That night, Yumiko dreamed.
She stood in a place she didn't recognize—a vast field under a violet sky, wind brushing past her like a whisper. The air felt ancient, heavy with meaning, as if this place had existed long before time learned how to move.
"You're late," a voice said gently.
She turned.
Jash stood there, not as she knew him now, but different—older somehow, yet untouched by time. His eyes held a depth that made her chest ache.
"Do I know you?" she asked, even though the question felt like a lie.
He smiled sadly. "You always ask that."
Confusion rippled through her. "This is just a dream," she whispered.
"No," he replied. "This is a memory."
The sky darkened, stars flickering into existence. Yumiko felt something pull at her heart, sharp and painful. "Why does this feel like goodbye?"
"Because it was," Jash said. "And because you chose to forget."
Her breath caught. Images flashed—hands clasped, promises spoken under dying stars, tears she didn't remember shedding.
"I waited," he continued softly. "Through lifetimes. Through silence. Through you learning how to exist again."
Tears slid down her cheeks. "That's not possible."
"It is when love isn't bound by time," he said.
She stepped toward him, desperate now. "Then why does it hurt so much?"
"Because you weren't meant to remember yet," Jash answered. "And because waking up means losing me again."
"No," she said, reaching for him. "Don't leave."
His hand brushed hers—warm, real. "I never did."
Yumiko woke with a gasp, heart pounding, tears soaking her pillow. Dawn light crept through the window, soft and unforgiving.
She pressed her hand to her chest. The ache was still there. Real. Lingering.
That hadn't been an ordinary dream.
It was a fragment of something broken.
Something she had lived before.
And somewhere in the waking world, Jash was carrying the rest of it alone.