The moving truck rumbled away, leaving behind a faint smell of dust and diesel. The late afternoon sun painted the quiet street in shades of gold, and the cicadas sang as if welcoming summer's arrival.
Toshio Shinji stood outside the gate of his new home, hands in his pockets, golden hair catching the light. Eighteen years old, about to start his final year of high school — and not exactly thrilled about it.
"Another new neighborhood," he muttered to himself. "Another round of introductions."
He had moved more times than he could count, his father's job dragging their family from one city to another. Just as he'd start to settle in, it would be time to pack up and leave again.
But this place felt… different.
It wasn't the scenery — rows of ordinary houses and a small park down the street — but the stillness. It was too quiet, almost as if the air itself was listening.
And then he heard it.
A sound that didn't belong to the ordinary world.
A soft melody, drifting from somewhere nearby — delicate, mournful, yet strangely warm. Piano keys, pressed gently, one after another, weaving a story he didn't understand but instantly felt.
Toshio turned toward the neighboring house. The window on the second floor was open, and through the lace curtain, he could just make out a girl sitting by the piano.
Her long black hair fell over her shoulders like a shadow. She played with her eyes closed, fingers moving gracefully as if she'd done it a thousand times before.
The music stopped.
She opened her eyes — and looked directly at him.
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then the curtain fell, hiding her away again.
Toshio blinked, unsure whether to be embarrassed or mesmerized. "Guess that's my neighbor," he murmured, scratching his neck awkwardly.
That night, he couldn't sleep. The melody from earlier replayed in his mind like a looping dream — haunting, beautiful, unforgettable.
The next morning, Toshio carried a box of old books into his new room. The window faced the same direction — toward her house.
He hesitated before opening it. Part of him hoped to hear that melody again, the other part felt ridiculous for waiting.
Then, as if on cue, the faint sound of the piano began again.
He smiled."Right on time," he whispered.
He leaned against the window frame, listening quietly. Every note seemed to pull him in — like a voice, whispering from the other side.
For a while, he just let it play.
Then suddenly, the music stopped mid-note.
A moment later, a soft voice floated across the fence:
"You're listening again, aren't you?"
Toshio nearly dropped his book. He turned quickly — and there she was.
The girl stood by the fence separating their houses, sunlight glinting off her dark hair. Her eyes were calm, unreadable, but her lips carried the faintest smile.
"I wasn't—well, maybe I was," he admitted, flustered.
She laughed quietly. "Most people just ignore it. You didn't."
"I… couldn't."
Something in her expression changed — a flicker of sadness, or maybe nostalgia. "I play to remember something important," she said softly.
"What is it?" Toshio asked.
The girl looked away, her gaze distant. "Someone I promised to never forget."
Before he could say anything more, she turned and walked back inside. The piano started again — the same melody, but this time it sounded softer, almost fragile.
Toshio leaned against the window, heart beating faster than he wanted to admit.
He didn't know her name. He didn't know her story.
But somehow, that melody — that girl — had already become part of his world.
"Whoever you're waiting for," he whispered under his breath, "I hope they find you."
Outside, the wind carried the piano's final notes through the air — and for a fleeting second, Toshio could have sworn it whispered back.
"Maybe you already have."