A memory that hurts

Meanwhile on planet Earth. The park was quiet, shrouded in the soft gray of dawn. Rain still lingered in the air, turning each blade of grass silver. The silence was heavy, unnatural, as though even the world itself had been holding its breath.

And there, hidden among tall grass and scattered petals, lay a girl.

Her body motionless. Her chest faintly rising. Her face… peaceful, like one who had drifted into a dream she could not wake from.

Aiko.

A cold wind brushed strands of hair across her cheek, but she did not stir.

The first passerby gasped, stumbling toward her.

“Hello?! Are you alright?! Can you hear me?!”

No answer. Only the faintest pulse of life — enough to cling to hope.

The wail of sirens cut through the night, flashing blue lights against wet asphalt. Paramedics rushed her into the ambulance. She wore no identification. Her clothes were torn and unfamiliar, stained with the dirt of some long journey.

Inside the hospital, doctors worked quickly. One nurse, staring at her face in disbelief, whispered to the others:

“Wait… I know her. This girl… she’s been missing for six months. Aiko Harada… they said she was gone.”

And just like that, the phone call that her parents had prayed for, cried for, and nearly given up on… finally came.

Observation room, Meirin Hospital.

The steady beep… beep… beep of the monitor filled the room. Aiko lay still, tubes connected, her breathing shallow but steady. Her face was calm, almost unrecognizable — as though she had left something of herself behind, somewhere far away.

Her mother sat at her bedside, trembling as she reached for her daughter’s hand.

“Aiko… my little girl…”

Her father stood behind, rigid as stone, but his lips quivered, his eyes shining with tears he could not hold back.

The doctor gave a quiet explanation:

“She shows no injuries. No signs of struggle. But her condition… is fragile. Perhaps shock. Perhaps trauma. Only time will tell.”

Her mother only shook her head, holding tighter.

“As long as you’re alive… as long as you’ve come back to us… nothing else matters.”

The next morning.

Sunlight pressed softly against the curtains. A breeze slipped in from the cracked window.

Her eyelids trembled.

Her fingers twitched.

Slowly… Aiko opened her eyes.

White ceiling. Neon light. The faint sterile smell of disinfectant.

“…Where am I…?”

The door burst open. Her mother rushed in with tears spilling freely.

“Aiko! My Aiko, you’ve woken up!”

Her father followed, silent but unable to hide the emotion carved across his face.

“Mom…? Dad…?” Aiko blinked rapidly, her voice fragile, as though speaking for the first time in years.

Her mother pressed her forehead against Aiko’s hand. “Yes… we’re here. We’re here, sweetheart.”

But something was wrong. Something hollow pressed against Aiko’s chest. A void, vast and aching.

“What happened? Why am I here…?”

The doctor entered, voice calm but grave.

“You were found in the park. You had been missing for six months. Nobody knew where you had gone.”

“Six… months…?” Aiko whispered. She squeezed her temple, her head pulsing with shadows she couldn’t reach.

“I… I don’t remember. I was walking in the park… and then… darkness.”

Her breath caught, a tremor running through her. “But… I feel like something is missing. Something important. I just… don’t know what.”

Her mother pulled her close. “Don’t force yourself, darling. Just rest. Memories may return in time.”

Aiko nodded weakly, though unease gnawed at her heart. She closed her eyes, but sleep came uneasy. And in the dream, a voice drifted across the stars:

“Aiko…”

Her heart clenched.

Somewhere inside, something called to her.

That night.

She dreamed again. Flowers beneath her feet. An endless starry sky above, burning brighter than any she had ever seen. The air was pure, crystalline, alive.

Someone stood beside her. She could not see their face, only a warmth, a heartbeat strong and steady — a presence that felt as if it had always been there.

And that voice.

Distant. Broken. Eternal.

“I will never forget you…”

Aiko shot awake, her breath ragged. Her hand flew instinctively to her neck.

Empty.

Her necklace… gone.

“…Where… is it?”

On Planet Akarihoshi —

Akihiko stood before Naoru, his voice heavy yet steady.

“From this day forward, the system must not provide me with any information about Aiko. Even if I command it… it must refuse me.”

Naoru’s expression stiffened. “Akihiko…”

Akihiko’s eyes darkened, but he did not waver. “If I see her… even for a moment… I will not be able to let her go. That is why I must not look. Not even once.”

Naoru bowed deeply, swallowing the weight of his prince’s resolve. “…Understood.”

But when Akihiko left, Naoru lingered in the shadows of the control chamber. He touched the console, whispering under his breath.

“Don’t worry, Aiko. Don’t worry, Akihiko. I will keep watch. Even if you two must be apart… I won’t let either of you be alone.”

On the screen, soft glowing text appeared — records of Earth. Records of Aiko.

Back on Earth — week later.

Aiko was still in the hospital. Her mother read aloud from her favorite books, her father brought homemade pastries, and her cousin called through video chat to cheer her up. Aiko responded to each gesture with a smile—gentle, polite, but somehow distant.

Something was missing. Something she could neither name nor reach.

When she was alone, she reached for the sketchbook her father had brought. She began to draw—at first, simple things. The wide sky she saw from her window. The outlines of trees. The faint shimmer of stars.

But then, almost without realizing it, her hand began sketching something she had never seen before. A tall building with grand columns. Blossoms that didn’t belong to Earth. A structure lavish and otherworldly.

Her breath caught. A shiver ran through her spine.

“What… what did I draw?” she whispered, staring at the image. “Why do I see it so vividly…?”

She tried to remember the thought behind it, but it slipped away, vanishing like mist beneath the rising sun.

That night, the hospital was quiet. The nurses walked with hushed steps, and the elderly man in the room across the hall was already fast asleep. Aiko sat by the window, moonlight brushing her pale skin, her gaze fixed on the sketch lying on the nightstand.

She didn’t know why she had drawn it. Why her heart ached when she looked at the sky. Why the moon soothed her, yet made her want to cry.

Her hands pressed against her chest.

“What’s happening to me? Why does my heart tell me… something is missing?”

There was no answer. Only the fast rhythm of her heartbeat.

The following day, the doctor announced she could soon return home. Aiko smiled politely, but inside, she felt no joy. Even when she later walked the familiar streets, it seemed as though a crucial part of her life was gone—stolen, leaving only a quiet emptiness behind.

The seasons shifted.