Hiyori and Ansh closed their eyes, expecting the timeline to reset and repair itself. But instead of the shimmering void Yuto had described, they found themselves immersed in a vivid, dream-like sensation.
The air was heavy with emotion, and they were no longer in the room. Memories unfolded before them like a film, stark and unrelenting, revealing the raw truths of their lives before chaos fractured their fates.
Hiyori stood frozen as scenes from her childhood played out. She saw herself as a little girl, hiding in the corner of a dimly lit room, her mother screaming as her father struck her. The sounds of shattered glass and muffled sobs filled the air.
Her body trembled as she relived the bullying at school—the taunts, the whispers, the constant feeling of being unwanted. Her friends had turned on her, mocking her for her family's dysfunction, leaving her alone and isolated.
I just wanted someone to hold me, she thought, tears streaming down her face. Someone who wouldn't hurt me. Someone who wouldn't leave.
The memories shifted to her teenage years, where she had given up on love entirely. She convinced herself she was unworthy, cursed to be hated by everyone she let into her life.
Ansh's memories played out alongside hers, just as raw and painful. He saw himself as a young boy, clutching his mother's hand at his father's funeral. The weight of responsibility was thrust upon him far too early, leaving no room for emotions, no space for mistakes.
His mother worked tirelessly to keep them afloat, but it wasn't enough. They lived off his father's meager savings, struggling to make ends meet.
Ansh never had time for friendships or love. He tried, desperate for someone to understand him, but every attempt ended in betrayal. His so-called friends mocked his earnestness, using him for favors before abandoning him.
I just wanted a friend, he thought, his chest tightening. Someone who would see me for who I am.
The memories shifted again, this time to an airport. Hiyori and Ansh stood in the bustling terminal, strangers to each other, yet drawn together by a twist of fate.
It was a coincidence, or so it seemed. Hiyori, lost and searching for meaning, found solace in Ansh's quiet determination. Ansh, longing for connection, saw hope in Hiyori's gentle smile.
Their whirlwind romance led to marriage, a union built on fragile foundations of hope and yearning. They didn't know each other well, but they were willing to try, clinging to the belief that they could find what they had been missing.
The dream shifted to their married life. Their early days were tender but uncertain, marked by laughter and shared meals, but also by unspoken fears. Physical intimacy remained elusive; Hiyori's fear of spoiling their relationship clashed with Ansh's growing frustration.
One evening, Ansh's emotions boiled over. He forced a physical connection, desperate to bridge the gap between them. Hiyori, to her surprise, found herself enjoying it but was haunted by her past—her parents' failed marriage, her father's murder, and her mother's abandonment.
Ansh, overcome with regret, proposed a divorce. He thought he was unworthy of her, that his mistake had tainted their bond beyond repair. Hiyori, in turn, believed she had driven him away—that she wasn't attractive enough, that she had failed as a wife.
Their relationship spiraled. Ansh buried himself in work, returning home late each night, while Hiyori sank into depression. She fainted twice, the strain of her unspoken fears and loneliness taking a toll. But she told no one—not even Ansh.
One fateful night, Ansh returned home with a plan. He had been working tirelessly to save money, hoping to take Hiyori on a trip as an apology for mentioning divorce. He wanted to start fresh, to ask her how they could move forward together.
But when he arrived, he found her unconscious on the floor.
The hospital revealed the truth: a hereditary disease, worsened by years of neglect and stress, had left her with little chance of survival.
Ansh was shattered. He poured every ounce of himself into her care, working day and night to afford treatments. He stayed by her side, clinging to a sliver of hope that she would recover.
But she didn't.
Hiyori's death left Ansh broken. He drove aimlessly one night, lost in grief, and the car accident that followed ended his life.
Hiyori and Ansh opened their eyes at the same time, tears streaming down their faces. They were back in the room, their bodies their own again, but the weight of the dream lingered.
Hiyori flung herself into Ansh's arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "For everything. I didn't know…"
Ansh held her tightly, his own tears falling freely. "No, I'm the one who's sorry," he said. "I should have been better. I should have told you how much you meant to me."
They pulled back just enough to look into each other's eyes. Hiyori smiled through her tears, cupping his face. "You don't need to apologize. Not anymore."
Ansh leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. "I'll never let you go again," he whispered.
Hiyori shook her head, her voice trembling. "We don't have much time. We'll forget all of this soon."
They both smiled, bittersweet but genuine, before vanishing into the ether.
Yuto appeared in the now-empty room, his expression soft. "I guess they'll like a little gift from me before they forget about all of this," he said to himself.
He placed two identical notebooks on the desk, each inscribed with a single word: Remember.
As he disappeared, the house fell silent once more, the faint hum of the timeline's repair fading into the stillness of the night.