The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above me.The air inside the hospital room was too cold, like the walls were trying to preserve something that was already fading.My hands were clenched on my lap. My knuckles were white, but not from fear—more like… uncertainty.
Across from me, the doctor flipped through my scan results with an expression that didn't match the gravity of what he was about to say.
"Your condition is rare," he said calmly, as if talking about someone else's body."It's a progressive neurological disorder.You'll start forgetting things—first your short-term memory, then names, emotions… and eventually, your identity."
I blinked.
He went on, but I wasn't listening to the words anymore. They turned into static—buzzing, distant.
I could hear the clock ticking behind him.Each second sounded like a countdown.
"Based on the patterns we've observed, you have approximately one hundred days left before full memory degeneration begins."
One hundred days.
That number didn't feel real.
I looked down at my fingers.They were shaking, slightly.Not from the diagnosis.But from the fact that I didn't even flinch when I heard it.
Why wasn't I crying?
Was something wrong with me?Was I already… starting to fade?
The ride home was quiet.
Raindrops hit the car window like tiny taps from the outside world, reminding me it still existed.
My mother's grip on the steering wheel tightened every few minutes. She didn't speak a word.But I caught her glancing at me through the rearview mirror.Her eyes were red—but dry.She had cried earlier.Alone.Probably in the hallway when I was still inside the examination room.
I almost reached out to touch her hand.
But I didn't.
I couldn't.Because if I did, I might break.And if I broke…She would too.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I sat on the edge of my bed with a notebook in my lap.The rain hadn't stopped. I could still hear it against my window—like a lullaby written in morse code.
On the first page, I wrote:
"My name is Sakuragi Aoi. I'm 17 years old.I live in Natsukusa, a quiet town by the sea.Today, I was told that I'll start losing my memory in 100 days."
I stared at the words.They looked like they belonged to someone else.Like I was reading a stranger's confession.
I took a deep breath. Then added:
"There's someone I need to remember.Someone important.Someone who promised they'd never let me forget."
I hesitated.
The pencil trembled between my fingers.
"But… I don't remember his name."
A flash.
A blurry memory surfaced.Cherry blossoms.Laughter.A boy's voice calling out to me, warm like sunlight on a winter day.
"If one day you forget everything, I'll remind you."
A promise.Made long ago.By someone I can no longer name.
But his voice felt familiar.His smile, like a lighthouse in fog.
Who was he?
And why does my heart ache when I try to remember?
I shut the notebook gently and held it against my chest.The rain outside grew stronger, like it was echoing something buried deep inside me.
One hundred days.That's all I had.One hundred days to fight against the tide of forgetfulness.
I didn't know where to begin.
But I knew I had to find him.
The boy who once promised to help me remember—before I forget everything.