Morning sunlight spilled across the halls of the school as Lily stepped through the front gates, her bag slung neatly over her shoulder. Her shoes tapped quietly along the tile as she made her way to Class 1-B. Students bustled around her, laughing, talking, settling into their routines.
But for Ethan — the one beneath Lily's skin — it still didn't feel like routine. Not yet.
To everyone else, she was just Lily Nakamura.
The shy, graceful girl who transferred in and surprised everyone with her quiet beauty and calm presence. A little mysterious. A little distant.
But to him, to the part of Ethan that still breathed beneath her soft voice and careful smile — none of this was ordinary.
It was a second life.
And every step through the hallway was a reminder of the first.
She took her seat near the back of the classroom. Her legs ached — they always did after a long day of walking, especially after recovering strength for almost a year. But she welcomed the ache. Ethan needed it. It reminded him of how far Lily had come — how far he had come in her name.
He opened her notebook, pretending to study the formulas on the board. But his mind drifted, as it often did.
To hospital beds.
To a voice calling him "big brother."
To the promise she made before she vanished from the world, leaving him in her place.
"Enjoy your life this time."
During break, a few classmates approached her.
A boy leaned casually against her desk, trying a little too hard to look confident.
"Lily-chan, you've got this… calm energy," he said. "Kind of elegant, y'know?"
Ethan — inside Lily — smiled the way she would. Soft, polite, reserved.
"Thanks," she said.
Another boy chimed in. "Were you always like that? Like, graceful? I dunno, it's kind of cool."
"I used to be in a wheelchair," Lily replied flatly, eyes still on her notebook.
The boys paused, stunned into awkward silence.
"Oh," one of them stammered. "That's… I mean, you look really good now."
She didn't respond.
The boys retreated, laughter forced, unsure how to recover. Ethan watched them go with a strange mix of detachment and bitterness. He wasn't angry at them — not really. They just didn't understand.
They couldn't. Because none of them remembered Ethan.
Not his name. Not his face. Not even his existence.
After lunch, Lily sat alone in the courtyard behind the science building. It was a quiet, shaded space — a place Ethan used to dream about reaching during his sister's hospital days. Back then, this place felt impossibly far.
Now it was just ten steps from the back door.
She sat on a bench, her lunch in her lap, eating in silence while the wind brushed through the leaves above.
Two girls passed by and whispered just loud enough.
"She's so pretty, right? I heard she used to be really sick or something…"
"Yeah, but there's something about her. Like… older. Or sad?"
Lily didn't flinch.
Ethan had grown used to this strange kind of attention. Admiration mixed with distance. Interest laced with unease.
Because Lily looked like someone fragile, yet untouchable.
And no one could imagine the truth: that behind her eyes was a boy who used to laugh too loud, walk too fast, and chase dreams bigger than his body could hold.
After school, she stayed behind.
Ethan walked alone through the old courtyard — the one he remembered pushing his sister through on cold afternoons. She used to look up at the branches and wonder what it would feel like to walk under them.
He reached out and touched a low-hanging leaf.
"Feels like this," he whispered.
The wind stirred.
And in that moment, he swore he could feel her presence. Not a voice, not a vision — just a warmth in his chest. A memory that hadn't faded.
He closed his eyes and stood beneath the tree, letting the breeze wash over her — over him.
"Don't worry," he said quietly. "I haven't forgotten."
And he never would.