Raito's life without Aimi was a haze of monotony, each day blending into the next. Every morning, he unlocked the doors of his small bookshop, greeted the familiar faces of the townsfolk, and went through the motions of his routine. On the surface, everything appeared normal—his polite smile, his casual conversations with customers, the way he carefully arranged the books on the shelves. But beneath it all, his smile was hollow, and his eyes betrayed the weight of his loneliness.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Raito often found himself drawn to the lake—their lake. He would sit by the water's edge, the silence broken only by the rustling of leaves or the occasional cry of a bird. There, under the pale light of the moon, he stared at its shimmering reflection, searching for some sign, some reassurance that Aimi would return. In his pocket, he carried the small wooden omamori she had given him, its once-bright threads now slightly worn from his constant touch. In his darkest moments, he clutched it tightly, as though the charm might somehow bridge the distance between them and bring her back to him.
Autumn came and went, its fiery hues fading into the cold, unyielding grip of winter. The first snowfall blanketed the town, transforming it into a picture of quiet beauty, but to Raito, it only deepened the ache in his heart. The once-bustling streets felt emptier, the laughter of the townsfolk muffled by the stillness of the season. Every corner of the town seemed to hold a memory of Aimi—the warmth of her hand in his as they walked through the market, her delighted gasp when she found a rare book on the shop's shelves, the way her laughter seemed to brighten even the gloomiest days.
Desperate for solace, Raito turned to the temple on the hill, a place they had visited together during happier times. There, he lit incense and closed his eyes, the faint scent of smoke mingling with the crisp winter air. Bowing his head, he prayed fervently for her return, his whispered pleas carried by the wind. He tied small white paper fortunes to the sacred trees, hoping they might bear his wishes to the heavens. Yet, the biting cold and the unyielding silence of winter seemed to mock his prayers, echoing the emptiness he felt inside.
The days dragged on, and the snow piled higher, muffling the world around him. Still, Raito held onto the omamori and the memories of Aimi, clinging to the fragile hope that the seasons would turn once more and bring her back to him. As the moonlight cast long shadows across the snow-covered streets, he whispered to the still night, "I'll wait for you, Aimi. No matter how long it takes."