The morning of Day 184 was the quietest morning of Sina's life.
The world no longer held the familiar anchor of a school schedule. The scaffolding was gone. There was no study group to attend, no history class to share. The life documented in her notes and sketchbook had ended abruptly yesterday, on a day marked Graduation.
She woke up with a profound and inexplicable ache in her chest, a sense of loss so deep it felt like a part of her soul had been amputated in her sleep. She went through her usual ritual, her movements slow, heavy. She read the notes from Dr. Thorne. She saw the familiar name, Kelin Ishida, woven throughout.
And then she found the final note from the You of Yesterday. It was short, stark, and brutal in its simplicity.
We did it. We graduated. We said goodbye. Don't go to the bridge. It's over. It has to be. Be strong. This is for him.
The words were a stone wall, a fortress her previous self had built to protect a boy she couldn't remember from a future she couldn't imagine. She understood the instruction, but she couldn't comprehend the soul-crushing sadness that came with it. Her heart was grieving a loss her mind had no record of.
Sora was quiet that morning, her usual brisk energy replaced by a heavy, watchful stillness. She made breakfast, a simple meal that Sina barely touched.
"What am I supposed to do today?" Sina asked, the question aimed at the empty space in front of her. Her days had always had a purpose, a mission, even if it was just "bottle a sunrise." Today was a blank, terrifying void.
"Whatever you want," Sora replied, her voice gentle.
It was the least helpful and most terrifying answer imaginable.
Sina retreated to her room, the ache in her chest a constant, throbbing presence. She sat at her desk, the silence of the apartment deafening. Her eyes landed on her yearbook, sitting on her nightstand. She picked it up, a piece of tangible history from a day she could only read about.
She began to flip through the pages. The faces of her classmates were strangers, their well-wishes kind but meaningless. It was like looking at a stranger's photo album. Maya's bubbly handwriting. Kaito's rigid, formal print.
And then she turned to the last blank page. And her breath caught in her throat.
The page wasn't blank. It was filled, from margin to margin, with a familiar, slightly messy handwriting. The same handwriting that had once, in a video she'd watched, written out a chemistry equation on a library napkin for her.
It was his.
She began to read.
To the Sina of Tomorrow,
You don't know me today. And you think you're not supposed to. The girl who was you yesterday made a decision. She decided that I needed to be saved from you. She is the bravest, kindest, most noble idiot I have ever met. And she is completely, utterly wrong.
She's afraid of being a burden. A loop. She's afraid of a 'forever' that is just a series of resets. I was scared of it too, for a second. She saw that fear, and it broke her heart. But here is the truth she couldn't see, the truth I failed to say out loud: A life of a thousand first hellos with you is infinitely better than a hundred years of easy, boring days without you. It's not a loop. Every single sunrise with you is a gift. A privilege. One that I would be lucky to have for the rest of my life.
I don't need you to remember what we had for breakfast. I just need you. Your smile, your sketches, your terrible jokes. I need the girl who saw the poetry in a dusty sunbeam and the girl who has the courage to meet a stranger on a bridge, day after day after day.
Yesterday, you walked away to set me free. But you have it backward. All this time, I wasn't your zookeeper, or your handler. You were mine. You were the one who rescued me from a grey, empty world. You're the color. You're the sunrise.
Don't be strong for me. Don't save me. Let's just be scared together. Whatever is next, let's just face it together. All you have to do is choose it.
I'll be on the bridge. I'll be there every single morning. Maybe you'll show up. Maybe you won't. The choice is, and has always been, yours.
The truth isn't that I just fell in love with you. The truth is, I choose to fall in love with you, every single day.
Yours, always,
Kelin
Sina read the letter once. Then she read it again, her fingers tracing the ink as if to absorb the words through her skin.
The silence in her room was no longer empty. It was filled with his voice, with the unwavering, stubborn truth of his love. A love that wasn't afraid of her condition, a love that saw the daily reset not as a bug, but as a feature. A choice.
Her previous self's final, protective note had been a wall. This letter was a key. It wasn't a demand. It wasn't a plea. It was just... an open door. An invitation. I'll be here. The choice is yours.
The ache in her chest wasn't just sadness anymore. It was hope. A terrifying, brilliant, overwhelming hope.
The girl of yesterday had been a martyr. The girl of today... she had to decide if she wanted to be a survivor.
She stood up from her desk, the open yearbook in her hand. She walked out of her room. Sora was in the living room, pretending to read, but her posture was tense, expectant.
Sina walked past her, towards the front door.
"Sina?" Sora asked, her voice laced with a fragile hope.
Sina paused at the door, her hand on the knob. She turned, and Sora saw a look on her face she had never seen before. It wasn't bravery born of a note's command. It wasn't the echo-driven recognition of their mornings.
It was certainty. Pure, simple, heart-deep certainty.
"I have to go meet someone," Sina said, her voice clear and strong. "I think he's waiting for me."