(Kaze's pov)
The morning after the rain was quiet enough to make me believe the world had paused just for us.
Ashpen and I walked along the footpath near campus, the air washed clean by last night's storm. The soil smelled rich, the leaves still slick with droplets that glittered when the sun caught them.
Each step pressed a soft crunch into the path.
She kept a steady pace beside me, though I knew she was watching more than walking .
That was Ashpen—never asking before I was ready, never rushing my steps.
Her silence was a kind of patience I hadn't known before I disappeared.
I broke it, at last.
"It was strange…"
My voice felt lighter than I expected.
"Waking up in a place that didn't expect anything from me."
Her gaze turned.
I didn't meet it.
My eyes lingered instead on the sunlight threading through branches, catching fragments of gold in the leaves.
"The villagers… they were kind.
Curious. But not demanding. No questions I didn't want to answer.
Just warmth.
Food.
Space."
My words unraveled like threads long kept knotted.
---
(Flashback)
When I close my eyes, I can still smell the hut. Damp wood, smoke curling from the stove, herbs hanging from a beam.
The bed was only a mat, woven reeds layered with old cloth, but it felt more merciful than the mattress I'd left behind in the city.
An elderly woman with soft hands pressed a cup of bitter tea into mine.
She didn't ask where I came from.
She didn't ask why my clothes were drenched or why I shook even though the fire was warm. She simply smiled, her teeth crooked but her eyeskind, and said something I didn't understand.
I learned later it meant,
'Drink, child. The wind brought you here for a reason.'
Children peeked from behind the doorway, giggling as if I were some wild bird perched where it shouldn't be. I turned my face away, embarrassed. But they only laughed more softly, tugging each other's sleeves, whispering.
Outside, the carpenter mended his fishing net in rhythm with the river's murmur. He looked up once, nodded, and went back to his work.
No stares, no interrogation.
Just a nod, like I had simply walked out of the forest and belonged there.
I didn't cry then,
Not yet-
The tears came later,
The night came by- the village went quite. The fire place blownout with steam still rising from it.
As I lay on the cold mat, the most uncomfortablycomfortable bed I've ever had. The cold floor strangelysoothing and the sound of brids and crikects filled the night.
A tear fell-
Then another.
I covered the blanket over my head . With shaky inhale "what's wrong with me?-"
As morning arrived the village came to life. I woke up and walked up to the dustyvillageroad - kids running around, teenagers helping thier elders and men at work.
The old lady from before approaced me and spoke something sosoftly- it was barely audible , I gave a sheepishsmile and thought
"I think, I should leave soon"
A teenage boy- around the same age as me approaches her running
"amma! the boys and girls have returned form the herb collection!!"
He looked at me and squeaked.
"Who are you- ?
Oh, you're the one who almost drowned"
I held my breath.
Of'course he wouldn't have seen me before or now if I hadn't be rescued.
"Be careful, I'll teach you how to swim when I have time" He said with a bright smile and leapt off.
I was flabbergasted-
There were no judgement, no rumors or arguments-...
I walked the village road- the place was rural dusty and beautiful. They had no fancy buildings or high-tech machineries.
Just the wooden and bamboo ambience and laughter filled the air.
Time slowed and so did my mind.
A strange smile tugged at the corner of my lips
"this is strange-"
I prepared to leave it behind because I knew very well myself that I was not a specialguest to stay.
Then the boy came running yet again- "hey ! You- amma told to help out with the herbs"
I looked back- half in shock and half in relief.
Do I really deserve such a opportunity- to stay here.
I really want to- but do I deserve it?
"Sure-" I said
And an unconscious smile covered my face.
The boy whispered
"You've got a prettysmile"
Days blurred
I realized they weren't going to ask me for anything in return-
---
"I lived in a small hut behind the carpenter's,"
I told Ashpen now, keeping my tone even.
"I helped him sand wood, sweep the porch, feed the goats.
Some days, I just… sat with the kids and told them stories. They didn'tcare about degrees or phones or fashion.
They asked me what the clouds looked like that day."
I laughed under my breath, the memory too vivid to stay hidden.
"They called me Kazeko. Wind Girl."
Ashpen's lips curved, though her eyes stayed serious.
"You stayed there for threeyears?"
I nodded.
"I never meant to.
But the first few weeks turned into months. And the months turned into… healing.
I didn't realize how loud I had been living until I heard what quiet actually sounded like."
---
The boys who helped repair the roof sang while they worked, their voices untrained but full of the earth's steadiness . I carried wood up the ladder, hands blistering, heart heavier still.
But when they laughed— bright, careless, free—
it loosened something tight in me.
One girl, hardly taller than my shoulder, braided my hair with fingers clumsy but determined.
The elder woman taught me to grindspices. She hummed while we worked, a soundless tune that had no beginning or end, just the weight of generations carried in her throat.
The boy gifted me a sketchbook on a morning that smelled of herbs and sunrise.
I didn't know why at first—until I realized my hands had begun sketching in the dirt without meaning to.
He noticed what I hadn't.
When my birthday came, I didn't tell them.
Somehow, they knew.
They filled my hut with wildflowers— yellow, white, violet.
No candles.
No cake.
Just petals piled high, spilling onto the floor.
I lay among them that night, their fragrance filling every corner of me I thought had gonehollow.
---
"They were illiterate,
most of them,"
I said quietly, my words softening in memory.
"But they had the kind of wisdom books don't teach.
They loved fully.
Cared without judgment.
I'd never seen joy like that—not in city lights or clubs or classrooms.
They reminded me that life wasn't about fitting in. It was about feeling full."
Ashpen listened without interrupting, her silence more tender than words.
"They didn't know who I'd been.
But they still took me in.
Raised me like I was one of theirs. Every smile they gave felt like stitching—I didn't even realize how torn I'd been."
I slowed my steps.
The trees around us bent with the breeze, whispering.
"That village didn't just save me from the river," I whispered.
"They brought me back to life."
---
When I finally turned,
Ashpen was looking at me with eyes that held both ache and wonder.
"And that's the only reason I'm standing in front of you now," I said.
"Because they taught me how to breathe again.
How to exist—not as someone's expectation, but just as… Kaze."
For a moment, I thought she might cry.
But instead she drew in a breath, steady and sure.
"I wish I could meet them," she said at last.
A smile surprised me. It felt less heavy , more real than most of the ones I'd worn in years.
"Maybe one day"
We kept walking then.
Side by side.
Not toward memory.
But toward somethingelse.
The leaves still crunchedbeneath us, the sky still shone, but something in the air had shifted—lighter, wider.
Hope, maybe.
Or the shape of healing I was finally able to share.