Yuki followed Ami up a sun-dappled path that curved away from the beach. The town beyond felt like something from a watercolor painting—soft pastels, swaying laundry, children's laughter echoing in the distance. But nothing felt loud. Everything was gentle, like the world was afraid to wake him.
They passed a bakery that smelled like warm bread, a bookstore with a sleepy cat in the window, and a small park where wind chimes whispered like old secrets.
Ami stopped at a hill overlooking the sea. A tree stood there, branches thick with cicadas, and beneath it sat a small bench, worn from time and weather. She flopped down, patting the spot beside her.
Yuki sat. The ocean shimmered like liquid light below them.
Ami pulled something from her bag: a small, leather-bound notebook tied with string.
"This," she said, holding it like it was precious, "is my list."
He looked at it. "Like a journal?"
She grinned. "More like a promise."
She untied the string and opened it. Inside, in neat handwriting, were twelve lines—twelve things, numbered, each with a tiny box beside it.
Only the first two were checked off.
1. Watch the sunrise from the pier. ✅
2. Catch fireflies. ✅
3. Swim under the stars.
4. Dance with someone, no music.
5. Share a secret.
6. Make a wish at the old shrine.
7. Build a sandcastle.
8. Watch fireworks.
9. Find the lighthouse with no path.
10. Kiss someone who feels like home.
11. Laugh until I cry.
12. Wake up.
Yuki stared at the last item. "Wake up?"
Ami quickly turned the page. "That's the boring one."
He looked at her. "You're trying to finish this?"
"Before summer ends," she said. "Want to help?"
Yuki wanted to say no. He wanted to ask more questions. Where was he? Why couldn't he remember anything before waking up? Why did it feel like his heart already knew her?
But instead, he said, "Sure."
Ami beamed. "Great! Then tonight—we're doing number 3."
"Swimming?"
"Under the stars," she corrected. "Not just swimming."
Yuki looked at the ocean below, then at her smile. And again, that strange voice in him whispered:
This isn't real.
But the way she laughed…
That felt more real than anything.