saki. The thought of who she could be. The thought that maybe—just maybe—Aya’s time here with me was borrowed.

I couldn’t shake this growing fear gnawing at me, little by little. It wasn’t the kind of fear that

came in bursts or rushed waves. No, it was something slower, quieter, creeping into the edges of my thoughts when everything else was still. A fear that whispered one simple, terrifying question: What if one day I wake up, and she’s gone?

The idea that I might be alone again one day sent a cold chill through me. I couldn’t even remember the last time I truly felt alone, not since Aya had appeared in my life. She had

become such an integral part of my routine, of me. And the more I thought about it, the more I dreaded the possibility of losing her.

Am I a bad person for wishing Aya would stay with me forever? Is it selfish of me to hope that she doesn’t remember who she was, or who Saki is to her? Because deep down, I know that the moment she gets her memories back, everything might change. She might move on, or worse— she might realize that she doesn’t belong here with me at all.

But all things must come to an end, right? Isn’t that what they say? Everything is temporary. I’ve heard it so many times, but somehow it feels different when it applies to her—to Aya. I don’t want this to end. I don’t want her to leave.

I catch myself sometimes, thinking about it more than I should. What would life be like if she stayed? If she was here with me, always? I imagine her beside me, every day, her laughter filling the house, her presence turning this once-empty apartment into something more. Into a home.

But then reality sinks in, and I realize how selfish that thought is. Aya isn’t here by choice—at least, not entirely. She’s searching for answers, for the missing pieces of her past. And I can’t be the one to hold her back. I can’t be the reason she never finds out the truth about herself.

Still, that fear remains, lurking in the corners of my mind. The fear that one day, when she does remember everything, when she pieces together who she really is, she’ll leave. And I’ll be alone again, just like before.

But maybe... maybe I’m not ready to face that yet. Maybe I’m not ready to lose her, even though I know it’s inevitable. Am I a bad person for feeling this way? For wishing that the end would never come?

The worst part is, I don’t even have an answer. All I can do is wait. Wait for her to remember. Wait for the day when everything changes.

But until then, I’ll hold onto every moment with her, for as long as I can. Because, deep down, I know that when the time comes, I won’t be able to stop it. All things must come to an end, but I’m not ready to let go. Not yet.

One of my fears started to come true that day.

The manager had asked Yumi and me to pick up some supplies from another branch. The task itself was simple enough, but it required driving the mini pickup truck.

“Can you drive the truck?” the manager asked, handing me the keys. It was a small, two-seater vehicle, but the sight of it sent a shiver down my spine.

I had my driver’s license, sure, but I hadn’t touched a steering wheel in a long time. Every time I thought about driving, my chest tightened, and my hands grew clammy. Anxiety would creep in, and I’d be transported back to the memories that kept me from getting behind the wheel again. I wasn’t over it—whatever “it” was. So I panicked. I lied.

“Uh, sorry. I don’t have a driver’s license yet,” I muttered, trying to sound casual.

The manager gave me a surprised look, then shrugged. “Is that so? Hmm… Yumi, can you drive the truck? This man here doesn’t have his license yet.”

“Yeah, no problem!” Yumi answered cheerfully, flashing me a reassuring smile.

I felt guilty as we walked to the truck, my feet dragging a little. “I’m sorry, Yumi,” I said quietly, feeling like I’d let her down.

She laughed and waved it off, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Oh, you silly! It’s not your fault. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks…” I managed, though I couldn’t shake the weight of guilt. We both hopped into the truck, and as Yumi started the engine, I glanced in the rearview mirror. There, in the back of the truck, Aya sat with a wide grin, her hair blowing gently in the breeze. She looked like she was having the time of her life, enjoying the view.

We hit the road, driving through the city streets. The trip was going to take about an hour, and Yumi hummed quietly to the music on the radio. The cityscape rolled by, tall buildings giving way to quieter suburbs as we drove further from the center.

Aya waved at me occasionally when our eyes met in the mirror, her carefree expression bringing a strange comfort to my nervousness. I found myself watching her more often than I should, her ghostly presence a reminder that even in moments like this, I wasn’t entirely alone. Her being there, in the back of that truck, made me feel… less afraid. Like maybe, just maybe, I could face these fears with her around.

But still, that lingering sense of dread didn’t fade. I kept thinking about the steering wheel in front of me. The past—whatever it was that kept me from driving—loomed over me like a shadow I couldn’t escape. And in moments like this, it was hard not to think about what it would mean when all the little comforts I’d found in Aya’s presence might disappear one day. Would I ever feel strong enough to face my fears on my own?

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, forcing myself to focus on the road ahead. The buildings blurred by, and Yumi’s voice cut through the silence.

“You okay? You’ve been quiet,” she asked, casting a glance at me from the corner of her eye. “Yeah, just... thinking,” I replied, offering her a weak smile.

“Well, don’t worry about the driving thing. ,” she said lightly. “And I don’t mind driving. It gives me a break from being a passenger.” She added.

I nodded, appreciating her attempt to ease my mind, but I knew the truth. It wasn’t just about the truck or driving. It was about everything. The uncertainty, the fear of losing the one constant presence I’d come to rely on—Aya.

Aya, still sitting in the back, seemed blissfully unaware of my thoughts as she leaned back,

letting the wind blow through her hair. She looked free, at peace, and for a moment, I envied that freedom. I wanted to feel that way too. But something was holding me back.

We arrived at the other branch and were greeted by the manager there. After a few pleasantries, we got straight to work, loading the equipment into the truck. It was a bit of a

tedious process, but Yumi and I made good time. As we were finishing up, the manager, being a kind soul, handed us some food and suggested we take a break before heading back.

"Here, have something to eat. You two must be hungry after all that work," he said, offering us some packed snacks and drinks.

We thanked him and sat on the bench just outside the store. Yumi immediately unwrapped a meat bun and started eating, smiling contently. I followed her lead, trying to focus on the food, but my attention kept wandering.

That’s when I realized something was off—Aya wasn’t by my side.

I felt a rising panic in my chest, my eyes darting around, bobbing my head like a madman trying to spot her. My mind raced with thoughts: Where is she? Why did she leave without saying anything? It was irrational, but the fear of her disappearing, just vanishing, clawed at me.

"Hey, are you okay?" Yumi asked, her eyes narrowing with concern. I could tell I looked

ridiculous, probably giving her the impression I’d lost something or worse—that I was losing my mind.

I forced myself to calm down. "Uh, yeah, I'm fine," I lied, giving her a sheepish smile. "I thought I dropped a coin or something, but it's whatever. Just a coin, no big deal."

She raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but nodded and went back to eating.

I finally spotted Aya across the street, standing in a small park. It wasn’t a big one, just a simple spot with some swings, tires for kids to play on, and a large tree in the middle. Aya was standing completely still, staring at the tree. It wasn’t like her to wander off without saying anything, and I couldn’t help but wonder what had caught her attention.

After a few moments, she turned and started walking back toward me. I felt a wave of relief wash over me.

When she reached me, she stood close and whispered, "Can we go there after you finish eating?"

I couldn’t respond out loud, not with Yumi sitting right next to me. So, I nodded subtly, trying not to look suspicious. Aya seemed to understand and smiled softly.

I hurriedly finished my meat bun, tossing the wrapper into the trash bin nearby. I stood up and stretched, trying to make my next request sound casual.

"Yumi, could you wait for me in the truck for a bit? I just need to check something before we leave. I won’t take long, I promise."

Yumi blinked, then smiled. "Sure, just don’t take too long. We still have to get back before it gets dark."

"Got it. Thanks." I gave her a quick wave as I started walking toward the small park where Aya had been.

As I crossed the street, I glanced back at Yumi. She seemed relaxed, leaning against the truck, not questioning my sudden departure too much. That was a relief.

Aya was already standing near the large tree by the time I reached the park. Her expression was distant again, almost contemplative. I wondered if the tree or something about the park had

triggered a memory.

"What's up?" I asked softly, keeping my voice low so it wouldn’t seem like I was talking to myself in public.

Aya didn’t respond right away. Instead, she placed her hand on the trunk of the tree, as if she could feel the texture beneath her fingers. Her eyes were soft, but there was a strange sadness in them, like she was remembering something painful, or perhaps something she’d lost.

"I remember..." she whispered after a long pause.

I froze. It wasn’t often that Aya talked about her past or what she could recall. Any hint or clue about her memories was rare, and I didn’t want to interrupt her train of thought. So, I waited, hoping she would continue.

She looked up at the branches, swaying gently in the breeze. "I used to love parks like these... especially when I was younger. I’d come to places like this all the time. There was always a tree, like this one."

I stepped closer, wanting to ask more but not wanting to push her.

Aya's sudden request caught me off guard. "This tree hits me with something," she said softly, her voice laced with curiosity. "It feels... familiar."

She stepped closer to the large tree, examining its thick branches carefully, her eyes scanning the leaves and limbs like she was searching for something specific. After a few moments, she stopped and looked down at the ground beneath the tree, her gaze fixating on a small bush of grass growing at the base.

“Can I ask you for a favor?” she said, her voice quieter this time, almost as if she wasn’t sure whether to ask.

“Yeah, what is it?” I replied, intrigued.

She pointed at the bush under the tree. “Can you dig here? There’s... something buried here. I don’t know why, but I feel like it’s important.”

Her request took me by surprise. I wasn’t expecting that at all. "Uh... dig?" I echoed, blinking as I stared at the patch of grass she was pointing to. It was such a random and specific thing to ask for.

I glanced around, trying to figure out how I could even begin to dig through the earth without any tools. There was nothing obvious nearby—no shovel, no stick, no gardening equipment— nothing that could help me. But Aya seemed so convinced, her eyes filled with a sense of urgency. She believed something was buried there, something important.

I crouched down by the tree, brushing the grass aside with my hands. "I... I don’t have any tools," I admitted, looking back up at her. "But I can try to dig with my hands."

Aya nodded, her expression softening. "Thank you," she whispered.

Taking a deep breath, I began to claw at the ground with my fingers. The soil was tough,

compacted from years of being undisturbed, but it wasn’t impossible. I scraped at it, slowly pulling away bits of dirt, my hands quickly becoming caked with mud and grit. Every few moments, I would glance up at Aya, who stood quietly, watching me intently as I worked.

As I dug deeper, my fingers brushed against something hard. I froze for a second, then brushed more dirt away until I could see it clearly. It was a small, wooden box, old and weathered from being buried for so long.

“I think I found it,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart raced as I carefully pulled the box free from the earth. It was no bigger than a jewelry box, and it looked like it had been here for years.

Aya knelt down beside me, her expression unreadable as she stared at the box in my hands. “Is this what you were looking for?” I asked, holding it out to her.

She reached out, her hand hovering over the box for a moment before she hesitated. Her eyes were wide, filled with both fear and curiosity. “I... I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “But I feel like I need to see what’s inside.”

Without saying anything else, I opened the box carefully. Inside, there was an old, faded

photograph. The edges were worn, but the image was still clear. It showed a young girl, standing under this very tree, smiling brightly. Next to her was another figure, but the photo had

deteriorated so much that the second person’s face was barely visible.

Aya stared at the photograph, her expression filled with confusion and a hint of recognition. “That’s me,” she whispered, “I... I remember this.”

The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t just any tree. This place meant

something to her. But who was the other person in the photo? Why was it buried here, under this tree? And what did it all mean for Aya’s lost memories?

“Aya, who’s the other person?” I asked, gently handing her the photograph.

She shook her head slowly, her eyes still fixed on the image. “I... I don’t know. I can’t remember. But this place... this tree... it’s important.”

Aya stared at the photograph in her hands, her brows furrowed in deep thought. I glanced over her shoulder, looking at the image once again. As much as I tried to make out the second figure,

it was so faded that it was impossible for me to see who it was. Aya seemed fixated on the girl in the picture—herself. She didn’t seem to recognize the other person either.

But something about this photograph still nagged at me. There had to be more to to it and without thinking, flipped it over. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the back.

Two names, written in delicate, cursive handwriting, stared back at me. Mika and Saki.

The words were simple, but they hit me like a tidal wave. I glanced up at Aya, whose expression changed from confusion to something more—recognition, perhaps?

“Mika and Saki,” I read aloud. "Do these names ring a bell?"

Aya’s eyes widened, her breath catching. "Saki... Saki," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. “That’s the girl we met at the beach. But Mika... I don’t remember anyone named Mika.”

I couldn’t help but feel a chill crawl up my spine. "Could Saki have been that second person in the photo?" I asked, trying to put the pieces together.

Aya's gaze drifted back to the photograph, her expression tense. “I... I’m not sure. But I feel like... I feel like Saki and I are connected. This photograph—it’s a clue, but I can’t fully

understand it.”

I stood there, holding the photograph and staring at the names, my mind racing. Aya couldn’t remember Mika, and I couldn’t see the second figure clearly, but the name Saki stood out like a beacon. We had already crossed paths with her once, and now, this photograph was pointing directly back to her.

"We need to find Saki again," I said, looking back at Aya. "She might be the key to unlocking your memories."

Aya nodded slowly, her gaze still distant, as if she was trying to reach for something just out of grasp. "But how do we ask her about this? How do I even begin to explain it?"

“We’ll figure that out,” I reassured her. "But for now, we’ve got a lead. We just need to find out what Saki knows."

Aya nodded, but her expression remained troubled. There was still so much left unanswered, and I could sense her frustration at not being able to remember everything. Yet, there was hope now—something tangible we could follow.

As we stood under the large tree, I carefully placed the photograph back in the small wooden box. I could feel that this discovery would lead us to something much bigger, but it also brought up more questions than answers. Who was Mika? What was her connection to Saki? And what did all of this mean for Aya's past?

"We'll take it one step at a time," I said softly, as much to myself as to Aya.

"Yeah," Aya replied, her voice a bit stronger now. "One step at a time." I hurriedly rushed to a nearby faucet to wash my hands. It will be a pain to explain if Yumi will see my hand full of dirt and mud. I also used my handkerchief to clean the box as much as possible.

With the box in my hand and Aya by my side, we made our way back to the truck, a silent understanding passing between us. Our search for answers wasn’t over yet—it was just beginning.

"What took you so long? And what is that?" Yumi asked, a curious look on her face as she sat in the driver’s seat, tapping her fingers lightly on the steering wheel.

I hesitated for a moment, gripping the old, weathered box tighter in my hands as I stood by the open passenger door. My mind raced for an excuse—anything plausible that wouldn’t raise

further questions. I hadn’t expected to find something like this buried beneath that tree, nor was I prepared to explain it.

"Uh… this?" I stammered, lifting the box slightly as I slid into the seat beside her. The wood felt rough against my palms, its age apparent from the faded carvings and chipped edges. "It’s, um... a box my relative gave me. They, uh, asked me to mail it to another relative," I added quickly,

keeping my voice as casual as I could manage. "I don’t know what’s inside, and I’d rather not open it." There. Another lie. I felt guilty, lying to Yumi like this, but what choice did I have? If I mentioned Aya or the fact that I had dug it up at a playground under a tree because a ghost asked me to, Yumi would think I’d lost my mind.

"Ah, okay," Yumi said, her voice nonchalant, as she shrugged and buckled her seatbelt. "Come on, let’s go. We’re on a schedule."

I breathed out a silent sigh of relief. She seemed to accept my explanation without suspicion. I tucked the box under the seat and settled in for the ride. The engine rumbled to life, and the truck began its journey back to our branch.

As we pulled onto the road, I glanced at Aya, who sat in the back of the truck, her usual ethereal glow muted under the afternoon sun. She was looking up at the blue sky, seemingly lost in her own thoughts, completely absorbed in whatever memories were stirring within her. I couldn’t help but wonder what finding that box had done to her. Did she remember more now? Or was she still just as lost as before?

The hum of the tires on the road did little to quiet the noise in my head. The old wooden box beneath my feet felt heavier with every mile we traveled, not just because of its age, but

because of what it represented—answers, perhaps, or more questions. The names I’d seen

scrawled on the back of the photograph haunted me. Mika and Saki. One of them, Saki, was the girl I’d met on the beach. The girl Aya had recognized. But how could I even approach her? How could I explain all of this without sounding insane?

I stared out of the window as the scenery blurred by, my mind working overtime. "If I tell Saki the truth—that I’m seeing a ghost—she’d probably freak out," I thought to myself. And that would be the end of it. She’d avoid me, and any chance of figuring out Aya’s past would be gone. But then again, what other choice did I have? I couldn’t just let this go. Aya’s very existence might depend on unraveling her memories and finding out who Mika was.

The road stretched on ahead, but my mind was somewhere else entirely, replaying the moment we met Saki on the beach, trying to piece together fragments of memory that didn’t belong to me. As Yumi hummed softly to herself beside me, the world outside felt distant. I glanced at Aya once more through the rearview mirror, and she met my gaze, her expression unreadable.

I knew one thing for sure: we needed to talk to Saki again. But the question of how weighed heavily on my mind. How do you ask someone to help you uncover the past of a ghost only you can see?

I finished my work and clocked out for the day, the usual routine wrapping around me like a well-worn blanket. But my mind wasn’t at peace—it was buzzing, restless. As I walked back to the flat, with Aya silently floating beside me, my thoughts were caught in an unshakable loop about Saki, the girl from the beach. The one who might be the key to unraveling Aya's past. Or at least, a clue.

The streetlights flickered on as the evening settled in. By the time we reached the flat, I couldn’t bear the stillness. Instead of heading inside, I found myself walking toward the bench near the park, the one where I’d last said goodbye to Rikka. It seemed like a place of contemplation— where decisions that could change the course of everything were made.

Aya sat beside me, her presence calm but distant. She stared ahead, lost in her own thoughts, as if waiting for something, or maybe someone, from a memory long forgotten.

I pulled out my phone, staring at the screen for what felt like an eternity before finally opening the picture I’d taken of Saki’s Line ID. My thumb hovered over the screen, hesitating. This was it. The next step in uncovering Aya’s story. But my chest tightened. The closer I got to the truth, the closer I came to the possibility of losing her. And somehow, in the short time we’d been

together, the idea of being alone again... it terrified me.

But this wasn’t about me. Aya deserved to know who she was, why she was here. She deserved to be freed from the confusion and the uncertainty that haunted her.

I exhaled sharply, bracing myself as I began typing the message. "Hello Saki, this is me, the one you met at the beach a while ago."

I stopped for a second, feeling ridiculous. The message felt awkward, like I was trying too hard. But I couldn’t turn back now. I kept typing.

"This is so sudden, but if you're free this coming Sunday, would you like to grab a coffee with me? I’d like to talk more. My treat, of course."

I stared at the words, reading them over and over. It felt like I was hitting on her, and in a way, I felt guilty for making it seem that way. But what other choice did I have? Saki might be the only link to Aya's past. This wasn’t about me.

"Looking forward to your reply!"

And with that, I hit send. The message flew off into cyberspace, and I was left feeling a mix of relief and dread.

Aya, still gazing at the horizon, seemed oblivious to the tension building inside me. I glanced at her, wondering what she was thinking. She didn’t know that I had just taken a step toward possibly unlocking the memories she so desperately wanted back.

In the silence of the evening, I couldn’t help but feel conflicted. I wanted to help her, of course. I wanted her to remember who she was, who Saki might be, and why their names were

connected in that photo. But there was also this selfish part of me, the part that dreaded what might come next. The part that feared losing Aya forever once her purpose was fulfilled.

I leaned back on the bench, staring up at the sky. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on me, but there was no turning back now.

A moment later, my phone buzzed in my hand. I glanced at it, and Aya, who had been lost in thought, suddenly focused on me. Her gaze was sharp, curious. I unlocked my phone and saw a new message from Saki.

"Yeah sure. Where do you wanna meet and what time?"

I blinked in surprise. I hadn’t really expected her to agree so easily. I mean, I’m just a guy she barely knows—someone she met at the beach. Still, she was willing to meet up, and that was the break I needed.

I quickly typed back, asking where she was located, and it turned out she lived nearby. We settled on meeting at a café not far from her place this coming Sunday.

Aya, still sitting beside me, must have caught a glimpse of my messages. Her attention seemed to sharpen as she asked, “You texted Saki?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “I invited her to meet on Sunday.”

For a moment, there was silence. Aya seemed to be processing the information, her gaze

shifting from my phone to the horizon. Then she spoke, her tone teasing but carrying a strange weight. “Hmm, you’re really good at this, huh. Hitting on girls.”

I raised an eyebrow, sensing a hint of something else behind her words. Maybe it was jealousy, though I couldn’t be sure. I chuckled lightly, hoping to ease the tension. “Ah, are you jealous, perhaps?” I teased, flashing her a playful grin.

Her eyes widened, and almost immediately, her ears turned a faint shade of red. “No! Of course not!” she protested, her voice louder than usual. “I... I just complimented you, you know?”

I couldn't help but smile at her reaction. It felt strangely human for a spirit like her. “That... feels like a lie,” I thought to myself.

“Well,” I said, still teasing her but trying to clarify, “just to make it clear, I’m not doing this

because I’m hitting on her. I’m doing this to help you. I want to know if she can help us figure out your past.”

Aya’s face softened slightly, and she looked down at her hands. “O... Okay,” she murmured, her voice quieter now.

For a moment, we sat in silence, the evening air settling around us. I couldn’t help but glance at her again. Aya wasn’t just a ghost or a figment of my imagination anymore. She felt real, too real. The thought of losing her, even as I was working to help her, lingered heavily on my mind.