The hum of the train was a lullaby the city had grown used to. Steel wheels glided along iron rails like memories too old to hold onto, but too loud to forget. Morning air clung to the windows in faint mist, fogging up the outside world and turning reality into watercolor—soft and slightly distorted, like a dream halfway remembered.
Souta leaned against the window, headphones in place, his thoughts elsewhere. The music playing was gentle, slow, a piano layered over strings, echoing the feeling of something unfinished. Not sadness. Not hope either. Just... waiting.
He didn't know what for.
He never did.
A notebook rested on his lap—blank pages waiting for a reason to be written. Just like him. He watched the scenery flicker past—utility poles, rooftops, laundry swaying like flags of tired resistance. The city was waking up, yawning into the day. Students in uniforms gathered at stations, commuters clutched coffee cups like shields.
Then, Minazuki Station.
It arrived in silence, like fate slipping in unnoticed. The doors parted with a familiar chime, and with it, a shift—small, quiet, but unmistakable. Like the moment before it rains. Like an echo you turn to find, only to see no one there.
She stepped in.
A girl with a scarf too long, a notebook too full, and eyes that didn't quite belong to this world. Her presence wasn't loud. It was the kind of presence that changed the way sunlight fell on the floor. The kind that felt like déjà vu before you even knew her name.
Souta noticed her right away—but not the way people notice things they're interested in. It was more like remembering a line from a forgotten poem. Familiar. Fleeting. Impossible.
She didn't glance around or hesitate. She walked with quiet intention and stood by the far side of the carriage, facing the window, her profile catching the soft morning light. Her eyes were distant, as if searching for something beyond the cityscape. As if looking for something that didn't belong to this timeline.
Souta lowered his music.
He didn't mean to. His finger just moved. As if the moment deserved more attention than the melody.
Why her?
Why now?
A part of him—some quiet, older part—felt something stir. Not love. Not yet. But a string being plucked. A thread catching light. Something ancient, warm, and deeply buried. A question without words.
Their eyes met.
It happened without force. She turned slightly, and in that accidental instant, they looked straight at each other.
He expected her to look away.
She didn't.
The train moved, but something between them stayed still. In that silence, Souta forgot how to breathe. He wasn't the poetic type. He didn't believe in destiny. And yet, this stranger... felt like something that had always been waiting at the edges of his life.
A soft jolt brought them back—the train pulling toward the next station. The moment passed. Her eyes dropped. So did his.
But something remained.
---
At School:
The bell rang too early for someone whose soul was still on the train.
Souta walked the familiar halls of Aomori High, his bag slung loosely over his shoulder. The chatter of classmates, the scuff of shoes against tile, the buzz of fluorescent lights—everything was exactly the same.
Except for her.
She was there.
In Class 2-B.
Seated by the window, two rows behind him. A single ray of sunlight traced the side of her desk like a secret only he noticed. She hadn't looked at him. She didn't need to. Just knowing she was there stirred something quiet in his chest.
"Hey, Souta." His friend Kaito nudged him. "You okay? You look... kind of spaced."
"Do I?" he muttered.
"Yeah, like you saw a ghost or something."
Souta didn't respond. He glanced back—just briefly.
She was scribbling something in her notebook. Not school notes. The kind of scribbling you do when your mind is speaking louder than the world around you.
He wanted to know her name.
But part of him felt like he already did. Like it was on the tip of his soul.
---
Lunchtime:
The rooftop was quieter than usual, a thin breeze brushing across the sky. Souta often came here to eat alone, notebook in hand, pretending to study while really just letting his thoughts wander.
Today, his thoughts weren't wandering. They were circling. Around her. That girl with the ocean-in-her-eyes gaze and the silence that echoed louder than noise.
He opened his notebook.
Wrote a single sentence:
> "I don't know your name. But I think my heart does."
And for the first time in a long while, he didn't feel alone while writing it.
The day lingered on with the usual rhythm of chalk against boards and teachers droning facts that felt too small for the things Souta was feeling. He kept glancing back—discreetly, just in case she noticed. She never seemed to.
But then again… maybe she did.
When the final bell rang and the students scattered like windblown petals, he stayed behind for a moment, watching as her silhouette moved through the corridor beyond the window. Her scarf trailing behind her like a whisper.
He wasn't sure what made him do it.
Was it fate?
Curiosity?
Or something far older, reaching across time, telling him: go.
He gathered his things slowly, then followed the winding path through the school. Not to chase her—but as if his feet already knew where to go.
He found her again near the train station, waiting beneath the awning, watching the city blur into dusk. Lights flickered across storefronts. The air smelled faintly of warm bread and rain.
She looked up when he approached.
Not startled. Just aware.
"You're in Class 2-A," she said softly, like it was something she'd always known.
Souta blinked. "…Yeah."
She turned back to the tracks. "Your name?"
"Souta," he answered, slower than usual. "And yours?"
She paused.
Then—
"Nina."
It felt like the world inhaled.
Nina.
The name landed in his chest like a stone tossed into still water. Familiar in a way that made his heart ache.
They stood there for a moment, not quite strangers, not quite anything else. A breeze curled around them, tugging lightly at her scarf. She didn't say much. Neither did he. But there was a strange peace in the silence.
Then, without looking at him, she said:
"Do you believe in deja vu?"
Souta swallowed. "Sometimes."
She smiled—just barely. "Me too."
The train arrived. The doors slid open. The world waited.
They stepped in together.
Side by side.