The rain whispered softly against the windows of Ren Arakawa's bedroom. Drops of water traced lazy paths down the glass, blurring the view of Tokyo's skyline. It was just past dawn, the city wrapped in a bluish-gray fog that softened the usual buzz of life. Ren sat at the edge of his bed, staring down at his hands. Something was off—again.
He had woken up with tears on his cheeks.
It wasn't the first time. For the past few weeks, Ren had been waking up with the feeling that something—or someone—was missing. He couldn't remember who. A face? A name? A moment that slipped away the moment he opened his eyes? All he was left with was the echo of emotion: a bittersweet ache that lingered in his chest like the final note of a beautiful song.
He rubbed his eyes and stood, dragging himself into the small kitchen of the apartment he shared with his older sister, Hana. She was already dressed, hair pulled into a messy bun, typing furiously into her tablet while sipping instant coffee.
"You're up early," she said without looking at him.
"Didn't sleep well," he muttered, opening the fridge. "We have any more milk?"
"Nope. You finished it last night with that midnight cereal binge."
Ren sighed. "Guess I'll just grab something on the way to school."
She finally looked up. "You okay?"
"Yeah, just... weird dreams again."
Hana raised an eyebrow. "Still with the mystery girl?"
Ren froze. "What do you mean?"
"You talk in your sleep, genius." She grinned. "Last night you said something like, 'Don't forget me this time.' Kinda creepy, kinda romantic."
He blinked. "I said that?"
"Yep."
Ren felt his heart tighten. That same line had been echoing in his mind all morning. Don't forget me this time. It felt less like something from a dream, and more like a plea whispered across lifetimes.
He showered quickly, dressed, and grabbed his bag. The streets of Tokyo were already alive, though the rain dulled the usual energy. He caught the train like always, squeezed between a salaryman half-asleep and a student glued to her phone. Everything around him was real, solid, loud—yet he felt disconnected, like he was floating through someone else's life.
During history class, while the teacher droned on about Edo period politics, Ren found himself doodling. Not unusual—but what he drew made his chest tighten.
It was a girl's face.
Long, dark hair. Soft eyes. A gentle smile that seemed to hold a secret. She looked serene and distant, like someone from an old photograph. And the strangest part? He didn't remember deciding to draw her. His hand had moved on its own.
His best friend Daichi leaned over. "Dude, who's that?"
Ren stared at the sketch. "I... don't know."
"Girlfriend?"
"I don't have one."
"Well, your subconscious does. That's the look of a guy in love."
Ren laughed it off, but inside, he couldn't shake the feeling. The girl in the drawing—he knew her. Somehow. Somewhere.
After school, he walked home slowly, letting the drizzle soak into his hoodie. He passed a bookstore, stopped, and turned back. Something had drawn him to the window. On display was a new collection of poems titled Whispers Across Time. The cover was simple—two silhouettes under a sky full of stars.
He stepped inside.
The bell above the door jingled. A clerk nodded at him, then went back to rearranging manga volumes. Ren picked up the poetry book and flipped to a random page.
Sometimes I feel you like a shadow in my breath,
a name at the edge of my tongue,
a memory not yet born.
His skin prickled. That feeling again.
He bought the book and left, heart pounding. He didn't even like poetry. But this—this felt familiar. As if someone had written it for him.
That night, he sat on the balcony of his apartment, listening to the rain fade. The clouds began to part, revealing a slice of deep blue sky and a scatter of early stars. He opened the poetry book again, then closed it.
A wind passed over him. It carried a scent he couldn't name—something sweet, like blooming flowers and wet earth. And then, for the briefest moment, he heard a voice in his mind.
Aira.
The name bloomed in his thoughts, gentle and sudden. It wasn't his name. It wasn't Hana's. It didn't belong in his life.
And yet it felt like it belonged to someone he once loved.
"Aira..." he whispered aloud.
And far away, under the same stars, a girl stirred awake in a quiet mountain town, tears streaming down her face.
She, too, whispered, "Ren."
Neither knew the other existed.
But something had already begun to change.