Inside Room 1485, the door creaked open with a reluctant groan, as though even the hinges remembered what Zach had long tried to forget.
The moment he stepped in, the scent hit him—floral but clean, soft with traces of jasmine and old paper. Orihime. It was like time wrapped around his throat. He froze. His breath caught.
Zach clutched his chest as if his heart had just been struck. A pang—sharp and desperate—tore through him. He staggered forward, hand brushing the edge of the small bookshelf by the entryway. His fingers trembled against the spine of a book he couldn't recall reading, but somehow knew he once loved.
Memories poured in like a storm breaching a weakened dam.
