The following week dawned quietly, sunlight spilling into Ili's small, neatly arranged room like a nosy neighbor peeking through the blinds. He groaned, yanking the blanket over his head. But the rays were relentless, creeping over his blanket fortress until they bathed his face in a golden glow.
"Traitor," he muttered, swatting at the sunlight as though it could hear him.
He sat up, his hair sticking out in every direction, and blinked blearily at his alarm clock. It was already past nine. On his desk, his agenda and scattered notes mocked him with their organized chaos. Scribbled reminders stared back at him: Meet Daiki and Haru at the café. Summer group study session—don't be late this time!
"Another day of thrilling adventures," he mumbled, rubbing his eyes. "Heroic feats like… like… I don't even know."
Ili shuffled to the mirror, running a hand through his bedhead. "Morning, Ili. Looking sharp," he said sarcastically, striking a goofy pose. His reflection raised an unimpressed eyebrow in return.
On a table laid his agenda. Ili frowned slightly, his hand hovering over the page. Something felt off, like a piece of his week had gone missing. His handwriting looked familiar—of course it did; it was his own—but he couldn't shake the feeling that the notes belonged to someone else, someone who had experienced something he had somehow forgotten.
He stood there for a moment longer, a shiver running down his spine. Then he let out a breath, pushing the strange unease aside. "Come on, Ili," he told himself. "You're probably just tired."
He flipped his agenda closed and got dressed, determined to start the day fresh. Whatever the feeling was, it didn't matter. He had friends to meet and things to do, and that was enough.
The unease lingered at the edges of Ili's mind as he joined Daiki and Haru at their usual café. The smell of fresh coffee and laughter greeted him, blending with the chatter of the bustling crowd.
"Yo, Ili!" Daiki called, waving enthusiastically. "Over here, Mr. Brooding Philosopher!"
Haru snorted, gesturing to the seat next to him. "Took you long enough. Were you busy composing haikus about your tragic existence again?"
Ili rolled his eyes as he sat down. "Haikus? No. A sonnet, maybe."
"Let me guess," Daiki chimed in, grinning. "Roses are red, violets are blue, my memory sucks, and I'm stuck with you?"
"That's disturbingly accurate," Ili said, smirking. "You should take up poetry."
"Pass. My talents lie elsewhere—like finishing this mountain of waffles," Daiki declared, pointing at his plate.
As Daiki dramatically shoveled a towering forkful into his mouth, the syrup dripped onto his sleeves. Haru sighed, handing him a napkin. "Honestly, it's like eating with a toddler."
"Hey, toddlers don't have my charm," Daiki said, winking, his mouth still half-full. "Right, Ili?"
"I plead the fifth," Ili replied, sipping his iced coffee. "By the way, Haru, how's the group project coming?"
Haru narrowed his eyes. "Don't change the subject. You've been spacing out since you got here. What's going on?"
"I don't know." Ili hesitated, swirling his drink. "It's like I'm missing something… or I forgot something important."
Daiki leaned in, his expression mock-serious. "Maybe it's the plot of your life, finally catching up to you."
"Thanks, Sherlock," Ili said dryly. "Very helpful."
After spending the morning with Daiki and Haru at the café, Ili decided to head out on his own. The day was bright and full of promise, but the lingering unease still tugged at the back of his mind. Shaking off the feeling, he slipped his backpack over his shoulder and made his way to the nearby mall, hoping that a change of scenery would help clear his thoughts.
The mall was bustling, alive with energy. Bright advertisements flashed on electronic screens, and groups of friends moved through the shops, their laughter blending with the hum of conversation. Ili found comfort in the noise and liveliness, the ordinary chaos of a summer afternoon in the city.
He wandered from store to store, letting himself get lost in the crowd. In one shop, he tried on a few shirts, admiring how they fit but ultimately deciding against buying anything. The familiar act of browsing and slipping into the mundane seemed to help ease the tension in his chest.
Eventually, he found himself at a small bookstore tucked into a corner of the mall. The smell of paper and ink washed over him, soothing in its own way. He drifted through the aisles, fingers trailing over the spines of books he'd never read but somehow felt he had. It was an odd feeling, like déjà vu mixed with the ghost of a memory he couldn't place.
"Can I help you find something?" a gentle voice asked, snapping him out of his daze.
Ili turned to see a young woman, a store employee, with kind eyes and a curious smile. He realized he'd been standing still for longer than he'd meant to, staring blankly at a row of poetry books.
"Oh, no, I'm just looking," he said, offering a polite smile. "Thanks, though."
Ili wandered the nearby mall, hoping the lively energy would shake off his lingering unease. He passed bright displays and bustling shoppers, letting the chaos wash over him.
At one point, a small child ran past him, clutching a balloon. The balloon escaped, hitting Ili squarely in the face.
"Even balloons have it out for me," he muttered, glaring at the floating offender as the child's laughter echoed behind him.
He stopped by a clothing store, trying on a shirt that fit a little too well. Admiring himself in the mirror, he struck a dramatic pose. "Now, this is a guy who has his life together."
The fitting room attendant walked by, gave him a look, and said, "Sir, the tag is still on your forehead."
Blushing furiously, Ili peeled off the sticker and bolted out of the store.
"What's wrong with me today?" he murmured, turning the charm over in his fingers. The more he stared at it, the heavier it felt, like it was tethered to a past he had lost.
Suddenly, just as he was beginning to relax, he saw her.
A girl with golden hair, but he couldn't recall from where. She stood across the mall, near the entrance to a clothing store, her back to him. His heart thudded painfully in his chest, a wave of recognition and confusion crashing over him. ''Damn, this is too much for me, too much is happening, like straight out of a movie. What the **** is this, I need to sleep asap because my mind is playing tricks with me.''
He walked to an exit and a small shop tucked into a quiet corner that sold handmade trinkets and charms. The scent of polished wood and lavender filled the air, calming yet oddly nostalgic. His eyes wandered to a display of handmade charms, each delicate and intricate.
One charm caught his attention: a wooden carving of a Wisteria flower. His fingers hovered over it, a strange ache blooming in his chest. He felt a tug—soft but insistent, as though the charm was calling to him. Hadn't someone once given him something like this?
Then he heard.
"Ili?"
The voice was filled with a mix of disbelief and overwhelming emotion.
He turned, and his breath caught. Standing a few steps away was a girl. Her hair shimmered in the light, and her eyes, wide and glistening, were locked onto him. She looked like she was fighting back tears, her expression wavering between sadness and a fragile, desperate kind of happiness.
Confusion clouded his mind. He didn't recognize her, but the way she looked at him made him feel like he should. "Hey," he said, his voice gentle but uncertain. "Are… are you okay?"
She smiled, but it was a trembling, sorrowful smile that made his chest ache. "I'm fine," she replied, though her voice cracked slightly. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, as if she were trying to hold herself together. "I just… it's nothing."
He frowned, the feeling of déjà vu gnawing at him. "Are you sure?" he asked, stepping a bit closer. "You seem upset."
Her eyes softened, and for a moment, she looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. But then she shook her head, blinking back tears. "No, really," she insisted. "It's… it's just good to see you."
His heart thudded painfully in his chest, the confusion, and longing almost too much to bear. "Good to see me?" he echoed, trying to make sense of her words. "Do we… know each other?"
Her lips trembled into a fragile smile. "You don't remember, do you?" Her voice cracked, and she quickly looked away. "Of course you don't."
A pang of guilt, inexplicable and raw—pierced him. "I'm sorry," he said, though he didn't know what he was apologizing for. "I really don't…"
Before he could finish, she turned away, her shoulders trembling. As she started to walk off, he stood there, frozen. But just as she disappeared into the crowd, he heard her whisper,
"Welcome back, Ili."
He spun around, but she was gone, leaving him alone in the bustling mall. The words echoed in his mind, and he clutched the small wooden charm he'd unknowingly picked up, his heart pounding with a sense of loss he couldn't explain.
Why did those two words make him feel like he was supposed to remember something? And why did it feel like a piece of himself was missing—something he couldn't even name?
"Who… was she?" he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible over the bustling noise of the mall.
''But how does she know me…, my name, when I don't remember knowing her''