Chapter 1: The Girl by the Sea
The rain had started as a whisper—barely more than mist drifting in from the ocean—but by dusk it had turned into a steady, rhythmic patter. It washed over the seaside town of Hoshikawa like a soft lullaby, soaking the streets and hushing the world.
Kaito Aizawa stood inside his bookstore, Ocean Pages, watching the raindrops trail down the window. The sign on the door hung slightly crooked, swaying with the wind outside. Inside, the warm glow of the desk lamp bathed the shelves in amber light. The scent of old pages, ink, and coffee lingered in the air.
He closed the register, counted the day's sparse earnings, and made a note to order more blank journals. Not many people came in these days, but the few who did often came for peace more than paper. His shop was a haven for the quiet-hearted—perhaps because Kaito himself was one of them.
He slipped on his coat, the fabric still faintly smelling of cedarwood from the scented candles he kept burning by the counter, and stepped out into the rain.
The streets were mostly empty. The sky had turned a deep gray, with clouds so low they felt like a ceiling pressing down on the earth. Lights flickered behind drawn curtains; dinner clinked on plates in distant kitchens.
Kaito walked the path he took every evening: past the shuttered toy shop with its cracked window display, past the public library with ivy climbing its stone walls, and finally toward the cliffside park.
That was where he always saw her.
She sat on the same bench every evening, as if she had nowhere else in the world to be. The bench faced the ocean, just before the metal railing that marked the edge of the cliff. She always sat still, hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the distant horizon.
Tonight, the wind pulled at her coat, and her hair—long and dark like wet silk—clung to her cheeks. The rain traced lines down her skin, but she didn't wipe them away. She never did.
Kaito slowed down, hands deep in his pockets. He didn't know her name. No one seemed to. Some people thought she was a ghost, or a runaway. Others whispered that she had lost someone, and that the sea was all she had left.
Kaito didn't believe in ghosts. He believed in silence. And she wore silence like a second skin.
He hesitated only a moment, then stepped off the path and approached the bench.
"You'll catch a cold out here," he said gently, voice almost lost in the wind.
She didn't look up. Her voice, when it came, was soft and hollow. "The cold reminds me I'm still here."
He wasn't sure how to answer that. Instead, he glanced at the bench and remained standing. "I've seen you here before. My name's Kaito. I run the bookstore nearby."
For a long while, she said nothing. Then, finally: "Books are quiet. That's good."
He gave a small smile. "They are. They let you disappear into someone else's world. I think that's why I like them."
A wave crashed far below, sending up a mist of sea spray that lingered in the air.
"I could bring you one," he offered, unsure why he said it. "If you want. Something to read while you sit here."
For the first time, she turned her head slightly—just enough for him to see the shape of her face. Pale skin, dark lashes, and eyes that held the weight of something heavy and old.
"You don't even know me," she said.
"No," he admitted. "But I know what it's like to be alone."
That made her go still. She looked back at the ocean. The wind tugged at her sleeves.
"If you bring a book," she murmured, "bring a mystery. One with an ending."
Kaito nodded slowly. "I will."
He stepped away then, sensing the moment had reached its edge. But before he left, he glanced back one last time.
She was looking out at the sea again. A girl carved out of silence, rain, and something more fragile than glass.
And he—he was just a man with a bookstore and a quiet heart.
But something told him that tomorrow, when he brought her that mystery, everything would begin to change.
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To be continued