Our "forever" did not begin with a magical cure or a cinematic fade-out. It began with a conversation. A long, difficult, and profoundly honest conversation in Dr. Thorne's office, with Sora and Sina's aunt Elara as our witnesses and allies.
The yearbook letter was read, analyzed, and finally, accepted by the tribunal not as a romantic gesture, but as what it truly was: a successful therapeutic intervention. A viable framework for a future.
"So, what is the plan?" Dr. Thorne asked, her tone clinical but her eyes betraying a deep, invested interest. "Love is a beautiful foundation, but a life requires architecture."
Sina, holding my hand under the table, was the one who answered. The confidence she had found on the bridge was now her new baseline.
"We go to Tokyo," she said, her voice clear and steady. The declaration was so simple, so audacious, that everyone in the room, including me, just stared at her.
"Sora and Kaito are going there for university," she continued, laying out the logic. "That's a support system. A familiar one. And..." she squeezed my hand, "Kelin has a dozen acceptance letters from universities there. He deserves to use one. He deserves a future."
"And you, Sina?" her aunt asked, her voice laced with worry and pride. "What will you do?"
"I'm going to paint," Sina said with a quiet, unshakeable certainty. "I'm going to take a gap year. Or two. Or ten. I'm going to fill a thousand sketchbooks. I will find a small apartment, with help. I will build a new, predictable routine. My 'scaffolding.' And I will learn to navigate a new city, one day at a time. Dr. Thorne has already found a memory care specialist in Tokyo I can work with."
She had thought this through. This wasn't a whim. This was a blueprint.
"And he," she said, looking at me, her amber eyes full of a love that was both soft and fierce, "will go to class. He will study. He will make new friends. And in the mornings, and in the evenings, he will be with me. We will not be each other's entire worlds. We will be each other's home to return to at the end of the day."
It was the healthiest, most well-thought-out, and most breathtakingly romantic plan I had ever heard. She wasn't asking me to be her zookeeper. She was asking me to be her partner, with clearly defined roles and a mutual respect for each other's individual lives.
And so, that's what we did. The next few months were a whirlwind of logistics. I accepted an offer to a university in Tokyo, majoring in literature. We found two small, adjacent apartments in a quiet neighborhood, one for her, and one for me and Zeke, who had enthusiastically declared himself our "official taste-tester and Head of Morale." Sora and Kaito's place was just two train stops away. We were building a new, expanded support system. A village.
The move was chaotic, stressful, and perfect. The night before our new lives were set to begin, we stood in the middle of Sina's empty apartment. The walls were bare, waiting for new art. A single box sat in the middle of the floor, marked "ARCHIVES." Her sketchbook and the yearbook sat on top of it.
"Scared?" I asked, wrapping my arms around her from behind, my chin resting on her head.
"Terrified," she admitted, leaning back against me. "This is the biggest reset yet. A new city, a new home... tomorrow morning, my notes will be a science fiction novel."
"It'll be okay," I murmured. "The architecture is good."
"I know." She was quiet for a moment. "Last night, I watched one of the videos again. Day 1. The very first one." She turned in my arms to face me. "That boy in the video... he was so lost. He had no idea what he was getting into."
"No," I agreed, a smile touching my lips. "He really didn't."
"He thought he had to save me," she said, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. "But he had it all backward. I think... from the very first day... I was the one saving him."
"Every single time," I whispered, and leaned in to kiss her.
The next morning, the first sunrise in Tokyo, I woke to my alarm. My heart pounded with the familiar rhythm of a new day. I grabbed the two coffees I'd prepared and walked across the short hallway, using the key she had given me.
I found her in the living room, standing by the large window that overlooked the new, unfamiliar city. She was in her pajamas, reading a single, laminated page—the new, streamlined version of her notes. She was surrounded by unpacked boxes, a sea of unknowns.
She looked up as I entered, her eyes full of the familiar, disorienting fog of a new morning. The stranger was back.
But this time, I wasn't scared. I just smiled.
I walked over and stood beside her, looking out the window. "It's a pretty nice view, isn't it?" I said.
She looked at me, at the strange boy in her new apartment holding two cups of coffee. Her gaze was wary, confused.
And then, just as it had every morning on the bridge, the magic happened. The unbreakable, undeniable echo in her heart rose to meet the stranger in front of her. Her confused expression softened, melting away like mist in the sun, replaced by that beautiful, miraculous look of dawning recognition.
Her whole body relaxed, a lifetime of tension she didn't know she was holding releasing in a single, soft breath.
"Oh," she whispered, a slow, brilliant smile spreading across her face. "It's you."
I held out a coffee cup to her. "It's me," I said, my own smile full of the promise of a thousand more sunrises just like this one. "Welcome home."