Morning came softly, as if afraid to disturb the silence.
The sun rose over the town like it was still half-asleep, the light slanting in through the café windows where Hana sat alone. She stirred her cup of coffee until the foam collapsed, watching the ripples fade. The chair across from her remained empty — Sozuki was late, though that was nothing new. He'd once said ghosts didn't need sleep, yet somehow he was always the one who looked drowsy when the mornings came too soon.
A breeze brushed the curtains aside, and she could almost imagine it was him — that faint, familiar chill that seemed to follow wherever he went. The bell above the café door chimed, and there he was, his white hoodie half-zipped, his hair still messy from the wind.
"You look like someone who just lost a staring contest with the sun," he said, sliding into the seat across from her.
Hana blinked at him. "You're late."
"I had to watch a cat chase a pigeon across the bridge," he said solemnly. "It was life or death."
"Uh-huh." She smiled despite herself. "So… did the pigeon make it?"
He tilted his head, pretending to think. "That depends. Spiritually?"
She sighed, shaking her head, and the laugh that escaped was small but warm. That was how Sozuki often was — an echo of sunlight through fog. Even when the world around him seemed to fade, he could still make her laugh in ways that felt startlingly alive.
For a while, they talked about small things — how the autumn festival was coming up, how the food stalls would probably reopen after the typhoon passed, and how the air carried the faintest scent of roasted chestnuts lately. Ordinary things. The kind of moments that didn't need to be remembered to feel precious.
But underneath it, a thought gnawed at Hana. The picture she had found yesterday in that old record room — faded, creased, and half-buried beneath a stack of local archives.It showed a boy, maybe seven years old, standing by a riverbank. His smile was small but genuine. Behind him stood a tea shop with a crooked sign: Yamagaki Teas, Since 1918.
Sozuki Yamagaki.
The name written on the back of the photo in faint blue ink.
She hadn't told him yet. Not because she didn't want to — but because part of her was afraid. Afraid of what it meant if that child was him. Afraid of how much it might hurt him to know.
But this morning, the words pressed too hard against her heart.
"Sozuki," she said quietly, once their plates were empty, "do you… want to go somewhere today?"
He raised a brow. "Is this about that weird building you mentioned yesterday?"
She nodded, fingers tightening around her cup. "It's an old apartment complex, up near the river road. I heard it's going to be demolished soon, and… I don't know, I just want to see it. People say it's haunted."
He smiled faintly. "Then I should feel right at home."
The air grew heavier as they walked.Beyond the train station and the shopping street, the town thinned into rows of old houses and factories half-swallowed by vines. The sky was the color of pale milk, and the cicadas had gone quiet for the season, leaving only the whisper of wind through power lines.Sozuki walked a few steps ahead, hands tucked in his pockets, his eyes fixed on something far away.
The building appeared after they turned a bend — four stories tall, concrete gray, the windows boarded or broken. Rust streaked down its walls like dried tears. The sign that once bore its name had faded into illegibility. The place felt like it had been forgotten even by time itself.
Hana's voice faltered when she spoke. "This is it."
Sozuki's expression didn't change, but his fingers twitched slightly at his side. "It feels… familiar."
"Familiar how?"
He shook his head. "Like déjà vu, but heavier. Like I've already dreamed this place, and the dream didn't end well."
Hana swallowed. "Do you still want to go in?"
"Yeah." His smile was faint. "If we've come this far, might as well see what ghosts haunt the ghosts."
The front doors had long since rotted away, leaving a gaping entrance. The floor was scattered with glass, old newspapers, and the remains of forgotten shoes. Each step echoed faintly, their breaths visible in the cold air.Hana's flashlight beam cut through the dimness, revealing faded mailboxes and rusted bicycles left leaning against the walls. One of them still had a bell attached; when she brushed past, it gave a faint, brittle ring.
"Creepy," she muttered.Sozuki laughed under his breath. "You humans and your obsession with atmosphere."
"Well, excuse me for being alive," she shot back, and he gave a small grin — but his eyes were distant, as if his attention kept slipping somewhere she couldn't see.
They climbed the stairs slowly. The higher they went, the quieter the world seemed to become, until all that remained was the sound of their footsteps and the distant hum of wind outside.The third floor's corridor was half-collapsed, but they found a door that still stood. Room 302. The number was written in metal digits dulled by time, yet for some reason, Sozuki stopped.
"Hana," he said softly, "I think… I know this place."
Her heart skipped. "You've been here before?"
"No," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "But… I can smell tea."
Hana froze. There was no scent — not that she could detect. But Sozuki's eyes were wide, as if something invisible had just brushed past him. The next moment, he reached for the door. It opened easily, groaning as it swung inward.
Inside was dust and silence.
The room was small — a kitchenette, a single window, tatami mats gone brittle with age. Yet there was something almost peaceful about it, like the echo of someone's life still lingered there.On the far wall, pinned under a fallen clock, lay a framed photo. The glass was cracked. Hana crouched and carefully lifted it.
It was the same tea shop she'd seen in the archives photo.
Only this time, the picture included people — a father, a mother, and the same child from before. The family stood smiling before the store, the sunlight spilling down like gold.Underneath, in small letters, someone had written Yamagaki Family.
Hana's breath caught. She turned the photo toward Sozuki, but his expression already told her he'd seen it.
"That's… my name," he whispered, tracing the letters with his fingertips. His touch didn't leave a mark on the dust, but the frame trembled slightly as if the air itself recognized him. "Yamagaki. Sozuki Yamagaki."
His voice broke on the last word, and for the first time, Hana saw something like fear in his eyes.
They sat by the window for a long while afterward, the afternoon light filtering through the cracks.Hana didn't know what to say. She watched him instead — how his hand trembled, how his eyes darted across the room like they were searching for memories that wouldn't come.
He spoke at last, his tone faint. "I think… I used to live near a river. And there was this sound… the clinking of bells. My mother used to hang them by the window. When the wind blew, it sounded like—" He stopped, staring down at his palms. "I can't remember the rest."
Hana's throat tightened. "You don't have to force it."
He smiled weakly. "If I don't, who will?"
They sat there in silence, the kind that wasn't empty but too full — heavy with all the things that couldn't be said.Outside, the sky had begun to fade into twilight, and the air grew colder. Hana wrapped her arms around herself, then hesitated, glancing at Sozuki. "You're cold too, aren't you?"
He gave her a look somewhere between amusement and sorrow. "I don't really feel temperature anymore."
"Then why do you shiver?" she asked softly.
He didn't answer. He just looked out the window, toward the distant mountains where the wind whispered through the trees. His reflection in the glass was faint — almost translucent in the fading light.
They left the building after sunset.The sky was painted in bruised purples and gold, and the first stars blinked uncertainly through the clouds. The air carried the faint scent of river water and soil. As they crossed the old bridge, Hana walked ahead, trying to keep her composure.
"Sozuki," she said quietly, "about that photo… do you want me to find out more? I could check the town records, see if there's—"
"No," he said.
She stopped. "No?"
He caught up beside her, his eyes steady but sad. "Not yet. I think… I'm scared of what I'll find. Every time I remember something, it hurts. It's like the pieces that come back are covered in thorns."
Hana lowered her gaze. "But don't you want to know who you were?"
"Of course," he said. "But part of me wonders if I even deserve to."
The words stung her heart in a way she didn't expect. She turned toward him, voice trembling. "Don't say that. You didn't choose to—"
He smiled faintly, the same gentle, broken smile that always caught her off gaurd. "You're kind, Hana. Too kind. Maybe that's why I can still walk beside you."
They reached the end of the bridge. Somewhere below, the river murmured against the rocks, carrying with it fragments of reflected light. Hana leaned on the railing, trying to find words that didn't sound hollow.
"You know," she said after a moment, "when I was little, I used to believe the wind could carry voices. That if someone you loved was far away, you could talk to them just by whispering into it."
Sozuki glanced at her, his expression softening. "Did it work?"
"I don't know," she said, smiling a little. "But it made me feel less lonely."
He looked away, and the silence between them stretched thin — not heavy, but delicate, like the pause before a song fades. Then, quietly, he said, "Maybe that's why I'm still here."
Later that night, Hana lay awake in her small apartment, the photo of the Yamagaki family resting on her desk.She couldn't stop looking at it — the little kids smile, the sunlight on his hair. So innocent. So unaware of what was coming.
She thought of Sozuki's face earlier, how it had looked when he said he didn't deserve to remember. That same loneliness she'd glimpsed before — it wasn't just sadness. It was grief that had outlasted even life itself.
Outside her window, the wind began to stir. It rattled the chimes she'd hung there years ago — a soft, trembling song that filled the dark.For a moment, she thought she heard a faint voice carried within it. Just one word, half a sigh, almost too soft to be real.
"Hana…"
She sat up, heart racing, but the sound faded, leaving only the quiet echo of the night. The photo frame on her desk trembled slightly — then stilled.
Hana pressed a hand to her ribs, whispering into the dark. "Sozuki… you're not alone."
Outside, the wind carried her words away — over rooftops, across the sleeping town, and toward the river where lanterns from a distant festival drifted, one by one, into the current.And somewhere unseen, a child stood by the water's edge, his outline faint in the mist, whispering back with a smile she couldn't see—
"I know."
TO BE CONTINUED...