A customer, an elderly woman with a kind face and eyes that held a lifetime of stories, came into the store. Ji-ah scanned her groceries, a carton of milk, a loaf of bread, a single apple. As the woman reached for her wallet, a small, silver bell fell from her purse, landing on the counter with a delicate ting.
The sound resonated deep within Ji-ah, a shockwave rippling through her senses. A dizzying wave of nausea washed over her, and images flashed before her eyes - a garden bathed in sunlight, laughter, the scent of jasmine, and a woman's gentle hand stroking her hair. They were fragmented, disjointed, but intensely vivid.
Ji-ah gasped, clutching at the counter for support.
"Are you alright, dear?" the old woman asked, her voice laced with concern.
Ji-ah could only shake her head, the images still swirling in her mind. The woman paid for her groceries and, as she turned to leave, she noticed the bell still lying on the counter.
"Oh, that's mine," she said, picking it up. "It's a little memento. It belonged to my daughter."
Ji-ah couldn't stop herself. "May I… may I see it?"
The woman hesitated for a moment, then smiled. "Of course, dear." She held out the bell.
It was a simple bell, crafted from silver, with intricate carvings of flowers and birds. As Ji-ah took it, her fingers recognized the smooth, cool metal. It was as if she'd held it a thousand times before.
Another image flashed – a small hand, her hand, reaching for the bell, her small laughter echoing in the air.