The festival had ended, but the echoes of laughter and fireworks lingered in Haru's mind. Walking Hana home, he couldn't shake the strange feeling that their encounter was just the beginning of something far larger than either of them could understand.
The next morning, drawn by a pull he couldn't resist, Haru wandered toward the old shrine on the edge of town. Few visited it anymore — the moss-covered steps and weathered torii gates whispered of forgotten prayers. Yet as he climbed, the air grew strangely heavy, as though time itself thickened around him.
At the shrine's courtyard, he stopped.
A girl stood before the offering box, her hands pressed together in prayer. Her long black hair shimmered like ink beneath the sunlight, and her white kimono swayed gently in the breeze. Haru felt the same piercing familiarity as he had with Hana, only deeper — like a forgotten ache that stirred inside him.
She turned. Her eyes, calm and knowing, met his.
"You've finally come back," she said softly.
Haru froze. "What… do you mean?"
The girl smiled faintly, though sadness lingered in her expression. "Lifetimes ago, we promised to meet again here. I've waited."
His breath caught. This wasn't a dream. The whispers in his mind flared, and fleeting images rushed through him — standing at this very shrine centuries ago, the girl's face lit by lantern light, her voice vowing to stay with him even beyond death.
But how could she know?
"Who are you?" Haru asked, though deep down, his soul already recognized her.
The girl bowed slightly, her voice steady. "My name is Aki. And you… you once loved me."
The world around Haru seemed to tilt. First Hana, now Aki. Both stirred fragments of memories he didn't fully understand.
Fate was no longer whispering — it was calling.