Morning sunlight filters through the classroom blinds, striping everything in gold and shadow.
Ren's sitting at his desk early, something he never does, flipping through the pages of his notebook, trying to focus. But every time his pencil hits the paper, he ends up sketching the same thing.
A cliff.
Three silhouettes.
And wind that won't stop moving.
---
Aika enters quietly, like she's afraid the air itself might shatter.
She doesn't look surprised to see him there.
She just says, softly, "You saw it, didn't you?"
Ren doesn't ask how she knows. He just nods.
> "That sketch," he says. "Those three kids. Who were they?"
"You already know," she replies. "You're just afraid to say it."
He laughs — a hollow one, the kind that sounds more like exhaling pain.
> "Afraid of what? A dream?"
"No," she says, looking out the window. "Of remembering."
---
At lunch, they sit under the big camphor tree behind the school, the only place where the sound of the waves reaches softly enough to feel like breathing.
Aika opens her sketchbook again, her fingers trembling slightly.
> "I used to draw this place all the time," she says. "Even before I came here. I thought they were just landscapes from my imagination."
"And now?"
"Now I think they're the pieces you forgot."
Ren blinks. "Why would I forget something you remember?"
Aika doesn't answer immediately.
She flips a few pages. The drawings get darker, less dreamlike, more real. Children playing by the sea. Paper planes caught in the wind. A storm rolling in.
Then one page stops him cold.
It's him.
A younger version of himself, smiling, holding a paper plane, drawn in incredible detail.
He touches the edge of the page, almost trembling. "Where did you get this?"
> "It's always been in here," she says quietly. "I just didn't know why."
She turns the sketchbook around, and for the first time Ren notices faint writing on the back of the page, a small scrawl in pencil, half-erased:
> 'For Ren, so you'll never forget her smile.'
The handwriting.
It's his.
He drops the book like it burned him.
> "No. That's not possible."
"You wrote it," Aika says. "Eight years ago. The summer before everything changed."
---
That night, Ren can't breathe.
His dreams are different now, vivid, violent.
He's by the cliff again, holding a paper plane, watching a storm swallow the sea. Someone's screaming his name, not out of fear, but desperation.
> "Ren! Don't go!"
Then thunder. A blinding flash. A splash.
And silence.
He wakes up with salt on his lips.
Not sweat.
Salt.
He stumbles to the window.
The sea below looks the same, calm, infinite, beautiful, but for the first time, he hates it.
---
The next day, he finds Aika waiting at the memorial.
She's holding the same paper plane he saw in the dream.
Worn edges. Faded writing. Real.
> "You kept this?" he whispers.
"She did," Aika says, her voice trembling. "My sister."
Ren freezes. "Your sister?"
> "Airi Hanabira."
"That name…"
The world starts spinning.
The unfinished word in his notebook, Ai…
It wasn't a random name. It was hers.
> "You remember now, don't you?" Aika says. "The girl you used to play with. The one who followed you everywhere. The one you couldn't save."
Ren drops to his knees.
Images flood in, laughter, the sunflower field, the cliff, the paper planes, her scream, the water swallowing her name.
He remembers.
Everything.
Or maybe too much.
---
Aika kneels beside him, eyes full of both grief and relief.
> "She wanted me to find you," she whispers. "Before the wind forgot you completely."
Ren clenches his fists, voice breaking.
> "She's gone because of me."
"No," Aika says firmly. "She's gone with you. Half of her stayed. That's why you couldn't forget. That's why I dreamt your memories."
Ren stares at her, the way her hair moves, the way she breathes, and for a moment, he sees Airi standing in her place, smiling softly like she used to.
---
The paper plane slips from Aika's hand and floats into the wind, spinning toward the sea.
Ren watches it until it disappears into the light.
> "Maybe," he says quietly, "the wind never forgets. It just waits until you're ready to listen again."
Aika smiles, the same smile her sister once had.
> "Then maybe it's time you listened."
---
End of Chapter 3 – Paper Planes and Saltwater