What does it truly mean to live, to fully embrace each fleeting moment, and to savor the richness of life in its entirety?
When do we arrive at that elusive point of contentment, knowing we have truly made the most of our journeys?
For me, the quest for satisfaction has always extended beyond mere contentment. My profound desire is to be truly seen, to extend my hand and bask in the warm embrace of sunlight streaming down.
Yet, that yearning often feels like a distant star—beautiful and bright, yet eternally out of reach.
Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Asahi, which translates to 'sunlight'—a poignant irony considering my current circumstances. Born with a mysterious illness that has baffled doctors, I have been slowly battling a cruel condition that relentlessly erodes my physical capabilities, causing my body to decline at a heartbreaking pace.
I was in an out of hospital for most of my life until I hit the tender age of 8 when the simple joy of wiggling my toes became a cherished memory, soon replaced with an unsettling stillness.
At 9, I could no longer feel my legs—a shocking realization that numbed my spirit. Each passing day, my parents stepped into the roles of my devoted caregivers, wheeling me through life in a wheelchair. Their faces bore no traces of frustration or despair, but I could sense the weight of their sacrifices pressing down upon them.
At 10, the illness made its cruel advance, claiming my left hand and slowly working its way up my arm until it lay limply by my side—powerless, devoid of life. In those haunting moments of discovery, as I recognized my helplessness, a dark cloud of uselessness began to envelop me.
Yet, my parents enveloped me with unwavering love, reminding me time and again that I had no need to worry. They vowed to be my steadfast anchors, unwavering in their devotion amidst the storm.
Then came the torment of pain—a relentless scourge that surged through my body at the most unpredictable moments as treatments commenced. It was a torment beyond description, a cacophony of agony that echoed within me. I would scream, the sound laced with sheer despair, yet the painkillers offered no respite from its relentless assault.
My parents could only stand by, tight-lipped, their faces etched with worry as they watched me writhe in anguish. I would often wonder what expressions adorned their faces during those harrowing episodes—were they cloaked in fear, confusion, or silent sorrow?
When I turned 11, my parents faced the heart-wrenching decision to transition me into a children's hospice. By that time, I was beginning to lose all sensation in my right arm—a stark reminder of my body's betrayals. I understood the significance of moving to a hospice; it meant I had reached the pinnacle of my life.
My parents made the daily pilgrimage to visit me after work, but as time wore on, it became painfully evident how much my condition weighed upon them. Their once-bright eyes now contained deep shadows, dark circles forming under their gazes—somber reflections of countless sleepless nights spent worry-laden.
Their skin bore a sickly pallor, and the once-neat clothes they wore became wrinkled and disheveled—a testament to lives caught in the relentless grip of despair as they navigated a path too fraught with heartache.
As the months crept by, my parents' visits dwindled in frequency. My mother, overwhelmed by the burden of stress, had to take a leave from her job, while my father grappled with the financial strain of towering bills and my hospital expenses. I could see the toll it exacted upon them, and it pierced my heart like a shard of ice.
With each departure, I found myself ensnared in a web of dark thoughts that spiraled into a suffocating abyss. I often questioned why they would allow me to endure such suffering, feeling an invisible weight pressing down on me, leaving me desperate for answers that always seemed just beyond my grasp.
On my 15th birthday, a heavy tension lingered in the air during their visit. Consumed by anger and despair, I lashed out, placing the blame for my suffering squarely on their shoulders. My mother's reaction was devastating—she dropped to her knees beside my bed, tears streaming down her cheeks as she desperately begged for my forgiveness.
"I'm a useless mother." She lamented, her voice cracking under the weight of her sorrow. My father stood beside her, his eyes glistening with unshed tears, a profound sadness etched into every line of his face. He gently led my mother out of the room, and that moment marked the last time I ever laid eyes on them, leaving an unbearable ache within me.
Now, a year has passed, and my condition has left me trapped in this sterile, clinical room, a silent observer of my surroundings, staring at the cracked ceiling above. The visits from my parents have ceased entirely since that fateful day, leaving an unfillable void in my heart.
Communicating feels like an insurmountable challenge now. I find myself trapped in this bleak prison, utterly devoid of any semblance of escape or hope. My dull, cerulean eyes remain fixated on the peeling, off-white walls, their texture resembling crumbling parchment. Bandages wrap my body tightly from neck to toe, a silent testament to the turmoil that has befallen me.
The hospital room I inhabit is stark, with a sterile quality that feels foreign and uninviting. Rusty ceiling lights flicker intermittently, casting an eerie glow across the space. To my left, a small, dust-covered window allows thin shards of moonlight to slice through the darkness, illuminating motes of dust that dance aimlessly in the stagnant air. Beside my bed, a weathered wooden desk stands cluttered.
A picture frame lies face-down, its glass cracked and dusty, and an empty vase sits forlornly beside it, a bitter reminder of the life that once flourished within these walls. This desolate room embodies the totality of my existence, a thought that weighs heavily on my soul.
As I drift into the shadows, a narrow beam of moonlight filters through the grimy glass, beckoning me to close my eyes with great effort. I wonder whether this night will transport me to a realm of comforting dreams or if I will once again be left to stare endlessly at the unyielding ceiling.
Suddenly, the silence shatters with the whisper of a voice, resonating through the hollow space around me.
"Found you." Startled, my eyes slowly open to a scene that defies reality. Bright pink cherry blossoms, vibrant and ephemeral, swirl gracefully within my room, creating a surreal contrast against the stark walls, and alarm bells clang violently in my mind.
Is this a dream?
A brilliant light engulfs my surroundings, momentarily confusing my senses. As my vision steadies, I behold a girl seemingly suspended above my bed. Her long, raven locks cascade down her shoulders, woven with striking crimson highlights that flicker like flames in the soft light. Her deep auburn eyes lock onto mine, radiating an intensity that draws me in.
"Were you the one calling out to me?" She inquires, her voice a curious blend of emotionless calm and enchanting allure as she descends with a fluid grace. As she surveys the room, her expression shifts to one of intrigue. "Wow, this place looks ancient."
The cherry blossoms continue their delicate descent, vanishing into the walls as if they were whispering secrets—fleeting memories lost to time. I find myself spellbound by her presence.
She is dressed in a fitted black tank top that clings to her form, and her frayed cut-off jeans add an edge to her appearance, complemented by fishnet stockings that hug her legs with defiant charm. The knee-high black boots and snug black choker she wears not only enhance her striking silhouette but also imbue her with an electrifying aura. Her nails were painted a pitch black top accentuate her appeal.
One word echoes in my mind: Goth.
She turns to face me, her expression morphing into that all-too-familiar look of curiosity. "You look like you're in a lot of pain." She states plainly, her brow furrowing slightly before quickly transitioning into a mask of sympathy. It's a gaze I've grown to dread more than any other emotion.
"Do you want to experience what it feels like to truly live?" Her question slices through the chaos buzzing in my mind. My eyes lock onto hers that seems to gleam with an unspoken promise, as she extends her right hand toward me, an invitation glowing in the air between us. But I am paralyzed, incapable of movement.
She tilts her head, leaning closer to my bedside, her delicate fingers brushing against a stray lock of hair that has fallen across my forehead. Up close, I can't help but notice the constellation of tiny freckles scattered across her cheeks like stars against a night sky, the deep, dark hue of her black lipstick contrasting sharply with her porcelain skin, giving her an almost otherworldly allure that captivates me.
"I can't help you if you won't let me." The girl whispers, her voice soft yet monotonous, carrying an urgency that pulls at my heart. She retreats to her original standing position beside the bed, her eyes never abandoning mine. In a sudden, fluid motion, she pivots away from me.
In that fleeting moment, a wave of dread crashes over me; if she leaves, I fear I might never see her again. She is the first person who has dared to reach out to me beyond the confines of my family. I need to move, to speak, to do something—anything.
"I...li...ve," I manage to croak out, my voice hoarse but fragile, desperate enough to break through the heavy silence enveloping the room. Just as the weight of having spoken weighs upon me, she's back, looming over me again, her penetrating gaze fixed on mine.
She's kinda cool. There's a strength in her presence that I can't quite fathom.
"I'll take you to a future where you can truly live." She promises, her hand resting over mine and in an electrifying instant, the room is engulfed in a blinding white light that feels all-consuming. As the brilliance begins to fade, I notice a soft glow emanating from my surroundings; the stark white walls have given way to a deep, ethereal blue, a soothing hue that wraps around me like a warm embrace. An innovative, modern light fixture adorned with unusual geometric patterns hangs from the ceiling, casting intricate shadows on the walls.
The window, once shrouded in layers of dust, now reveals vibrant cobalt curtains delicately tied back, unveiling a breathtaking view of a cerulean sky. Beside me sits a box-shaped desk embellished with peculiar markings that suggest it may possess secrets I can't yet decipher, and the bed has transformed into a strangely inviting haven—plush, with soft linens that beckon me to succumb to their comfort.
This place feels far more futuristic and alive than the dreary confines of the room I just inhabited.
What on earth is happening here?!
If I could muster the strength, I would pinch my cheeks right now, just to confirm that I'm not trapped in some elaborate dream.
The girl at my side surveys the transformed environment with wide eyes, her expression shifting to one of wonder. "Huh, this looks exactly like the hospital rooms where my mom works." She muses, then suddenly shifts her gaze back to me, an air of astonishment painting her features. "And you're here..."
She blinks repeatedly, confusion flitting across her face, and her reaction puzzles me more than my own situation! With a look of determination, she pinches her left cheek, then her right, before giving both a sharp squeeze. "Huh, I guess this isn't just a dream." She confirms, standing there with a mix of disbelief and awe washing over her.
A heartbeat later, without a backward glance, she sprints out the high-tech-looking door, leaving me enveloped in solitude once more.
My eyes sweep across the vast expanse of the newly painted blue ceiling, filled with wonder and uncertainty. If I close my eyes again and then reopen them, will I find myself back in that old, dreary room?
With a determined effort, I squeeze my eyes shut, holding them closed for what feels like an eternity, before finally opening them once more...
And yet, here I am, still nestled in this futuristic sanctuary. Maybe, just maybe, this isn't a dream after all...
As I sink further into the labyrinth of my thoughts, the door swings open with a sudden force, and the same girl bursts back into the room, her breath coming in rapid, uneven gasps. Her face is a chaotic tapestry of bewilderment and concern, with her brows knitted tightly together as if she were trying to stitch her confusion into something coherent.
"I seriously don't understand what's happenin'! I thought I was dreamin', but here I am in a hospital? And you're here with me?" She runs her delicate fingers through her hair in a gesture of sheer frustration. "What is goin' on?"
That question resonates in my mind; it's precisely what I want to know!
Her entire persona seems to have transformed in an instant! Gone is the serious, composed girl; now she's a whirlwind of confusion and anxiety, and I can't help but notice that her voice carries a distinctly different accent, vibrant and unexpected.
I've decided to call her Goth Gal.
This unexpected fusion of two archetypes had completely taken me by surprise. The dark, flowing garments and composed, enigmatic energy of someone who identifies as goth collided with the spirited and colorful essence of a gal. Each element uniquely molds her into someone I've never encountered before.
I suppose this is why they often caution not to judge a book by its cover.
The goth gal begins to pace the small, sterile room, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. "If I examine this logically..." She trails off, halting her restless march abruptly as her gaze becomes fixated on the stark white wall ahead.
"Not even logic makes sense!" She exclaims, her voice rising in pitch as frustration washes over her. She grabs her head as if trying to repel an oncoming headache, her eyes squeezed shut as if to block out the absurdity of the situation.
At that exact moment, the door swings open purposefully, and a woman strides in, exuding an unmistakable air of authority in her crisp white doctor's coat. Her platinum blonde hair is expertly pinned into a bun, showcasing her sharp features, and a few buttons of her blouse remain undone, hinting at her striking and confident silhouette.
She embodies an arresting blend of professional poise and model-like confidence.
"Kei!" The woman barks, her voice dripping with exasperation as she scans the room.
This 'Kei'— the Goth Gal—jumps back, her wide eyes and agape mouth striking a comical contrast to her previously serious demeanor, as though she were a startled deer caught in the unyielding glare of headlights.
"Mom, what a surprise... haha." She chuckles awkwardly, averting her gaze from her mother, who strides forward with an intense, fierce look in her eyes that brooks no nonsense.
"I told you about runnin' around in a hospital!" The doctor chastises, playfully yet firmly pinching Kei's cheeks, pulling her close as if she were a small child in need of protection.
It's evident now that Kei's peculiar way of speaking may very well be an inherited trait from this stunningly beautiful yet stern doctor.
My inner self shook its head vigorously, admonishing me, No, no, keep those thoughts in check! I had crossed paths with numerous medical professionals in my life, but never had I encountered someone quite like this commanding woman.
The teenage boy inside me was scrambling to reclaim his composure!
"I'm s'horry," Kei stammered, her vibrant hair trembling slightly as she spoke. I was snapped back to the present by the sound of her voice, a mixture of anxiety and remorse that filled the small hospital room. Her mother, a woman whose features were sharpened by concern and exhaustion, held Kei's cheeks firmly in her hands, her brow a map of worry etched deeply into her skin.
Releasing her grip with a resigned sigh, Kei's mother began to massage her temples, frustration etched all over her face. "At least tell me why you're out at this hour?"
Kei stood frozen, her bright eyes narrowing into a deadpan stare as she met her mother's piercing gaze. "I got no idea." She replied, her words clipped and devoid of emotion.
The air thickened with an unspoken tension that filled the room, wrapping around us like a heavy fog. I observed as her mother's eyes began to twitch with building irritation, a storm brewing within the silent space between them.
"So you're tellin' me that instead of being at home, restin' like a typical student and preparin' for school in—" Her mother flicked her wrist, and a holographic projection whirred to life, illuminating the darkened room with the bold, glaring text announcing, '1:25 AM.' "—in five hours, you're gallivantin' through a hospital like a complete lunatic?"
As Kei's nervousness manifested in her body language—a slight shuffle, hesitant steps back—I watched as her mother advanced with deliberate intensity, each step echoing like a ticking clock counting down to some unknown consequence.
"That's... not entirely false." Kei stuttered, the words tumbling out as she fell back against the edge of the hospital bed where I lay, an unintentional observer to this escalating drama.
Kei's hair tumbled over her shoulder in a cascade of colors, framing her face with a striking halo of confusion then realisation as she suddenly remembered my presence. A pang of loneliness pierced through me; it stung to feel like an afterthought.
"Wait, wait, wait!" Kei exclaimed, her hands shooting up defensively as if to stave off her mother's advancing fury. "This is gonna sound insane, but I had a dream where I was in an old version of this city." Her voice rushed out in an overwhelming torrent, words tumbling over one another like a waterfall, her breath barely catching up with her frantic delivery as her mother's relentless approach only served to deepen her urgency.
"And then I saw this light, so I followed it, and somehow I ended up with this guy here! When I grabbed his hand, it—it brought us here!" The rapid-fire delivery left my mind racing, trying to grasp what she was saying, but it managed to halt her mother mid-stride, a shocked intake of breath escaping her lips.
The woman loomed over her daughter, a fierce figure whose anger stood like a dark omen, shadows harshly carving her features. "You know I hear enough crazy talk from your father, right?" When Kei nodded vigorously, her eyes wide and filled with trepidation, it only seemed to fuel her mother's blazing rage further.
"This better not be a lie, got it?!" The sound of her cracking knuckles was like a thunderclap in the silence, each pop resonating ominously while Kei nodded fervently, her expression a mix of fear and desperation.
Then, as if sensing the growing tension, her mother shifted her sharp gaze over Kei's quivering shoulder and fixed her steely, penetrating eyes on me. A shiver coursed down my spine, the weight of her icy glare bearing down on me like a lead blanket.
"Hey, you! Is this crazy talk my daughter's going on about true?"
As dread lodged itself in my throat, I found myself yearning to answer her, to break the thick and oppressive silence that surrounded us. Yet, I was utterly spent, having exhausted every last bit of my strength just moments before in speaking to the goth girl beside me.
Now I lay silently, my eyes locked onto Kei's mother, fully aware that this might be the worst choice I could make in this moment of rising tension. I could see the veins on her forehead bulging, her fury that had been directed at Kei now laser-focused on me.
If I didn't muster the courage to speak soon, I feared the unthinkable—her wrath! What on earth should I say to diffuse this storm brewing before me?!
As if she could feel the tempest of confusion and trepidation swirling within me, the dark with red highlighted haired girl stepped forward. Her voice was calm, yet laced with a genuine empathy that sliced through the oppressive tension in the air.
"I don't think he can speak." She murmured softly, her eyes shimmering with an understanding that seemed to pierce deeper than mere words could convey. "I tried to talk to him earlier, but he could hardly speak a single word."
The woman—the one whose face had twisted into a mask of anger just moments before—underwent a remarkable transformation. Her expression softened into one of curious intrigue, mirroring the intense fascination that danced in the gothic gal's dark eyes as she first laid them on me.
A sudden realization washed over me like a bucket of cold water: they were unmistakably mother and daughter. The striking similarities between them—the sharply defined cheekbones and the deep, expressive eyes—were undeniable.
"If that's the case, then..." The doctor's voice trailed off, her brow furrowing in deep concentration as she rummaged through the depths of her long, white coat. With a fluid, practiced motion, she produced a sleek, transparent device, its dimensions reminiscent of an A4 sheet of paper, yet it was astonishingly slender and elegant.
The device pulsed with a soft, ethereal glow, capturing the dim ambient light in the room and casting gentle reflections across her face, hinting at the advanced technology that lay within.
She approached the edge of the bed with deliberate grace, her footsteps barely making a sound against the soft, plush carpet that cushioned the floor beneath her. With a swift flick of her wrist, she lifted the heavy covers that had cocooned my trembling arm, allowing the cool, crisp air of the room to wash over my exposed skin.Â
The doctor slid the metallic device beneath my hand, I was struck by the sharp contrast—the chill of its surface against the warmth of my vulnerable skin sent an involuntary shiver coursing through me.
In an instant, a holographic screen erupted into life, shimmering dramatically in the dim, soft light that enveloped the room. A message flickered into existence, the words 'detecting fingerprints' glowing vividly before morphing into 'scanning', each word pulsating with an eerie luminosity.
My eyes widened in disbelief and fascination as lines of text began to unfurl across the screen, accompanied by a less-than-flattering image of my face that floated above the screen.
I couldn't suppress a slight grimace; the projection was hardly generous in its portrayal of me, capturing all my awkward angles and flaws. The screen continued to fill with a torrent of information, declaring: 'Asahi Irogami, Age 17, Date of Birth: 28/10/2001, Height: 5'8", Weight: 57kg.'
"Asahi Irogami, born October 28th 20...01?!" The doctor's voice was filled with disbelief, her eyes widening dramatically as she scanned the record now illuminated on the screen. "You're tellin' me my dumb daughter was right?!"
"Well, excuse me for not being a lunatic!" Kei interjected, her hands planted firmly on her hips, her gaze riveted on the wall of text illuminated by the hologram. Her expression was a mixture of astonishment and awe, a testament to the shocking revelations unfolding before us.
With a practiced motion, the older doctor reclaimed the rectangular device from beneath my fingers, the holographic display dissolving into nothingness as she tucked it back into the depths of her coat pocket. Clearing her throat, her demeanor shifted to one of grave seriousness. "It seems you've somehow time-traveled 50 years into the future."
Fifty years?! A torrent of unforeseen thoughts surged through my mind, rendering me momentarily blank as the weight of her words crashed against my consciousness. I truly was in the future.
***
A day had elapsed since I found myself inexplicably thrust into this bewildering era, and like the trials I had faced in the past, it seemed I was fated to undergo a series of medical interventions aimed at deciphering the enigma of my so-called 'illness.'
The blonde doctor, with her bright hair tied neatly back, exuded a blend of professionalism and warmth as she spoke to me. Her clear blue eyes held a hint of compassion as she explained that my medical records pointed to an 'unknown illness.' "As a physician," she continued, with a steady cadence, "I won't delve into questioning until we definitively uncover the cause."
Her words ignited a flicker of hope deep within me, yet I was acutely aware from my past that holding onto visions of a brighter future often resulted in disillusionment, ready to strike when I least expected it.
The first test involved the prick of a needle drawing blood from my arm, an experience that sent waves of anxiety washing over me. The swift, sharp sting brought back vivid memories of my profound aversion to needles.
"Think of them as a vampire's teeth slowly piercing your flesh and draining you dry." The doctor suggested, her expression grave and her demeanour bordering on sinister, which only amplified the dread that twisted in my stomach. With that vivid imagery etched in my mind, my loathing of needles only deepened.
As she proceeded through one test after another, I noticed a significant change in her demeanour. The tension that once radiated from her now gave way to a calm professionalism, almost robotic in its efficiency, as she transitioned seamlessly into what I could only term "doctor mode."
In the corner of the stark, white hospital room, a goth girl perched upon a metal chair, her sleek, high-tech tablet illuminated in her hands, casting a soft glow across her pale face. Her dark eyeliner emphasized her striking features, and the contrast between her raven-black attire and the hospital's sterile environment was striking.
Her mother, concern etched across her features, urged her to leave and get some sleep, yet the girl obstinately shook her head. "I feel like it's kinda my fault he's here, so I gotta take some responsibility." She asserted with unwavering determination. With that, she redirected her focus back to the glowing screen, a quiet fire in her eyes.
Time became a fleeting concept as silence enveloped the room and the hours slipped past like grains of sand. "I'll be back in an hour with the results." The doctor announced, slicing through the heavy stillness as she prepared to exit. "Kei, no wanderin' out of this room, got it?" Her order hung in the air, and she had already slipped out the door before Kei could utter a retort. The click of the door shutting behind her left me once more submerged in solitude.
"Hey, Asahi, right?" The goth girl's voice sliced through the silence, coaxing my gaze toward her. Uncertainty tightened my throat as I weighed whether to refer to her as Kei, yet her casual address resolved that inner conflict. "I know you can't speak, so I won't put you on the spot, but I just want to apologize for whatever's going on."
I shifted my focus entirely onto her, observing how her tablet rested on her lap while the frayed edges of her cutoff jeans revealed pale skin, a stark contrast to the surrounding dark fabric. Sensing my attention, Kei cleared her throat, her previously softened expression retreating into one of stoic seriousness.
The fleeting glimpse of vulnerability had vanished, replaced by the familiar armor of her goth persona. "What I mean is, I hope we can find a way to get you back to your time." She continued, her accent slipping back into its comfortable cadence.
Back to my time? The notion lingered ominously, casting a shadow I had not contemplated since my arrival in this foreign reality. Following her moment of introspection, she returned to her tablet, leaving me to drift back into the silence, my gaze fixed on the ceiling above as if searching for answers hidden within its stark whiteness.
Time stretched infinitely as I sat in the sterile, dimly lit room, the air thick with a tension that felt palpable. Suddenly, the door creaked open and in strode the doctor, her figure framed by the harsh fluorescent lights from the hallway. She carried an air of authority yet softened it with a gentle compassion, her presence imposing yet oddly reassuring.
"Would you prefer to hear the good news first or the bad?" She inquired, a practiced calm in her voice. Those words sent a familiar jolt of anxiety racing through me, a relentless reminder of how intertwined good and bad news often felt.
Experience had taught me that typically, the bad outweighed whatever good might follow, and I steeled myself for the inevitable storm of disappointment.
"Regrettably, the bad news is that you have been diagnosed with stage 4 brain cancer," she began, her tone grave as she gestured toward a holographic screen that flickered to life before me, displaying ominous brain scans. "It's actually quite surprising that the doctors in your previous time period were unable to identify it."
Her gaze, filled with genuine concern, followed the path of her finger pointing to a small, dark smudge on the scan—a nefarious shadow that loomed like a dark cloud over my thoughts. "This has resulted in nearly complete degradation of your central nervous system, which has severely compromised your sensory functions."
As she slipped the holographic tablet back into her pocket, her demeanor shifted ever so slightly; she fixed her warm gaze upon me, a tender smile breaking through the seriousness of the moment, illuminating the otherwise sterile room. "Now, for the good news: we have the technology available in this time to perform surgery that can remove the tumor immediately."
In a sudden surge of fervor, Kei shot to her feet, excitement radiating from her. The tablet slipped from her lap, clattering loudly against the floor, yet she seemed oblivious to the noise.
"You mean... there's a chance to cure him?" She exclaimed, her voice quivering with hope as her eyes widened in wonder.
When the doctor nodded in affirmative confirmation, the expression on Kei's face transformed into one of pure, unadulterated joy, her eyes sparkling with a fervent hopefulness. "It seems bringin' you to the future was fate." She declared, her voice filled with enthusiasm.
In that pivotal moment, I held my breath, captivated not just by the revelation but by the enchantment of Kei's radiant smile. It dazzled like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds, a breathtakingly beautiful expression of happiness that felt almost ethereal. I marveled at the thought that I might not have another chance to witness such joy again—whether it would be days, weeks, or perhaps never.
***
As I reflect on the experience, I can almost still feel the weight of the surgery I endured, which thankfully concluded without any complications. Yet, the reminder of that day remains a stark reality: a jagged scar now runs across the right side of my head, a constant and vivid mark that etches the ordeal into my very being. The hair in that section has succumbed to the aftermath, leaving it barren and desolate—it's as if it has become a casualty of the battle I faced. This has left me resigned to the necessity of keeping my hair cropped short for the foreseeable future, a compromise I never expected to make.
"Are you listenin' to me? I won't explain it again." The suddenness of the doctor's voice pulls me from my thoughts and back into the sterile confines of the hospital room. She stands beside my bed, her posture rigid and authoritative, with her right hand firmly placed on her hip. In her other hand, she holds a small, square device delicately balanced between her thumb and forefinger, its surface glinting under the harsh fluorescent lights.
"This device is going to be implanted at the base of your spinal cord." She informs me, her tone imbued with a confident clarity that starkly contrasts with the rising tide of anxiety bubbling in my stomach. The device looks unsettlingly like an extraterrestrial remote chip—alien and foreign—as if it has materialized from the pages of a sci-fi novel rather than from the realm of medicine.
"It will require some time for your body to acclimatize to this new addition, and there may be instances where your system outright rejects the device," she continues, an undercurrent of severity lacing her words, "but I assure you, if any complications arise, we will remove it without hesitation." My mind races at the implications—am I truly about to become part of an experiment? Can I trust this procedure to be as safe as she claims?
Before I can spiral deeper into my worries, I feel myself being gently wheeled into the surgical room, its stark, sterile environment illuminated by bright, glaring lights that feel almost accusatory—sentinels watching over me as I prepare to surrender to the unknown.
As the anesthesia begins to envelop me, a hazy warmth washing over my senses, I watch in fascination as the doctor's capable hands begin their work - my eyes slowly closing as my consciousness fades to black.
She makes a deliberate incision at the nape of my neck, just above the delicate curve of my spine. With meticulous precision, she opens the incision wider, revealing the subtle intricacies of muscle and tissue beneath. As she carefully positions the square device against my vertebrae, it seems alive, pulsating with a soft, neon blue glow that bathes the surrounding area in an otherworldly luminescence.
With a slender, pen-like instrument now in hand, she directs a focused beam like a fine laser towards the incision. The radiant light dances over my skin, stitching the wound closed with a gentle shimmer that glistens as it solidifies. As the vibrant blue of the device fades and the back of my neck returns to its natural hue, I catch her murmuring under her breath, "I hope this works." The words hang in the air, a profound echo of uncertainty as I slip deeper into oblivion.
***
In 2035 scientists discovered the cure for cancer. 15 years later and they're still only prescribing the cure for those who are terminal, to give them the chance at life that they deserve. Even though there is now a cure, it's not cheap nor easy to make – thus making sure that only those in dire need of it are able to procure it.
Slowly, I blink my eyes open, greeted by the slightly blurry expanse of a cerulean ceiling adorned with sleek, futuristic designs that are characteristic of this vibrant, advanced world. Surprisingly, I don't experience the usual discomfort associated with waking from surgery. However, a sharp, pulsating pain radiates from the back of my neck, where the scar—a tangible reminder of my ordeal—must lie.
Instinctively turning my head to one side, I steal a glance out the window. My thoughts remain fuzzy and clouded by the remnants of anesthesia, but as I peer outside, I am enveloped by an enveloping darkness. Yet, the world outside is far from lifeless; it is ablaze with luminous neon lights spilling from towering architectural masterpieces, painting the night with a kaleidoscope of electrifying colors.
This era, rich in innovation and artistry, radiates a beauty that captivates the eye.
As I take in my surroundings, I blink slowly, my focus shifting to the other side of the room. My gaze lands on Kei, who has settled into a chair, appearing both comfortable and tense. Her posture is relaxed, but her expression betrays a mixture of shock and disbelief, her large, expressive eyes widening in amazement as they meet mine.
"You... you're movin' your head!" Her voice echoes in my mind, each word striking me with the force of realization.
I can move! The realization sends a tremor of joy through me, and I can't help but notice her accent slipping back into place. The slight inconsistency in her demeanor makes me chuckle to myself, an amusing juxtaposition amid the gravity of the moment.
I begin to sway my head from side to side, testing this new ability with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. Spurred on by the thrill, I attempt to lift my arms, which rest gently atop the soft, cotton-like blankets that envelop me, but all I manage is the faintest wiggle of my fingertips. A sigh of frustration escapes my lips—a small sound that, surprisingly, feels utterly effortless.
An exhilarating rush courses through my veins, inspiring an almost primal urge to shout in celebration. Instead, all that emerges is a soft, croaky "Oooh..." that barely escapes my throat, the surprising sound hanging in the air like a whispered secret.
Kei turns her head away briefly, but not before I notice the subtle tremor in her body, a clear indication that laughter is simmering just beneath the surface at my awkward sound. A tender smile breaks across my lips as I lock eyes with her, a connection blossoming between us.
There's something about Kei that is both enchanting and enigmatic. She often shrouds herself in a cloak of seriousness, yet in this moment, I can't help but wonder why she hesitates to fully embrace the endearing and playful spirit that shines through in her expression right now.
A resounding knock echoed against the door, slicing through the muted laughter of Kei, pulling me abruptly from the labyrinth of my thoughts. In walked Dr. Hinahata, as I now knew her by who, with a quick flick of her wrist, activated a sleek, high-tech device that flooded the space with a harsh, white light, banishing the shadows and momentarily blinding both myself and Kei's sight as we squint our eyes.
"What are you doin' just sitting in the dark? It's downright depressin' in here." She quipped, her voice rich with authority yet tinged with playful mischief.
The doctor made her way toward the bed, her blonde hair catching the light like strands of spun gold, and gazed down at me with a piercing look that seemed to weigh my every thought. "I see you're awake. Feelin' anythin' yet?" She reached into her pocket and produced a holographic device, deftly scrolling through what resembled an avalanche of intricate data—lines of numbers and information cascading across the glowing screen.
"I... can move my head." I managed to pronounce slowly, each word labored as I struggled to engage the muscles in my neck and mouth. For a fleeting second, her eyes widened—an astonishment that washed over her features—before she lowered the device to her side, her curiosity intensifying.
Dr. Hinahata examined me with an intensity that felt almost invasive as if she were unraveling the mysteries of my very existence. With a few swift motions on her device, she muttered, "Patient has regained movement in his head and can speak, albeit in short bursts. Amazing, simply amazing!" Her demeanor transformed into a whirlwind of excitement, her enthusiasm bordering on frenetic as she resumed her typing, her voice mingling with the rhythmic whirrs and beeps of her gadget.
Casting my attention to Kei, I spotted her curled up in a chair, her fishnet-clad legs tucked beneath her, and her face obscured by her tousled hair. Discarded rugged boots lay scattered haphazardly on the floor, contributing to the room's air of chaotic comfort.
It was as if she were a cat retreating into her sanctuary; sensing my gaze, she lifted her head slowly, locking eyes with me. The moment hung in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts.
"Mom calls Dad crazy, but she's just as insane as he is when it comes to work." She murmured, her voice barely breaking through the weighty silence, muffled as her head returned to her knees. "It's too bright in here." She added, her tone thick with discomfort as if the harsh light stung her senses.
A small, involuntary smile crept across my face at her endearing demeanor. She curled into herself, her posture reminiscent of a timid pet finding solace in its familiar space.
"Sorry about that, I sometimes get lost in my work." Dr. Hinahata interjected, her tone softening as she cleared her throat, re-establishing her commanding presence. Her intense gaze felt like a spotlight piercing through the room, deep and probing. "It appears the implant is functionin' as intended. While it may take additional time for the device to stimulate the nerves in your lower body, we can confidently conclude that the operation was a success."
Hope fluttered within me, fragile yet intoxicating. Could I dare to embrace this elusive feeling? I met the doctor's expectant gaze, but a nagging uncertainty clung to my thoughts, an insistent dread that whispered of potential disappointment, of everything collapsing suddenly and dragging me back into the dark oblivion I had fought so hard to escape.
"And now," she continued, redirecting my attention back to the conversation, "I believe it's time we discussed what to do with you and my daughter's 'time travel' story." My eyes instinctively turned toward Kei, who met my gaze with wide, innocent eyes still resting on her knees—a silent, shared understanding blossoming between us.
We stood on the precipice of a challenge, a daunting task before us: to articulate our surreal reality to this woman, to bridge the gap and help her comprehend a situation that felt elusive and slippery, like water through our fingers. How could we expect her to grasp our predicament when we were still stumbling to find our footing within it ourselves?
***
"So, what you're tellin' me is that you suddenly saw cherry blossoms blooming in the room, and then my daughter appeared out of nowhere like some kind of ghostly apparition?" I respond with a solemn nod to the doctor, who is meticulously piecing together my fragmented story.
The doctor, Kei's mother, massages her temple with her thumb and forefinger. Her professional demeanor slips, revealing the frustration that is increasingly etched upon her face. "This makes absolutely no sense." She exclaims, releasing a sharp exhale, her voice tinged with incredulity.
A flicker of relief washes over me; at least the doctor shares my bewilderment, mirroring the confusion expressed by her daughter earlier.
"I can't believe I'm even considerin' this." She hesitantly begins, her voice dropping to a near whisper as if the words carry a heavy weight. "But I think my husband might know more about all of this." The reluctance in her tone suggests that the very idea of involving him is deeply unsettling to her.
With a swift tap on the sleek, silver watch adorning her wrist, she commands, "Call darlin'." Instantly, a holographic display flickers to life, the words 'calling darling' swirling with an ethereal glow above the device. On the first ring, the call is answered by a cheerful male voice, and a three-dimensional projection of his face bursts forth into the air, filling the sterile room with his presence.
His tousled brown hair flops enticingly over his forehead, and his bright brown eyes twinkle behind a pair of stylish glasses, giving him a casual yet effortlessly distinguished appearance.
"My sweetie, my darling, my love!" He exclaims, his voice imbued with warmth and affection. The doctor, however, fights the instinct to roll her eyes, her palm sliding down over her forehead in a gesture of exasperation. "I need you, now. Room 301." She states with unyielding authority before abruptly ending the call, her gaze shifting toward the door as if she's bracing for his imminent entrance.
Is she truly unaware of how suggestive that sounds?
Less than a minute later, with a dramatic swing, the door bursts open to reveal a man clad in a pristine white lab coat. His glasses perch precariously on the bridge of his nose, while his eager grin spreads across his face.
"My loving X chromosome is here to mingle with your Y chromosome! Let us merge and fuse!" He proclaims, his arms thrown wide open in grandiose invitation. The enthusiasm of his declaration sends his glasses sliding further down his nose, making him appear almost comical in his exuberance.
Both Kei and I exchanged incredulous looks, our eyes widening in disbelief at his outrageous entrance. Meanwhile, Dr Hinahata lets out a frustrated groan, slapping her forehead in defeat. On the other hand, the goth girl's face contorts into one of deep disgust, and she dramatically pretends to vomit. "I seriously didn't need to hear that, Dad!" she retorts her voice a mixture of embarrassment and irritation.
For the first time, her father noticed that there were other people in the room. His eyes widened in surprise, and he scratched the back of his head sheepishly as a faint blush crept across his cheeks. Despite the embarrassment, a broad grin broke across his face as he ventured further into the room with an air of mischief.
"I suppose I got a little carried away again." He admitted, clearing his throat and readjusting his glasses that had slipped down the bridge of his nose. He struck a playful pose, hands resting confidently on his hips. "Do you find yourself in need of my vast scientific wisdom, dear wife?" His infectious smile lit up the room, though it earned a barely restrained eye twitch from the doctor, whose annoyance was palpable.
"I think we're perfectly fine here, so you can retreat to whatever cave you crawled out of." She shot back, the irritation lacing through her voice like a thread.
His boisterous laughter filled the space as he leaned back slightly, his playful demeanor refusing to be dampened. "Ah, but my dear, I see quite clearly that you are, in fact, in dire need of my expertise."
The doctor's head snapped in his direction, her narrowed eyes almost burning with intensity. "Who said I needed your help?"
He leaned down slightly, a playful sparkle igniting in his gaze as he met her fierce stare. "I do believe that would be you, sweetheart."
"Haaaaah?!" The doctor fumed, stepping closer until their foreheads nearly touched, the air between them crackling with tension, almost electrifying energy as they engaged in their unspoken duel of wills. Their gazes locked in a long, heated staring contest, the unyielding intensity making it seem as though sparks might actually fly from their eyes.
Turning my attention away from the charged encounter, I glanced at Kei, who had discreetly retreated into the glow of her tablet, her detachment from her parents' playful bickering unmistakable.
"That's just their way." She said with a casual shrug, flipping a page on her screen. "Mom hates not knowin' more than Dad does." The realization struck me that this was merely the manifestation of their affectionate rivalry—or maybe this was their version of flirting, a quirk of the future.
Their banter continued, light-hearted with always a hint of challenge until her father's gaze caught mine. He took a step back from his wife, his attention shifting as he noticed Kei in the corner. "Boyfriend?" He asked, curiosity lacing his words.
Kei dropped her tablet with a clatter, her expression morphing into incredulity. "Haaaaaaaaaaah?! Why is that the first thing that comes to mind?!"
With a relaxed shrug, her father shot her a sidelong glance. "I was just trying to understand why you're leaning back, looking so comfortable as though you've been here all day."
"Because she's been here all damn day!" Her mother interjected, exasperation spilling into her tone. "Trust me, I tried persuadin' her to go to school, but she kept insisting, 'He's my responsibility, so I have to stay,' or some nonsense like that. It's quite the headache, I tell you."
Defiantly, Kei stuck her tongue out, retrieved her tablet from the ground, and settled back into her chair with her legs crossed, emanating an aura of rebellion.
As I silently absorbed the dynamics of their interactions, one thing became increasingly evident: Kei was no expert at guarding her emotions around her parents.
"'He's my responsibility?'" Her father redirected his attention back to me, taking deliberate strides toward the bedside. I met his gaze, drawing in the essence of his presence. There was no denying that Kei had inherited much more from her mother than her father but the resemblance was striking.
"I suppose I should formally introduce myself. My name is Hiro Hinahata." He proclaimed with a sense of pride in his voice. "I'm a scientist working in the medical lab here and the proud father of this wonderful young lady." he gestured toward Kei, his voice rich with warmth. "Oh, and happily married to this incredible woman standing right next to me!" He finished with a cheesy grin that could effortlessly brighten the dimmest of days as he went in for a hug from his wife, only to end up having his face squashed by her hand as she kept him at a distance.
"Asahi Irogami." I finally managed to croak out, still grappling with the hoarse and raw quality of my voice.
"We'll get you a drink momentarily," he began, his tone inviting and cheerful, "and then how about you and Kei fill me in on everything happening here?" His light-hearted inquiry established an unexpectedly warm connection amidst the bewildering situation, bridging the gap between us in a unique manner.
***
"Hmm." The word slips from his lips like a soft sigh as he stands in the middle of the room, his eyes sealed shut, a thoughtful hand cradling his chin in a familiar pose of contemplation. With a deliberate slowness, he opens his eyes, a glint of curiosity flaring within them as he casts his gaze between me and Kei. "Did you notice anything else that seemed out of the ordinary?"
Cherry blossoms swirl gently through the air in this enclosed space, especially paired with the girl whose very essence seems to defy the confines of reality—pretty sure that defies all norms? I shake my head, the heaviness of confusion settling on my shoulders as if a weight had been placed atop them. Kei mirrors my disbelief, vigorously shaking her head as her brow furrows with an intensity that reflects her puzzlement.
"I'm not entirely certain, as phenomena like this have been documented only a handful of times throughout history, but I suspect your souls might have 'linked' for a brief moment, triggering a reaction that caused his arrival in our time." He explains, the tone of his voice shifting to one imbued with seriousness, like a candle flickering in the dark.
As he speaks, an aura of bewilderment envelops the room. Kei, her mother, and I tilt our heads in unison, struggling to comprehend the depth of his words. "'Linked'?" the goth gal asks first, her voice tinged with curiosity as she glances in my direction. I turn to meet her gaze, and in that fleeting moment, a silent, unspoken question dangles between us. "How is it possible for someone's soul to connect with another's, especially when they belong to entirely different eras?"
Her father, embodying the essence of an academic grappling with the vast mysteries of existence, shakes his head in frustration. "That is a question that well exceeds my understanding. My research has only touched upon the concept of souls linking within the same temporal context." He responds. With measured movements, he produces a sleek holographic device from his pocket, reminiscent of a futuristic tablet, his fingers tapping away on the screen with almost reverential focus.
In an instant, the device springs to life, revealing intricate diagrams of brain waves pulsating rhythmically across its surface like a heartbeat. "Observe here. This data illustrates how souls can connect through the medium of brain waves, a phenomenon typically occurring during states of sleep." He explains, his fingers gliding over the display.
The hologram shifts, displaying two figures standing side by side, their forms adorned with animated lines representing brain activity that stretch toward one another like ethereal bridges. Tiny blue flames, each symbolizing a soul, flicker radiantly in the center of their chests, while arrows sweep gracefully, depicting the connection from one figure's brain to the other's soul.
Kei watches intently, her expression transitioning from confusion to a flicker of understanding. "So that's why I wasn't in my pajamas when I found myself here." She says though it's evident she hasn't fully grasped the complexities of the situation just yet.
"So how do we send him back to his time?" The doctor turns his gaze toward her husband, determination etched on his face. The man adjusts his glasses, fingers brushing the bridge of his nose as he meets her serious gaze with an equal intensity.
"I have no idea." He replies as he shrugs his shoulders.
At that moment, I realize that the humor—dry and unexpectedly charming—emerges predominantly from her father. The absurdity of our circumstances seeps into the atmosphere around us, turning the air thick with irony.
"Realistically, there's no sound explanation for why he's here in the first place, so I honestly couldn't tell you how we can send him back." He elaborates, before his wife's irritation threatens to boil over, an annoyed expression flickering across her face.
Suddenly, the family's collective gaze falls upon me, their eyes heavy with questions and expectations. "So what shall we do with him?" They exchange glances, both husband and wife nodding vigorously, expressions shifting to a blend of both determination and excitement as they turn their attention back to their daughter.
The goth gal exhales sharply, surrendering to the reality of the situation. "Fine, I suppose I did say I'd take responsibility for bringing him here. He can stay with us while we figure all this out." She levels a steely gaze at her parents, lowering her voice into a serious warning. "Don't even think of using him as a test subject, got it?"
Both parents avert their eyes, the corners of their mouths twitching into a pout reminiscent of children caught in playful mischief as they retreat into their familiar banter.
With that, a sense of resignation settles heavily in my chest as I come to terms with the fact that I will be lingering in this peculiar time and place for the foreseeable future...