It was morning.
Snowflakes drifted lazily from the sky, cloaking the town in soft white. Rei wasn't at school.
Haruta glanced around and turned to Sera.
"Where's Rei?"
Sera gave a quiet sigh. "His family visits his mom's grave today. They do it every year."
"Oh."
Haruta looked away, suddenly unsure what to say next.
---
Meanwhile, Rei stood in the cemetery, hands tucked into his pockets, breath fogging in the cold air.
"It must be freezing here..." he whispered.
His sister knelt, carefully brushing snow from the gravestone. Their father placed a bouquet of fresh white flowers.
No one spoke.
The silence lingered, heavy and sacred.
They stood there for a long while.
And then, they went home.
---
That evening, Rei lay on his bed, staring at a framed photo of her. His fingers brushed the edge of the frame.
"I hope you can see how much I've grown," he murmured.
His eyes fluttered shut... and when he opened them again—
---
He was standing in the garden of their old home.
Snow no longer fell.
Everything was still.
Underneath the large tree, she stood. Smiling. Waiting.
She walked over and gently ran her fingers through his hair.
"You've grown so much," she said warmly.
Rei opened his mouth to reply—
But no words came out.
She smiled, soft and sad. "That smile... it's still here."
She looked up at the sky, then back to him.
"Don't worry. I'm always watching you. You and Sera... always."
A pause.
"And I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wasn't there when you needed me most."
---
In the distance, the younger Rei—just a boy of six—was running through the garden, laughing as he chased after bees.
She turned toward him, her eyes filled with something unspoken.
Love. Regret. Pride.
The sun in the dream felt too warm to be real. The little garden was alive with colors, bees buzzing lazily around the flowers. Young Rei, maybe five, tore across the yard with messy hair and dirt on his knees.
Sitting under the tree was his older sister—about eleven or twelve—braiding flower crowns with a super serious face, even though one sat crooked on her own head.
"Rei, stop running or you'll fall again!" she snapped, already holding a band-aid like it was her job.
Their mom laughed softly nearby, kneeling by the flower bed.
"You'll be a great mom someday, sweetheart."
His sister blinked and looked up. "Ew, no. Kids are annoying." But her smile gave her away.
The present-day Rei stood in the middle of the memory, watching like a ghost in his own dream. His mom's laugh felt like a lullaby wrapped in sunlight. And his sister... she looked so small. So familiar. So safe.
Then, his mom turned, looking right at him—not the child-version, but him. The Rei who had seen too much, felt too much, lost too much.
"You still carry so much, don't you?" she said gently.
Rei clenched his jaw, trying not to break apart.
"...I wish you could've seen who we became."
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear—that same little habit his sister had picked up.
"I don't need to. I know you both made it."
"But you know your sister pushes herself too hard... trying to solve everything," his mother said, glancing at his sister making a flower crown.
"I know... She doesn't show it, but she's always tired," Rei replied.
"Take care of her. Yourself. And Sera, too... Rei."
Her voice softened. "Goodbye, my son."
"NO—don't go! I've got things I still want to—"
---
He opened his eyes.
"...What..." he murmured.
His mother's photo lay on his chest. He lifted it gently.
"Thanks for everything... Mom."
Outside, the snow kept falling.
But inside, the room was warm, light, and comforting—more than ever before.
—to be continued.
-~Yash
---