" Fading Away "

Aioma stood in a sea of grass, blades swaying under a soft, warm wind that brushed his skin like a forgotten memory. 

The field stretched endless, dotted with tiny white flowers that glowed faintly under a cloudless sky. 

Above, a bright moon hung, its silver light casting no shadows, only warmth. “ Where is this place? What is this place? Where am I ? ” he whispered, his voice trembling in the stillness. 

At eighteen, Aioma was no stranger to confusion, but this felt different too vivid, too alive to be a dream. In the moonlight, she stood, her silver hair shimmering like liquid starlight. 

Yuki. Her presence was a quiet pulse, as if she’d been waiting forever. Her eyes, deep as the night, met his with genuine curiosity, seeing through him in a way that made his heart stutter. 

“Who are you? And where am I? ” Aioma asked, stepping closer, the moist grass clinging to his sneakers.

She didn’t answer at first, her gaze steady, almost searching. Then, her voice came, soft as the wind, carrying a melody that felt like home. 

“Colors isn’t fading, it’s just you who thinks they are gone.” Her words hung in the air, cryptic, nonsensical. 

Aioma frowned, his mind grasping for meaning, but before he could speak, she hummed a tune, heartwarming and fleeting: “In the light, where colors play,

Find the spark that lights your way.”The field shimmered, grass rippling like a tide, and Yuki vanished, her song fading into the moon’s glow. 

Aioma jolted awake in his bed, the air cold, his room gray. “It was a dream?” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Weird.” 

His heart felt lighter, though, as if her words had brushed away a shadow he hadn’t named.

He moved through his morning routine like clockwork shower, breakfast, backpack slung over his shoulder for school. 

But the world outside his window was dull, drained of the vibrancy he’d known as a child. 

At ten, Aioma had seen colors everywhere: the evening sunlight was a golden hope, weaving stories of heroes in his mind; the park’s flowers were a riot of reds and blues, each petal a mystery. 

He’d sketch them in his notebook, imagining a world where every ray was magic. 

He used to wonder, Will the world stay this bright when I grow up ? Now, at eighteen, he knew the answer. 

The world had lost its colors, turned gray and flat. He wasn’t colorblind his eyes saw the reds, the blues but his heart didn’t feel them. 

The magic was gone, replaced by routine, by the weight of growing up.At school, Aioma drifted through hallways, his sketchbook untouched in his bag. 

Classmates laughed, their voices distant, like echoes from a life he no longer lived. 

He ate lunch alone, staring at the gray concrete of the courtyard, wondering when the world had faded. 

He remembered Yuki’s words “Colors isn’t fading” but they felt like a riddle he couldn’t solve. 

He sketched a single flower, its petals dull, no match for the glowing blooms of his dream.

That night, the dream returned. The grass field stretched under the same moon, warm and endless, but Yuki was alone this time, her silver hair catching the light like a beacon. 

Aioma stood before her, his chest tight with questions. “Why is everything gray?” he asked, voice raw. 

“The world used to be… alive.”She tilted her head, her eyes soft but piercing. “Nothing changed but you did,” she said, her voice a whisper over the grass. 

She stepped closer, her hand brushing his, leaving a warmth that lingered. She sang again, her tune a thread pulling at his heart “In the light, where colors play,

Find the spark that lights your way.”The field dissolved, and Aioma woke, her words echoing. He sat up, the gray dawn creeping through his window. 

Nothing changed but him? He didn’t understand, but her song stuck, a faint hum he carried to school. 

In art class, he sketched the field, the moon, Yuki’s silver hair but her face, like in his dream, was a blur. 

A classmate, noticing, said, “That’s cool. Looks like a place I’d want to see.” Aioma paused, the compliment sparking something small, like a flicker of color in his gray world.

Days passed, and the dreams came and went. Each time, Yuki’s presence was steadier, her words sharper: “The world still has its colors. 

You just need to find it.” Aioma began to notice moments sunlight glinting on a puddle, a kid’s laugh in the hall that felt almost vibrant, like his childhood. 

He sketched more, filling pages with flowers, moons, Yuki’s blurred silhouette. Her song played in his mind, urging him to look closer. 

One evening, in the park where he’d once seen magic, he sat on a bench, watching kids chase a ball. 

Their joy was bright, a splash of red against his gray. He sketched them, his pencil moving faster, the colors in his mind stirring.

The final dream came on a quiet night. The grass field glowed under the moon, but Yuki stood farther away, her silver hair fading at the edges. 

“You’re finding it,” she said, her voice softer, almost proud. “The colors never left.” She reached out, her hand grazing his, warm as the grass. 

Her song rose one last time, a heartwarming echo:“In the light, where colors play,

Find the spark that lights your way.”She vanished, and the field dissolved. Aioma woke, the gray dawn softer now, tinged with pink. 

He walked to the park, his sketchbook under his arm, and sat where the kids had played. The world wasn’t gray it was alive, the grass green, the sky a deepening blue. 

He’d changed, not the world. As a child, everything was new, his brain alight with wonder. 

Growing up had dulled that lens, but Yuki his spark, his inner curiosity had shown him how to see again. 

He sketched a flower, its petals bold, and hummed her tune, a smile breaking through. The world still had its colors, waiting for him to find them.