The Flowers that Bloomed

“—Patient’s vitals are dropping. Begin stabilization—now.”
  “—It’s not looking good. We’re losing them! Prep for resuscitation.” The voices traded grim urgency, wrapped in clinical precision.
  “—We’re out of time. Get everything ready—go!”
  Tension held the room hostage. Footsteps thundered back and forth through the corridor as the invisible tug-of-war between life and death raged on.
  “Do everything we can. It’s not over yet!”

*          *          *

A faint vibration thrummed beneath my fingertips, syncing with a metronomic sway that rocked gently through my bones.
  When I opened my eyes, I found myself seated in a dim train carriage. Outside the window, the world drowned in greyscale, as if someone had drained the palette from existence itself.
  Beneath us, something sloshed persistently, like water stirred by a lazy oar.
  Not exactly textbook railway acoustics.
  …Wait, a train? Where was I? How did I get here?
  My mind reached back and found nothing. Neither a context nor the origin story of yesteryear. Just a dreamlike absence buried deep in the untouched recesses of memory.
  The carriage was empty. Not just my seat—the entire row, the compartments beyond it, and through the sliding doors—not a single soul in sight.
  The train began to slow, releasing a weary hiss as it eased to a halt. A soft chime rang overhead, followed by a mechanical voice:
  “The train has arrived at the terminal stop. All passengers, please disembark.”
  The doors slid open with a hydraulic sigh.
  I alighted before I understood why—drawn by a magnetic pull past the doors with all the purpose of a sleepwalker chasing a forgotten dream.
  The platform met me with a hush so complete it felt staged.
  No station attendants. No fellow passengers. Only the slow clink of cooling metal, and the occasional plink of water tapping down from the rafters.
  Signs overhead guided me toward the ticketing area. And there, sprawled across a turnstile like it owned the place, was a black cat, fast asleep.
  It cracked one amber eye at me, blinked once, then dismissed me with the same energy most people reserved for spam mail and resumed its nap. Apparently, my feline rankings fell somewhere between junk mail and wet socks.
  I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, easing past the gates like a trespasser who’d just committed fare evasion.
  Past the station, the landscape surrendered to layered fog, swallowing everything beyond a few steps into a murky watercolour where shapes wavered.
  A single linear path stretched ahead, hopelessly consumed by blur.
  No signs, no sounds, no bearings. Even the wind seemed to have lost interest in this place.
  I hadn’t even finished deciding if wandering into the fog was a terrible idea—when a voice, light and almost lyrical, broke the silence.
  “You seem lost.”
  From the fog padded a white cat with haunting amber eyes.
  First a black cat, now a white one. What was this place, a dimension run entirely by feline upper management?
  “…Did you just talk?”
  “Why, do you see anyone else around here doing the talking?” it quipped, flicking its tail idly.
  I scanned the surroundings out of reflex, to confirm its words.
  Still nothing.
  Just me and this smug little ball of sass.
  “Your suspicion is all the more charming. You humans are always so quick to distrust.”
  The way it watched me—appraised me—suggested intelligence. And more than a little mischief.
  “No need to look so troubled,” the cat added smoothly. “You’re exactly where you need to be.”
  None of that was remotely comforting.
  “…Who’re you? And where on earth are we?”
  It padded ahead without ceremony, throwing a glance back in invitation, suggesting I ought to follow.
  Sure, why not…
  Because what better way to start the day than blindly following a talking cat through foggy nowhere?
  “My name is Haku,” the cat remarked. “You may consider me… an arbiter of the Boundary.”
  “…The what now?”
  “The Boundary. A liminal space, if you will. One where the tides draw in the unanchored. Some pass through. Others drift… indefinitely.
  “That clears up exactly nothing.”
  Haku’s voice remained calm, unnervingly so.
  “Think of it like this: For the ones that dwell, the boundary is a place where choices are to be made. For others, it is merely a rite of passage.”
  “And me? What am I doing here?”
  The cat paused.
  Its gaze held neither kindness nor malice. Not even a shadow of what might’ve passed for emotion—only something infinitely closer to curiosity.
  “Ah, the eternal question,” it mused. “Perhaps you wandered here by chance. Perhaps something guided you. Or perhaps, you were looking for something… and this place simply answered,” it said, twitching its whiskers in amusement.
  “You’re not making any sense at all.”
  Then perhaps,” Haku said, continuing ahead, “you should keep walking. To see for yourself where the road leads.”

I followed in Haku’s wake, as the fog clung stubbornly to our ankles. The path sloped upward, flanked by standing lanterns that glowed just brightly enough to deny total blindness.
  “You mentioned that you’re an arbiter. Does that mean you’re in charge of this place?”
  “No, no. I merely observe the ebb and flow which the tide brings. But should you desire anything more, I may be able to provide… possibilities.”
  As we crested the slope, the fog withdrew as though acknowledging our presence.
  “We have arrived,” Haku declared, though the view made the statement feel woefully understated.
  Before us stretched a sea of wisteria in full bloom, drenched in silver light. A massive crimson torii stood at its heart, framed by a swollen moon that hovered alone in the boundless sky.
  Beautiful didn’t begin to cover it.
  It was surreal. Sacred. In ways that defied logic.
  The kind of place that shouldn’t exist—and yet, everything felt preordained. As if my being here wasn’t by chance.
  “You can stay for as long as you like.” Haku began, “Or proceed, if you prefer.”
  “Where to?”
  “On. In human terms, the far-shore I suppose?” it said in measured words.
  The implications weren’t hard to grasp. It just took my mind a second to catch up.
  Does that mean I’m dead?
  A breeze skimmed the flowers, setting off a ripple of hushed friction. Haku’s amber gaze found me again, this time more expectant, as one would while watching a kettle boil.
  “Tell me, boy. Is there something you desire?”
  “Desire…?”
  “Something you wish for… or someone you long to see again.”
  “I… don’t know.”
  It was the truth. Every time I reached for a memory, my thoughts broke apart—scattering like ash in the wind before they could take shape.
  And yet something stirred. Something buried deep in my being that refused to be ignored.
  A name on the tip of my tongue I couldn’t voice.
  A promise I couldn’t remember making.
  Every bit of it left an ache in my chest.
  “There’s… someone,” I said slowly, trying to piece everything together. “Someone important. I think I was trying to protect her.”
  “Ah, the glimmer of a tether. It always begins with someone.” Haku mused cheerfully, treading lightly through the field of flowers. “How truly fascinating. Even here, unmoored from time and flesh, your kind clings to sentiment—to faces, to promises. To people who may already be long gone.”
  “Not the wisest habit, I’m guessing?”
  “Hardly. Endearing, really. Though occasionally... baffling,” Haku noted, bemused.
  I glanced toward the towering torii once more, drawn to it by an inexplicable pull.
  “…What happens if I walk through that gate?”
  “You move on. You leave behind memory, regret... and all that binds you to suffering.”
  “That doesn’t sound too bad… After all, I’m already dead, right?”
  Death.
  So that’s what this was.
  …Didn’t exactly come with an instruction manual, huh.
  I suppose a feline assistant was the Boundary’s version of tech support.
  That was the gist of it.
  Customer service scenarios couldn’t have gotten any weirder.
  “There is… also the option to stay,” Haku offered thoughtfully.
  Less of an ‘offer’ than an ultimatum, presumably. Still, I had the right to know.
  If anything.
  “What does that entail?”
  “You drift. And little by little, the shape of who you were thins out. Eventually, you become one with the fog. A forgotten existence—like many before you.”
  Yikes.
  That kind of suggestion was less of a spiritual journey and more of a cosmic Ctrl+Z. My voice couldn’t have sounded anything like normal after that.
  “Real bleak.”
  “Perhaps,” it said, unbothered. “Yet both are endings. The Boundary doesn’t judge. It offers doors.” It gestured a paw towards the torii. “One of them is open. Why not see what awaits? Perhaps you’ll find the one you’re searching for.”
  I stepped forward—just one breath past uncertainty—
  “Kaoru—”
  The sound halted the world. My world.
  Something flickered—like a pulse in the marrow. A tremor rolling through the hollows of memory.
  For a heartbeat, I thought I was imagining it.
  I shut my eyes.
  “Kaoru—!”
  There it was again. Clearer now. Not just sound, but a resonance—like a forgotten summer calling me home.
  My eyes flew open.
  And through the parting mist—
  The shape etched into my heart.
  It wasn’t a ghost or a dream.
  Her.
  White.
  White—and how transparently so.
  White hair that streamed lustrously lucent. Amber eyes brimming with unspoken emotion.
  How hopelessly, helplessly ensnared I was by them.
  She’d thoughtlessly, carelessly throw herself into me—
  But fortunately.
  Or maybe not? It’s difficult to say.
  There was no rhyme or reason to it.
  Everything returned in a torrent—
  Her name. Her voice.
  The gleam of a blade.
  My own blood.
  Her tears.
  Her hand wrapped tightly around mine.
  Nozomi.
  “I made it in time… Thank goodness.”
  She was panting as if she’d sprinted the whole way here.
  Honestly—and I mean this in the kindest, most observational way possible—it might’ve been the most athletic thing I’d ever seen her do.
  Genuinely impressive, by her usual standards.
  A small part of me wondered if she was powered by pure indignation.
  “Hey, Nozomi—”
  “You idiot!” she snapped, striking my chest with her fist. “Why did you do something so stupid?! I didn’t need your protection!”
  “Right, that did happen, didn’t it…”
  Let’s just ignore the fact that my body kind of just… reacted.
  All for the plot.
  “Look where that got you!”
  “And I’d do it again.”
  Props to me for trying to look cool again.
  From her perspective, I’d probably just reached the absolute peak of moronic behaviour.
  “You idiot… You big idiot…!” She kept pounding on my chest repeatedly with trembling fists. “Don’t ever do that again!”
  “You came all this way for me, huh?” I murmured, brushing a hand gently over the back of her head. “Thanks. I owe you one.”
  “The gall of you… making a girl chase you this far...”
  “Figured if anyone could pull that off, it’d be you.”
  She managed to crack a smile, likely held together by duct tape and emotional spite.
  “You can’t run from the reaper.”
  So she says.
  I’m inclined to believe her—she did charge through the Boundary just to claim me for herself, after all. The scythe would’ve been a nice touch, though.
  And there we had it—
  The climax of my grand, tragic encounter with mortality.
  Couldn’t feel more refreshed if I’d gotten two full nights of sleep and a back massage.
  I mean, sure—one wrong word and I’d probably land myself on suicide watch, but you take your victories where you can.
  We must’ve looked like some mismatched drama troupe caught in the middle of a family spat, staged in a metaphorical afterlife.
  But Nozomi, in true Nozomi fashion, cut the scene short before it could derail any further.
  “And for the record,” she said, straightening, “you’d do well not to believe everything a stranger tells you.”
  She turned to Haku the way one might draw a knife—and with full intent to stab someone politely.
  “Especially that one.
  “Oh? “Surely we’re past the point of being strangers. I always have your best interests at heart.”
  The cat didn’t sound the least bit bothered by Nozomi’s bristling—if anything, it sounded faintly amused.
  “That’s funny. I could’ve sworn your own interests were all that mattered,” Nozomi said coolly. “And now everything’s gone exactly the way you wanted, hasn’t it?”
  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Haku replied, breezy as ever. “Perspective, after all, is everything.”
  “Spare me,” she snapped.
  “How very cold.” Haku gave a slow shake of its head, then settled back down with its tail curling neatly around its paws.
  I looked between them, feeling like the only person in the room who’d hadn’t read the script.
  “So… uhm. You two know each other?”
  “Oh, we’re more than acquaintances,” Haku purred. “We go a long way back. Though I must admit—I didn’t expect her to show up here, of all places.”
  “That much is true. I’ve run errands for Haku for longer than I care to remember. It’s what you’d call a tolerating business relationship.” She didn’t sound particularly thrilled. “Not something I ever agreed to,” she finished with a sigh.
  “Such hurtful words,” Haku lamented, drawing the phrase out like it believed sympathy might materialize if it waited long enough. “Truly—you wound me.”
  I’d imagine it clutching its chest now, if it had hands. But tragically, paws just don’t sell the drama.
  Nozomi grimaced like she’d just tasted something foul.
  “Enough. Those empty words of yours are unpleasant as ever.”
  I second that. The cat did possess a talent for being disturbing.
  In any case, I was three questions deep and no closer to enlightenment.
  “Errands? Hold up. You’ve been running odd jobs for the afterlife’s mascot all this time?!”
  “Later,” she said, cutting me off with the kind of reassurance that didn’t demand questions. “I promise I’ll explain everything. But for now, let me handle this.”
  She drew a breath so deep it might’ve scattered every last seed of doubt she had, then faced the white feline again.
  “I’m here to take Kaoru back.”
  Haku angled its head with a twitch of its ears.
  “Ah. Always so bold. Do you even understand what that means?”
  “I do,” she answered without hesitation. “I’m asking for his safe return to the near shore. To where he belongs.”
  “And for that, you’d dive headfirst into the far shore with no plan in mind? What makes you so sure he still belongs there?”
  Her fingers brushed mine again, probably just to reassure herself I hadn’t vanished.
  “He never should’ve crossed over the first place.”
  “You believe that’s your call to make?”
  “No,” she said, quiet and firm. “I’ll fight for him. He’s only here because of me. That doesn’t mean this is how it ends. He hasn’t crossed over yet—you and I both know that.”
  “A fair point. Then I presume you’ve come prepared to offer something in return.”
  “…My life.”
  Yes. Of course it had to be like that.
  The more I thought about it, the more I started to wonder if Nozomi’s life had always been a collection of lovely, apocalyptic surprises—just dressed up to look manageable.
  I wanted to laugh. Or scream. Or grab her by the shoulders and shake her until reason came back.
  But I couldn’t do any of that—because I knew she meant it.
  I had to believe in her.
  Anyway, back to the topic.
  We were apparently bartering souls now. Nothing says ‘value of a life’ quite like pawn shop credit.
  “My life,” she repeated, as though it hadn’t been clear enough the first time. “My entire existence—all that I am—in exchange for his return.”
  I’ll be the first to admit, I wasn’t sold on the offer.
  But if our feline adversary was mulling it over, maybe there was room to negotiate.
  “An interesting proposal,” it murmured. “But it seems you’ve misunderstood something.”
  Darn it.
  Here comes the catch.
  “…What?”
  “That undying body of yours—the existence and life you abhor so much—it was never yours to give away.”
  “…But why?!”
  “You’ve been walking on borrowed time. Tethered not to the world, but to another,” it answered simply.
  Nozomi reeled, as if the ground had vanished beneath her.
  “No… How…? When?”
  “Did you truly believe your life was your own? The time you walk on has always been bound to another thread. You are alive… only because someone else made that choice for you.”
  She staggered back, and I caught her before she could collapse.
  God, save me. That lore drop might’ve been too much for both of us.
  “You cannot bargain with what you do not own.” Haku delivered the coup de grâce.
  It seemed that I, of all people, wasn’t the only one floored by a truth bomb of mythological proportions.
  Not that anything about me is special enough to warrant the ‘of all people.’
  Nozomi looked about ready to cry and break into tiny pieces.
  “It can’t be… Then what am I supposed to do…?”
  I didn’t have a clue.
  And judging by her mental meltdown, neither did she.
  We learn something new every day. Some of it just happens to involve rewriting the fundamental rules of existence.
  So that was what I wanted to ask.
  A hundred things, really—who, what, when, why, and what the hell else she hadn’t told me yet.
  But the moment had already left us.
  Haku’s ears twitched. Its head lifted slightly, gaze distant—as if it had just caught the scent of something more important.
  Figures. Leave it to the talking cat to move on like our latest life-altering plot twist was just white noise.
  Just as everything up till now had been a prelude, it announced—
  “It would seem that another guest has arrived.”

She radiated a gentle, almost absurdly immense warmth that soothed the chill around us—such could be said about the woman who’d emerged seemingly out of nowhere.
  But I suppose anything goes in this scenic route between death and delivery of exposition.
  It would be fair to have my misgivings, for I did not recognize her in the slightest.
  The same, however, could not be said for my white-haired companion—who bore a haunting resemblance to the newcomer now standing before us.
  Watching her spiral from stunned silence to gut-punched disbelief in emotional 4K was the kind of whiplash you wouldn’t wish on anyone.
  It had been one major revelation after another—at this point, I was scraping the bottom of the sympathy barrel.
  “…Mother?”
  “Nozomi… my little girl…”
  She struck me as the type of woman who would’ve stayed extremely quiet and only spoken if prompted.
  Very much like her daughter, I’d think.
  Which I say, of course, with nothing but fondness.
  I would’ve liked the chance to make a better first impression, but we can all agree I wasn’t part of this story.
  Just a guy standing in the middle of someone else’s family reunion trying not to breathe too loudly.
  Wish I had some popcorn or tissues for consolation to go with this teary-eyed event that just popped up.
  Anyway, back to the spectral elephant in the room.
  “Ah. Yasumi,” Haku said, dipping its head like it was greeting an old friend after a long absence. “So the time is nigh.”
  “It can’t be…” Nozomi’s voice barely escaped her before it exploded into a full-blown cry. “Oh no, not like this…!”
  If Haku had eyebrows, one of them would’ve been raised.
  You don’t know a thing, do you?’
  Not that it actually said anything. But I could practically hear it loud and clear.
  Like it was looking at a poor little child.
  Like it pitied her—like it sympathized with her.
  Actually, scratch that.
  I don’t know Haku well enough to pretend I understand what goes on in the mind of that creature.
  But if I’ve learned anything, it’s that there’s no difference in how it looks at a starving man, a sobbing child, or a teacup falling off a shelf.
  Now, if I can say there’s any saving grace here, I suppose it would be that not all partings stay one-way forever.
  “How I wish it could have been under different circumstances. But I’m grateful to see you again—even now,” Yasumi said with a smile filled with grief.
  “Mother… why now?! I didn’t even get to say goodbye… on the other side…” Nozomi’s voice trailed off. “I thought if I just kept going, just kept trying… we’d have more time together. Was it not enough?”
  “I’m sorry, Nozomi. Your pain, your burdens… they were born from the choices I made. But I chose them so you could have a chance at life—even if I couldn’t be there to spend those moments with you… And that’s why I couldn’t leave… not without showing you the truth.”
  “The truth…? What do you mean, Mother?”
  ‘The truth.’
  Did the topic of their conversation shift?
  Did their conversation get derailed?
  Did their conversation just turn into something bigger?
  No—it hadn’t.
  They were on the same subject, and they hadn’t been derailed.
  It was arguable that the scale of their conversation had escalated—
  We just weren’t ready for it until now.
  Thus, we arrive—not at a derailment, but at a revelation rooted in truths older than the tale that’s been told:
  Nozomi Kamishirai’s origins.
  The moon waned overhead.
  The air around stilled at once. So did the flowers in the field.
  A strong gust brought the fog together, vacuuming everything in its wake until nothing was left of the Boundary we were in.
  I spent the next few seconds legally blind, courtesy of whatever celestial flashbang had just gone off.
  By the time the scene pieced itself back together, we were somewhere new.
  A bloodstained room.
  Not necessarily the aftermath of a murder scene—
  But it had the aesthetic down to a tee.
  What’s going on…?
  “Fragments of memory,” Haku offered an explanation unprompted. “Drawn together by her will. A vision the Boundary permitted.”
  A young woman was cradling a newborn that did not cry.
  “Gods, if you can hear me… anyone... I beg of you… Please, help…!” the younger Yasumi cried out feebly.
  “That’s…the same vision from my dreams…!” Nozomi gasped.
  The younger Yasumi prayed frantically, the child in her arms growing colder by the second.
  “I will do anything! Just bring my child back to me!”
  A flash of lightning crackled overhead, turning everything black and white and the world ceased to move. A pair of amber eyes gleamed from nothingness, before materializing fully into a white cat.
  “Haku…”
  “Correct.” it meowed beside us, a soft affirmation slipping through its teeth.
  “I heard your prayer,” said the vision of Haku. “And so, I offer you a possibility.”
  “Whoever you are, please save my child! I will pay any price as long as you can return my daughter to me!”
  “Anything you say…? It would seem that the selfish love of humans certainly knows no bounds…” It fell silent, as if measuring the weight of something unseen. Then it leapt beside her, placing a paw on the child’s forehead.
  “Since thou hast chosen to bind thy fates with thee, know this: This child born of our contract shall not walk among humans untouched—she will not know the fullness of life, nor the ease of death as her existence tethers between both worlds. She will live and grow, bound by you until you breathe your last.”
  “Even if this is the punishment and sin I have to bear for my selfishness, I still refuse to let her die!”
  “So be it. I shall look forward to seeing the strength of your resolve.”
  Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, reversing the unnatural state of quiescence—an indication that the peculiar exchange between the unlikely duo had come to an end.
  As if the heavens had finally taken pity on the woman that day, the sound of following thunder that reverberated around the room was now drowned out by the frail, miraculous cry of a child.
  Right before a burst of light consumed us again, Haku’s voice hummed in my head like a lullaby:

A thread of life, woven from the abyss,
Knotted to another, bound by a mother’s wish.
And when one weaves, another frays—
A borrowed fate, stretched across borrowed days.
What strange design, what foolish grace...
To tie two souls in such fragile place.
Ah… I wonder still, what tales these threads will spin—
before they finally unwind.

When the light subsided, our feet found their place once more atop the field of flowers.
  Nozomi was gripping her heaving chest in utter devastation. She looked like someone who’d woken up the next day to find their house burning down. That much was clear, given the shock in her wide amber eyes.
  “You… gave up your life for me…”
  “I had nothing else to give,” Yasumi admitted sadly. “But I wanted you to live. I thought if I could keep you in this world, you might find happiness.”
  “…I wasn’t even alive… I was just…”
  “I’m so sorry.” Yasumi reached for her but stopped short as if guilt held her back. “I just… didn’t want to lose you.”
  Nozomi threw herself into her mother’s arms anyway.
  The floodgates burst. The waterworks were in motion.
  Her sobs came in sharp, gasping waves, like she’d been holding her breath for years and finally let it all go.
  “I hated you for not being there—for leaving me alone—for making me this way...” She hiccupped once, her voice quivering as if it had to fight its way out of her throat. “But I never stopped wishing… that I could see you again.”
  “You don’t have to forgive me.” Yasumi said, guilt catching in her throat. But Nozomi shook her head in vigorous refusal.
  “I know it wasn’t your fault… I just wish we had more time.”
  “If I had to make the choice again to save you, I wouldn’t hesitate to make the same decision again.”
  From within Yasumi’s chest, threads of light began to bloom, unfurling into golden filaments that drifted skyward like shooting stars.
  Nozomi gasped, clutching her chest, as the same radiant light burst forth—her own threads unravelling to join those her mother had already released.
  “With this, the bond is undone. You will no longer be bound by the past… or my choices.”
  “It hurts, Mother!” Nozomi cried, both hands pressed hard against her chest as if she were suffering from an unbearable pain. “It hurts so much—that our time was so short… that you were always just out of reach. There’s still so much I wanted to ask you, to tell you. How am I supposed to carry on without you…?”
  Yasumi brushed the back of her head gingerly in maternal fashion.
  “You’ve found people who care for you, haven’t you? People willing to stand by you—even in the face of the unknown.”
  “I…”
  A single syllable, full of doubt… and painfully close to hope.
  I understood this as my moment.
  What better time to score points with the girl’s mother than right after her daughter nearly sacrificed herself for me?
  All I needed now was a bit of soul-baring, maybe a nod of approval—and if the stars aligned, a spiritual thumbs-up that I wasn’t a complete deadbeat.
  I’d basically walked into a marriage interview without knowing anything beforehand.
  Then again, we were in a dreamscape for dead people, so… did it really count?
  Eh. I suppose that took the pressure off a little.
  So I figured I ought to do what any future son-in-law slash emotional support crutch would do.
  “We’ll find a way forward together. Whatever happens next… she won’t be alone anymore.”
  Yep, I said it out loud.
  No more take backs now.
  “Thank you. For being there when I could not,” Yasumi said, her smile warm and full of quiet acceptance. “I can now rest knowing that my daughter is in good hands.”
  She gently took Nozomi’s hand in hers.
  “Live, Nozomi. Be free. Don’t let the past chain you any longer. Your life belongs to you now.”
  Tears brimmed in Nozomi’s eyes again.
  “This life you fought so hard to give me… I’ll live it the way you wanted me to. I’ll make my own choices. I’ll live it to the fullest.”
  A brilliant warmth ignited in Yasumi’s expression—one full of a mother’s pride.
  “I’ll be watching over you. Always.”
  Haku, who had remained silent throughout the exchange, finally stirred.
  “A very touching reunion,” it said idly, like a theatregoer commenting on the final act. “It would seem… that the contract has concluded.”
  Nozomi took a breath and stepped forward, wiping the final streaks of tears from her cheeks. The grief behind her eyes hadn’t vanished—but it had hardened into something else.
  Resolve.
  “Now then, Haku. You asked what I would offer to change Kaoru’s fate?”
  The cat’s amber gaze met her with opaque stillness, unmoved by her challenge.
  “My answer hasn’t changed,” she declared. “If it is what allows Kaoru to return safely, I will gladly renounce all that I am—my existence, my life—all in exchange.”
  I’m sorry, but what?
  That stubborn girl—has she learned nothing?
  I couldn’t let her do this.
  “Nozomi—”
  There was no room for protest.
  There was no hesitation or regret in her words.
  Only resolve.
  I’ll say it again, and for the record: I really hope she’s not winging it this time.
  “You told me I couldn’t give what wasn’t mine. But now I’ve claimed it. My life is truly mine alone—and I choose to wager it for his.”
  “Do you understand what you’re saying?” Haku asked, its tail lashing about in an uncharacteristic show of agitation. “You claim to embrace life, yet now you wish to renounce the very future you were just given? You are a being that transcends human limits, bound by nothing. Is that not what most would wish for?”
  For once, the cat actually seemed… off-kilter.
  Ruffled, even—if I were to be bold about it.
  The arrogance in its voice.
  The effortless confidence.
  All of it had vanished as if it were yesterday’s fever dream.
  “You’re the one who doesn’t understand, Haku,” Nozomi answered firmly. “I’ve existed long enough to know the difference between surviving and living. Even if I wasn’t born human, I take pride in choosing to live—and die—as one.”
  “What foolishness is this?” the cat snapped. “I see no certainties in your choice.”
  “The world doesn’t run on absolutes. Humans only need the courage to face tomorrow.”
  “All of that for what?”
  “For freedom. For love. And the chance to decide for myself.”
  “Ridiculous… You think there can be no consequences?”
  “There will be. And I’ll accept them.”
  “Then state your offer,” it demanded with another swish of its tail.
  “I won’t simply offer,” Nozomi said. “I’ll make you a promise.
  No matter what happens from here, I’ll show you a future that will interest you to no end.”
  I gave her hand a silent squeeze—just to say, ‘You’ve got this’—and she reciprocated, as if to say, ‘I know’.
  What do you know—silent approval traded like a secret handshake between fools who still believe in each other when it matters most.
  The cat narrowed its eyes. Whatever thoughts it had remained buried somewhere deep behind all that amber.
  “A bold promise. You speak as if you command the future. I wonder… what drives you to such lengths.”
  It studied her a moment longer before finally offering a single nod.
  “Very well. I will allow it. But remember—your borrowed time remains a variable. Mysteries have their way of demanding answers.”
  “I’ll keep that in mind.”
  “Go, then. Seek whatever future you believe is worth your wager.” The white cat’s tone cooled again, its signature disinterest sliding back into place like a mask. “I remain… entertained by the possibilities.”
  As if acknowledging Haku’s decision, the Boundary itself took a step back—hinting at us to make our dramatic exit.
  The fog dispersed in full, right on cue, and lo and behold, a path revealed itself.
  Whether it led backward or forward—that was the question at hand.
  Well… ask again when we’re alive, I guess.
  Nozomi leaned into her mother’s embrace, as if trying to etch that warmth into memory one last time.
  “Thank you for everything, Mother… And goodbye.”
  “Farewell, my precious...”
  “You’d best hurry,” Haku added. “The Boundary’s clutches are never easy to escape—even for those who have been allowed to leave.”
  Nozomi immediately reached for my hand again—and I took it, obviously.
  What kind of protagonist would I be if I didn’t?
  We ran, full speed ahead, armed with nothing but vague hope, a shot at resurrection, and possibly the world’s most anticlimactic exit cue.

Barring the most intensive workout I’ve had in recent memory—fictional or otherwise—I suppose I’ve earned some character development by cardio.
  Frankly, I wouldn’t have blamed Nozomi if she’d tripped or collapsed halfway through. After everything she’d just endured, I was mentally prepared to offer myself up as trust-fall cushion if necessary.
  In all seriousness, I meant to offer some meaningful support for my companion, but from the looks of it, she didn’t need any.
  Far from it, actually.
  “How’re you holding up?” I asked instead, which obviously was nothing close to peak eloquence, but hey, it’s the sincerity that counts.
  “I could ask the same of you…” she answered calmly without slowing down.
  “Hey, no fair, I asked first.”
  Apparently, my childish whining was just charming enough to earn a mild giggle from her. Made my heart flutter a bit, but I’m not pointing that out here.
  “I’m still a little overwhelmed,” she admitted, touching the left side of her chest. “There’s a lot to take in. But the weight I’ve been carrying… it finally feels lighter.”
  “No kidding, you look about three shades more alive already. Any brighter and you’d start bending the visible spectrum.”
  She laughed again.
  “That so? Well, I’m just glad you were there with me, Kaoru.”
  “We’re still not entirely out of the woods yet,” I reminded her, fulfilling my role as designated wet blanket.
  “You’re right. There’s still a lot we don’t know. And whatever comes next won’t be easy…”
  “We’ll be okay. We’ll face whatever comes our way. Together.”
  “I know we will,” she murmured, then added after a beat, “Still… I never did thank you.”
  “What for? If anything, I should be the one thanking you. Pretty sure you just saved my soul—or whatever’s left of it.”
  She tapped her chin with a thoughtful ‘Hmm,’ before responding.
  “In that case, you’ll just have to keep walking with me until we’re even.”
  “That’s the easiest promise you’ll ever get me to make.”

Soon enough, we arrived back at the station that had unknowingly marked the start of our ordeals, misadventures, and all the strange things in between.
  That is, give or take a few spiritually ill-advised detours.
  The station was just as eerie and empty as the first time—though at least the turnstiles didn’t look like the gates to oblivion anymore.
  And wouldn’t you know it—there was our feline concierge, still LARPing as station staff.
  "You’re back,” it meowed, greeting us with the casual cheer of a bartender at closing hour. “The train to the other side is departing soon. Will you be boarding?”
  “Are you here to stop us?” Nozomi asked, a note of wariness in her voice.
  It yawned with exaggerated disinterest, then stretched languidly where it lay across the turnstile—with all the unconcern of something that had nothing but time.
  “The toll has already been paid. You’re both free to leave.”
  “Very well,” Nozomi replied with a curt nod. Her grip on my hand tightened as she tugged me forward through the gates.
  Not wanting to be rude to whatever eldritch entity had taken up a side gig as station attendant, I tossed out a quick “Thanks,” and hurried after her before anyone—or anything—changed their mind.
  “I look forward to seeing you again soon,” the cat added behind us, sounding far too pleased with itself.
  Neither of us looked back.

If you were to ask me the truth behind everything we went through up to this point, the answer’s simple.
  I had a reason. More than a one, actually.
  And now—I had another. One more reason to make it back in one piece.
  She had one too.
  More accurately, she’d found hers.
  Somehow, the two fools who chose to lean on each other with nothing but that—a reason—stumbled through far more than we probably should’ve.
  We bit off more than we could chew, no question. But we made it.
  What a long way it’s been.
  I didn’t die.
  I didn’t disappear.
  I was going home.
  And apparently, by the same ride still parked on those waterlogged rails, that had been patiently awaiting our return.
  Nozomi stood a few paces ahead, brushing her hair behind her ear as a breeze caught the ends.
  A frame worthy of a movie star, if I do say so myself.
  She stole a look over her shoulder.
  And I’ll never forget her expression as she did.
  “Shall we?”
  No way I stood a chance. So of course, there was only one right answer at this point.
  “After you.”

The two of us settled into our seats, side by side in the pristine cabin—hands still intertwined since the moment we left the flower field.
  Yes.
  I have a feeling—this is how my life is going to be from now on.
  A welcome change.
  Something for the future me to look forward to.
  That’s how it was.
  “The train is now about to depart. Please stay clear of the closing doors.”
  The boarding announcement rang out, mechanical and lifeless as ever and the train roars to life.
  Fitting, I suppose—for the end of an odyssey that had been anything but.
  That was not the epilogue—but the punch line of this story.
  The value of impermanence.
  The value of making the most out of said impermanence.
  Nothing lasts forever, but whoever painted the view outside was clearly gunning for one hell of a final impression.
  The living beast of a steam engine now sliced across the ocean’s surface, scattering starlit ripples in its wake.
  This is as far as my literary abilities go—and unfortunately, it’s also where my short-lived career as a half-decent window poet slams into the ceiling.
  But if you really must know, this is probably what the Shinkansen from Tohoku to Hokkaido would look like if it ditched underwater tunnels and decided to surf its way across the ocean.
  A little too perfect to be real.
  A little too vivid to be fantasy.
  And in that fleeting beauty, I found myself musing—
  “…It still feels like a dream.”
  Nozomi was clearly in a pensive mood.
  “Which part?” she asked absently, not once peeling her gaze away from the windows.
  “All of it.”
  An irresistible, captivating grin stretched across her face.
  “Then I hope we don’t wake up just yet.”
  Sure, the view was great and all.
  But between the endless sea and her reflection in the glass, I could make a solid case for where the real scenery was.
  I leaned in, just enough for our shoulders to touch again. We were close enough that I could feel a warmth that had nothing to do with the train’s interior heating.
  “You know… there’s so much I still want to ask you.”
  She tore her gaze from the glass and met my eyes again.
  “We have all the time now.”
  And so.
  “I want to know everything,” I said. “About your life. About what you’ve been through. I want to understand the parts of you I’ve never seen.”
  She spun a lock hair around her fingers, caught between mulling it over and deciding whether to say anything at all.
  “You really mean that?”
  “Of course, I—”
  Her fingers reached up and cupped my cheek before I could even finish.
  In a single fluid motion, she drew herself close, and her lips—soft and delicate—pressed pillowy against mine.
  The soft trickle of her breath warmed the skin beneath my nose.
  In that heartbeat, we remained in that localized standstill amidst the crossroads of time, sealed within the gentle confines of the carriage.
  In the heart of that tranquil hush betrayed only by the light thrumming of the engine underfoot and my wildly thudding heart, everything unsaid had finally found its place between us.
  When she finally pulled back and spoke again, her lips curved into the brightest, most radiant smile I’d ever seen.
  “Then let’s talk,” she said, her voice brimming with joy and anticipation. “Let’s talk lots and lots… until we run out of things to say.”
  I smile back hopelessly.
  “That might take a while.”

*          *          *

Even after the silhouettes and footfalls of her beloved daughter and companion had long vanished, Yasumi remained—watching wistfully, longing for a world she could no longer be part of.
  “Could it be… that you are at peace now?”
  Haku’s voice came soft as mist, as it landed beside her with a graceful leap.
  “I am,” Yasumi replied. “Though, a mother’s heart is never free from doubt.”
  “You still speak with regret.”
  “And that regret comes from a place of love. I feared my daughter would spend her life chasing answers that would never come… carrying guilt that was never hers. It seems I’ve been proven wrong.”
  “Perplexing.” Haku shook its head in seeming disapproval. “Your kind seems adamant about making impossible choices—and passing the baton of suffering like it’s tradition. All in the name of love.”
  “That’s true. And I suppose I owe you thanks… for everything.”
  “There’s no need.”
  “It seems my doubts about you were unnecessary, even till the end. Perhaps you’ve had charitable intentions all along?” she added teasingly.
  “Think whatever you will. I only held up the end of the agreement.”
  “That was all I asked for. And what allowed me to hear her first cry in my arms. And her voice again… after all this time.”
  Haku regarded her for a long moment.
  “…Despite not knowing how fleeting her existence would become, now that your gift has been severed?”
  “She made that choice of her own will. And I’m proud of her for it. The least I could do now is to leave my blessings and guide her from afar. Even if I’m no longer able to stand by her side, my love endures.”
  A soft purr rose in Haku’s throat.
  “What difference does it make—to love them in death, when you can no longer intervene?”
  “She doesn’t need me to. My daughter is stronger than you think... and she is not alone.”
  “Stronger than most,” it admitted. “Though strength is a fickle thing. It bends, it breaks. Sometimes… it endures long after logic disagrees. I’ve yet to decide which she is.”
  Yasumi’s gaze drifted across the distant field.
  “You still don’t understand, do you?” she said, before regarding the cat again kindly. “That’s why you watch us. Why you follow. Why you ask questions—even as you pretend to know everything.”
  “I do understand that humans often make the choices that bring the most chaos, pain, and uncertainty—even when offered something simpler. That much is nothing new to me.”
  “Yet, they still come up with ways to surprise you.”
  Haku fell silent, neither approving nor denying her claim.
  “It seems I hit the mark,” Yasumi said with a light chuckle, prompting the cat to narrow its eyes—just marginally.
  “Then enlighten me. What is it your kind clings to, in that fleeting flicker you call life? What makes that fragile spark worth infinitely more than eternal stillness?”
  Yasumi’s hands had begun to fade, her fingertips paling into transparency as the breeze stirred the blossoms in gentle waves.
  “Maybe that’s something you’ll come to understand in time. There’s still much you’ve yet to learn about the human heart.”
  She cast a final glance across the moonlit flower field where she had said her goodbyes.
  “Until we meet again…” she whispers, before regarding Haku once more. “Now, let us continue to watch over those who still have choices to make.”
  She steps beneath the torii, her form dissolving into light—like a butterfly set free.
  “Perhaps you’re right,” Haku murmured. “Humans always do find ways to surprise me.”
  With a final flick of its tail, it followed her fading trail, vanishing into the heart of the Boundary.
  Silence reclaims the expanse once more, leaving only the hush of flowers rustling beneath the moon’s solemn vigil.

*          *          *