That night, Jay couldn't sleep.
He tossed, turned, and ended up on the studio couch with his guitar in hand. The moonlight pooled through the window like silver mist, quiet and soft—almost like a spotlight just for him.
Strumming absentmindedly, he whispered,
> "Yumi..."
He didn't even realize he said the name until it left his lips again, louder this time, almost in a trance.
> "Yumi. Who are you?"
Just then, his head dipped—sleep finally dragging him under.
---
In the dream.
Jay found himself on a quiet street lit with old paper lanterns. It was familiar, but dream-foggy.
There, by the steps of a forgotten shrine, stood her.
A girl with long, flowy hair in a white dress. Her back was to him. She wasn't quite solid—like a shimmer of light, almost see-through.
Jay took a step closer.
"Hey... do I know you?"
The girl slowly turned.
Her face was blurred, as if his dream couldn't decide how to shape it—but her eyes, those soft and sorrowful eyes, locked onto his like magnets.
He gasped. "Yumi."
She didn't speak. She just lifted a finger and gently touched his chest—right over his heart.
> "You hear me," her voice whispered inside his mind.
He jolted awake with a gasp, hand flying to his chest.
Heart racing. Sweat clinging. Eyes wide.
---
Back in the hospital, Yumi's astral form had collapsed to her knees next to her body, drained.
"That was... the first time I ever touched someone in ten years," she whispered, voice shaking. "And he... he felt it."
Her body twitched again. Her lips moved slightly.
The nurse didn't see it.
But the monitor caught it.
---
Jay sat in the studio the next morning, eyes heavy with sleep, staring at the scribbled lyrics in his notebook.
> "You hear me."
That voice still echoed in his mind. It wasn't just a dream—he felt it. Like a whisper under his skin.
He picked up his pen and started writing a new song. The words flowed as if someone else was guiding his hand.
"Stuck in the in-between,
Your voice like a memory,
Calling out from dreams I can't explain..."
His manager burst in a few minutes later, phone in hand.
"Jay, you need to see this."
He turned the screen toward him. It was hospital security footage. Glitchy, low-res. But clear enough.
Yumi's fingers twitched.
Her lips moved.
Just a flicker. But enough to send shock through Jay's chest.
> "She's... waking up?"
His manager shrugged. "No one's sure. The doctors think it was a reflex. But the staff are spooked. Some say they felt something cold in the room right before it happened."
Jay's heart pounded.
Cold?
That dream... the girl...
He didn't know why, but something deep inside him whispered:
> "It wasn't a coincidence."
---
Meanwhile, in the hospital, Yumi drifted silently by the window. Her spirit was exhausted, her energy low. But she felt... different.
> Stronger. Warmer. Almost anchored.
And when the wind blew in through the slightly cracked window, she swore she heard the faintest hum of a melody...
> His melody.
And her eyes widened. "He remembers."
---
Jay couldn't stop pacing.
The footage. The twitch. That haunting melody in his head that wasn't his song, but felt like it came from his soul.
He stood in the soundproof booth, headphones on, mic in front of him. The red light blinked.
> "You ready?" his producer asked.
Jay nodded once.
The music started—soft piano. He closed his eyes.
And then... he sang her name.
> "Yumi..."
Everyone in the studio froze.
It wasn't part of the lyrics. It had never been.
Jay's eyes flew open. "Wait—did I just say—?"
"Who's Yumi?" the producer asked, eyebrows raised.
Jay's stomach dropped. "I... don't know. I don't..."
But somewhere deep in his chest, a memory flickered. Faint, like candlelight in fog. A girl. A feeling. The name. That name.
---
Across the city, inside the hospital, Yumi's astral form jerked like static.
Her hands trembled.
> "He said my name..."
Her heart—her real heart—fluttered. A blip on the monitor. Just one.
The nurse ran in.
> "Dr. Kim! Patient Yumi Park just had a cardiac spike!"
In her invisible state, Yumi stood stunned. "He... he knows me. He remembers."
---
Later that night, Jay sat alone in his apartment. Rain trickled down the windowpane. He stared at the notebook in his hands—full of lyrics, scribbles, and now, her name, written over and over without realizing.
> "Why does it feel like I've met you before?"
He didn't notice the soft, glowing light behind him...
Yumi, watching.
Silent. Teary-eyed.
> "I'm here, Jay..."
------
Jay couldn't sleep.
The rain kept falling, but it wasn't just the sound that kept him awake—it was the feeling. That name. That moment. The music session had ended, but something had started. Something he couldn't name.
He turned on his side. Eyes wide open in the dark.
And then—
> A dream.
A girl in white stood in the middle of a sunflower field. The wind blew gently, her hair flowing with it, her eyes... sad, yet familiar. She didn't say a word, but her gaze pierced him.
He reached for her.
> "Who are you?"
"Don't you know?" she whispered, her voice echoing like a song.
"Yumi..."
He woke up gasping.
---
Back in the hospital, Yumi sat by the window in her astral form. She had no idea how long she'd been watching Jay—just knowing he said her name stirred something in her spirit.
> "Maybe," she whispered to herself, "maybe he's the key..."
She looked at the ring on her astral finger—the one she'd been wearing when the accident happened. It shimmered faintly now, like it was reacting to something. To him?
Suha entered the room with a fresh bouquet. Her voice broke Yumi's thoughts.
> "I heard Yominer's new song," Suha said softly. "Jay said... your name. It was like fate calling out."
Yumi turned sharply.
> "You heard it too?"
Suha paused. "I've always believed you'd wake up when something strong enough found its way to your heart."
Yumi looked out the window again.
> "Then maybe... it's time I start reaching back."
---
Somewhere else in the city, Jay stood in front of an old bookstore, drawn by instinct. He didn't know why he was there—only that he had to be.
A wind chime rang. A soft whisper.
> "Yumi..."
To be continued...💐