The first time Aiden Zhou saw her, he thought it was a dream.
And in a way, it was — at least, that's what he told himself every night after waking up with the faint scent of cherry blossoms lingering on his pillow.
It always started the same.
A moonlit garden. Stone lanterns glowing softly. A crimson kimono brushing over the moss.
And her — standing by the koi pond, hair as dark as ink, eyes like twilight.
She never spoke much. Only one sentence, always in the same gentle tone.
"You finally came back."
Then he'd wake up — his phone buzzing with emails, the Tokyo skyline gleaming outside his penthouse window, and his alarm blaring some upbeat pop song completely unfit for horror.
Aiden was the kind of person who could turn even the strangest moment into a joke.
When his friend Kenji teased him about the nightmares, he'd shrug and say,
"Hey, at least my dream girl shows up on time. Can't say the same for my last date."
At twenty-one, Aiden lived a life that looked effortless — university classes in the morning, board meetings by evening. He was the executive director of Zhou Industries, a family empire that spanned from Shanghai to Tokyo. His father called him "young but sharp." His professors called him "too busy to fail." His friends just called him "rich idiot."
But behind the jokes, he carried something strange — an unease he couldn't name. Because lately, the line between dream and waking life was starting to blur.
It began subtly.
One morning, he noticed a faint red thread tied around his wrist. He didn't remember putting it there.
Another day, his apartment door was open, though security footage showed no one entering.
And once — only once — he swore he saw her reflection in the elevator mirror behind him. Smiling.
He blinked, and she was gone.
That evening, his girlfriend, Mina Sato, came over with her usual energy — all sunshine and sarcasm.
"Your house smells like flowers again," she said, wrinkling her nose.
"Yeah, I got haunted by a florist," he joked. "She's really clingy."
Mina rolled her eyes. "Aiden, seriously. You need sleep. Or sage."
They laughed it off, as always. But when Mina leaned in to kiss him that night, a sudden chill ran through the room. Every light flickered. The music stopped.
Then the faint sound of bells. Like an ancient temple wind chime.
Mina froze. "Did you—hear that?"
Aiden tried to smile. "Probably just—"
But before he could finish, his bedroom window slid open on its own. A gust of cold air swept through, and a faint whisper touched his ear.
"Don't."
The lights went out.
When they flickered back, Mina had backed away, trembling. A crimson petal fell from the ceiling — a cherry blossom — even though it was the middle of winter.
Aiden forced a laugh, though his voice trembled.
"Well… at least the décor's improving."
But deep down, he knew the truth.
She was real.
And she was jealous.
That night, as he lay awake staring at the ceiling, his phone buzzed. A new email notification appeared from an unknown address.
Subject: "You remembered me."
Attachment: A photo of him sleeping — taken from the end of his bed.
At the bottom of the email was a single sentence:
"You promised me forever, Aiji."
Aiden's blood ran cold.
He had never told anyone that name.
He didn't even know what it meant.