Chapter 7: Ten Years of Silence

We see Kinkaku-ji, the Golden Pavilion, its top two floors completely covered in gold leaf, shimmering in the sun and casting a perfect, breathtaking reflection in the mirror pond that surrounds it. It seems too beautiful to be real, a structure plucked from a fairy tale.

We wander through the endless arcades of vibrant red torii gates at Fushimi Inari Shrine, following the path as it snakes up the mountainside. With every step, I feel the heavy, gray cloak of my past life shedding, leaving me lighter, more open. I am smiling, laughing even, at Minaki’s quiet jokes and observations. I feel like a man waking from a long, troubled sleep.

Our friendship deepens with every shared meal, every quiet moment spent sitting on a temple step, every shared glance of wonder. The physical boundary between us begins to blur. Her hand finds mine as we navigate a crowd, a gesture that feels both natural and electrifying. She leans her head on my shoulder as we rest on a park bench, a simple act of trust that makes my heart ache with a tender, protective feeling.

The unspoken tension that has existed between us is slowly transforming into a palpable, magnetic pull. I am falling for her. It is a terrifying, exhilarating realization. I, Juiro Minasaki, the hollow man who has given up on life, am falling in love with a mysterious, white-haired girl who has saved him on a bridge.

On our last evening in Kyoto, we find ourselves at Kiyomizu-dera Temple, perched on a wooden stage that juts out from the mountainside, offering a panoramic view of the city below. The sun is setting, bathing the city in a warm, orange glow. The autumn leaves on the surrounding trees are a riot of red, orange, and gold. It is a perfect moment.

We stand in silence for a long time, simply absorbing the beauty of it all.

"Juiro," Minaki says finally, her voice soft, almost a whisper.

"Yeah?" I turn to look at her. Her face is illuminated by the setting sun, making her look even more ethereal. Her expression is serious, her violet eyes holding a depth of emotion I have never seen before.

"I have not been completely honest with you," she says, her gaze unwavering.

A knot of anxiety tightens in my stomach. "What do you mean?"

She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "This trip was not as spontaneous as I made it seem. And our meeting on the bridge was not a coincidence."

My mind goes blank. "I do not understand."

"We have met before, Juiro."

The words hang in the air between us, heavy and unbelievable. I stare at her, trying to process what she is saying. My mind, a barren landscape of forgotten memories, offers nothing.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I would remember you. I would never forget a face like yours."

A sad smile touches her lips. "You would not. But you cannot. Not after the accident."

The mention of the accident, the source of my empty past, sends a chill down my spine. "How do you know about that?"

"Because I was there," she says, her voice trembling slightly. "Not at the accident itself. But before. In your life before."

She reaches out and takes my hand, her fingers cold but her grip firm. "Juiro, it is so, so nice to meet you again after ten years of separate."

The world tilts on its axis. Ten years. The exact amount of time I have lost. The exact length of the gaping hole in my memory. Her words are a key, turning in a lock I did not even know existed.

My head starts to throb, a dull, pounding ache behind my eyes. A whirlwind of fragmented images, emotions, and sensations swirls in the darkness of my mind. A flash of sunlight on white hair. The sound of two young girls laughing. The feel of a small hand in mine. The green, green hill from my dream.

"The dream," I whisper, my voice hoarse. "The two little girls... under the tree."

Tears well in Minaki's violet eyes, spilling down her cheeks. "You remember," she breathes, her voice thick with emotion. "You remember something."

"Who are you?" I ask, my heart pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird. The world is spinning, the beautiful sunset view blurring into a swirl of color.

"My name is Minaki," she says, her voice clear and steady despite her tears. "And I was one of those little girls, Juiro. I was your best friend."

The revelation is too much. It is a tidal wave of information, of emotion, crashing against the fragile dam of my carefully constructed, empty life. The dam breaks.

The headache intensifies, a searing pain that makes me cry out. The world dissolves into a dizzying vortex of light and shadow. I stumble back, pulling my hand from her grasp, my breath coming in ragged gasps.

"I cannot. I cannot." I stammer, clutching my head. "It is too much."

"Juiro, it is okay," Minaki says, stepping towards me, her face a mask of concern. "Breathe. Just breathe."

But I cannot. I am drowning. Drowning in a past I cannot remember but can suddenly, painfully, feel. The weight of ten years of silence, of forgotten friendship, of a life stolen from me, is crushing.

I turn and flee. I do not know where I am going. I just run, stumbling down the temple steps, pushing past startled tourists, away from her, away from the impossible truth she has just revealed. I can hear her calling my name, her voice filled with anguish, but I cannot stop.

I run until my lungs burn and my legs give out, collapsing onto a bench in a deserted park, the city lights of Kyoto blurring through my own tears.

Childhood friend. The words echo in the screaming void of my mind. The girl on the bridge, the girl who has saved me, the girl I am falling in love with, is a ghost from a life I do not know. And the miracle of her appearance is suddenly overshadowed by the terrifying, painful mystery of her past connection to me.