The rain fell softly, the kind that blurred lights into gentle halos and made the whole world feel like a dream. Aira walked alone through the quiet street, her umbrella tapping lightly against her shoulder. Nights like this always made her feel wistful—like she was waiting for someone she had never met.
She didn't know why she felt that way.
Only that something in her heart was missing… someone, maybe.
A warm glow caught her eye.
An old book stall stood at the end of the street, lit by a single lantern that flickered as if it, too, was breathing. She would have walked past—she always did—if not for the sudden hush in the air. The rain seemed to pause. For a second, the world held its breath.
And then she felt it.
A soft pull.
Not from a person.
From a book.
Aira turned slowly. A coverless, weathered volume sat in the center of the stall, pages trembling though no wind touched them. The edges glowed faintly, like embers longing to burn again.
"Ah," the stallkeeper murmured, an elderly woman with eyes too deep for this world. "It finally called you."
Aira blinked. "Called me?"
"You've heard its heartbeat, child. Haven't you ever felt…" The woman lowered her voice. "As if something—or someone—was waiting for you?"
The question struck Aira like a chord she'd forgotten how to play.
Aira swallowed. "…Yes."
She didn't know why she said it, but the truth slipped out before she could stop it.
Her hand reached for the book, almost on its own. The moment her fingertips brushed the page, warmth surged through her—soft, familiar, like a hand she once held in a dream.
Letters shimmered into existence:
THE SHATTERED REALM
Where the One You Seek Awaits
Aira's breath trembled. A sudden ache bloomed in her chest, fierce and tender at once.
The words shifted. Ink swirled. New lines formed:
COME BACK TO US.
COME BACK TO HIM.
"Wh—him?" Aira whispered, heart thundering.
But she didn't know who she was asking about. There was no face in her memory.
Only a strange, aching warmth spreading through her like a forgotten embrace.
Thunder rolled, deep and mournful.
The lantern blinked out.
Ink seeped from the page, curling around her fingers like gentle ribbons tightening in a lover's grasp. Aira gasped—but the sensation wasn't painful.
It felt like being pulled into arms she belonged to.
The stallkeeper's voice whispered through the stormless air:
"In that world, someone's heart has been waiting centuries for you."
Aira's eyes widened, but the ink had already taken her.
The street melted away.
The rain vanished.
Her pulse echoed loudly, as though answering another heartbeat that called her from far, far away.
And then—
The book closed.
And Aira fell toward the one who had been waiting.