CHAPTER 8 – WE REMEMBER IN PIECES

Sleep didn’t come easily anymore.

Lana tossed and turned beneath her sheets, the air heavy, the red flower on her windowsill wilting further each day. Music didn’t help. Tea didn’t help.

Every time she closed her eyes, something else came.

Not dreams—memories that didn’t belong to her.

Stone corridors. A man in armor. The sound of a flute in the dark.

Xander dreamed of deserts.

Sunlight that burned. Metal that seared his skin. A woman with gold-streaked hair leaning over him, whispering a name he couldn’t quite hold onto.

He woke with his palms open, as if he had been holding someone’s hand.

But there was nothing there.

Echo: The Flute (Feudal Japan – Loop 2)

Under moonlight, Xenjiro sat still as stone, his shakuhachi flute balanced in his lap. His blade lay beside him, untouched.

From the window across the garden, Lady Lumei watched him. She held a brush she couldn’t move, ink drying on the page.

The letter she was writing began with:

“If I could speak, I would say…”

But it remained unfinished.

He brought the flute to his lips and played a song that had no melody. Only longing.

The wind carried it toward her.
She closed her eyes.
And smiled.

Echo: The Fire (Paris – Loop 4)

Léa danced alone in the hall. No crowd. No band.

Just the creaking floor beneath her and the memory of light.

Xenon sat in the balcony, scribbling into a worn notebook. The same sentence over and over again.

“The music was always for her.”
“The music was always for her.”
“The music—”

The hall burst into flames behind her.

She didn’t scream.
She just looked toward the balcony.

And curtsied.

Echo: The Hollow Tree (Colonial Malaysia – Loop 3)

Liyana found the note in the hollow.

“When I come back…”

It was soaked with rain, the ink bleeding.

She held the wooden pendant in her hand.

Then threw it into the river.

It sank slowly. She watched until it disappeared beneath the current.

Later that night, she returned to the water.

And waded in, knee-deep, hands searching through the dark.

She found it.
Clutched it to her chest.
And walked home in silence.

Echo: Present Day – Unspoken

Lana sat in her studio, strumming chords she couldn’t string together.

She looked at her notebook.

A poem was scrawled on the page. In her own handwriting.

The flower waits
Even if no one sees it bloom
A thousand lifetimes long—
Still, it opens to the sun.

She didn’t remember writing it.

She read it again.
Whispered it aloud.

And then she cried.

Final Fragment – The Red Tree

Xander stood in a gallery, staring at one of his own prints: a tree with crimson leaves against a grey sky. He didn’t remember taking it. But he couldn’t stop printing new copies. Couldn’t stop touching the photo like it was trying to say something.

A stranger approached and glanced at the image. “It’s beautiful. Where is this?”

Xander shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know.”

They didn’t see each other again for ten days.

When they did, it was by accident—or fate.

Outside the city library, under the rust-red sky.

They didn’t speak.

But when Lana walked past him, her hand brushed against his.

And in that second, everything stopped.

The sound of fire. Of water. Of music. Of wind.

All in one breath.

She didn’t turn around.

But she whispered, barely audible:

“We’ve done this before.”

And Xander, heart aching, finally admitted:

“I know.”

[END OF CHAPTER 8]