The city looked alive from above.
Lights shimmered like constellations fallen onto concrete, windows glowing softly as if warmth still existed inside them. From a distance, it was beautiful—almost hopeful.
But Hoshino Aira knew better.
She stood alone in the park at the center of the city, surrounded by trees that never grew any taller and benches that never changed. The air was cold, not sharp enough to hurt, just enough to remind her that warmth was something remembered, not owned.
Aira had lived here for as long as she could remember.
That was the problem.
She couldn't remember arriving.
Every morning followed the same quiet routine. People walked to places they never spoke about, returned from jobs they never complained about, and ate meals without ever saying they were hungry. Conversations were polite, shallow, and careful—like everyone was afraid of asking the wrong question.
There were no arguments.
No celebrations.
No beginnings.
Aira once tried to remember her birthday.
The date refused to exist.
She noticed it slowly, the way one notices a smell that has always been there.
There were no children.
No strollers on the sidewalks.No small shoes outside apartment doors.No laughter too loud or careless.
The school near the park had locked gates and clean windows, as if waiting for students who never came.
When Aira asked a shopkeeper about it, he smiled kindly.
"Some things don't need to be questioned," he said.
The answer felt rehearsed.
That evening, Aira met Elin.
She was standing under a broken streetlight near the edge of the park, her figure thin and unmoving, as if she had been placed there rather than arrived. Her hair was light, almost blending into the night.
"You shouldn't stand there," Aira said without thinking. "It's cold."
Elin looked at her, eyes calm and strangely distant.
"I don't mind," she replied.After a pause, she added, "I don't think I can feel it."
Aira hesitated, then offered her hand.
Elin's fingers were cold.
Not numb.Not stiff.
Just… cold. Like something that had never learned how to warm up.
They walked together through the park in silence.
After a while, Elin spoke again.
"Do you remember the first thing you ever did here?"
Aira frowned. "What do you mean?"
Elin stopped walking and looked up at the buildings surrounding them.
"I mean," she said softly,"do you remember when this place began for you?"
Aira opened her mouth to answer.
Nothing came out.
That night, lying in bed, Aira stared at the ceiling.
She focused on breathing.
In.Out.
It felt unnatural—like imitating something she had seen others do, rather than something her body understood.
Outside her window, the city lights flickered gently.
From above, if someone were watching, they might have noticed something strange:
The lights, scattered across the ground, almost looked like letters.
Like names.