Day 41.
It started raining in the late afternoon.Soft, like the sky was mourning quietly.
She stood by the window, unmoving.
No coat.No umbrella.Just her palm pressed flat against the glass.
Then her lips trembled.
And tears began to fall.
I rushed over.
"Aoi—?"
She turned to me slowly.
Eyes confused.
"Why… am I crying?"
"I'm not sad."
"Am I?"
I didn't answer.
Because I didn't know either.
But my heart did.
Because rain used to mean something to her.
Day 40.
I told her a story.
"There was a day, a long time ago—where you stood on a rooftop in the rain."
"You held my hand.""You said, 'Even if I forget everything, I want to remember how the rain felt when you were beside me.'"
Her eyes widened.
"Did I really say that?"
"Yes."
She looked out the window again.
Then whispered—
"I think… my heart remembers it."
Day 39.
She asked if she could touch the rain.
So I walked her outside,no umbrella.
She tilted her head to the sky,arms open.
And laughed.
Real.
Honest.
"It's cold," she said."But it doesn't feel lonely."
I watched her for a long time.
This girl who had forgotten everythingbut still cried when it rained.
Later that night, she drew a picture.
Just clouds.Raindrops.A small stick figure holding another's hand.
She didn't sign it.
She just placed it on my lap.
And smiled.
That night, I wrote in her notebook:
"Day 39.She forgot who I am."
"But the rain reminded her heart."
"Maybe some memories live in the skin.""In the warmth of hands, in the taste of clouds, in the silence between drops."