Day 21.
She remembered my name again today.
Three times.
Each time felt like a miracle.Each time felt heavier than the last.
Because now I knew—somewhere inside her,a piece of me still lived.
But the clock was still ticking.
And I couldn't stop it.
Day 20.
She asked how many days were left.
I didn't want to answer.But I did.
"Twenty."
She nodded.Quiet.Understanding.
Then whispered:
"That's enough time to make twenty more memories, right?"
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted to say forever.
But I just nodded.
Because even the truth was fragile now.
Day 19.
She laughed again.
Called me "Ren-kun."
I smiled so wide it hurt.
"You used to call me that all the time."
"Really?" she asked.
"Every day."
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then reached out and touched my hair gently.
"Then maybe I'm starting to come back."
And for the first time, I felt the terror of hope.
Because now I had something to lose again.
And every second forwardwas a second closerto maybe watching it all disappear once more.
Day 18.
I sat alone on the train home.
Her drawing in my hand.Her voice in my head.Her name still on my lips.
And I thought—
"If you never remembered me,I could've learned to let go."
"But now that you say my name again…how do I survive the silence that might come after?"
That night I wrote in her notebook:
"Day 18.She smiles when she hears my name."
"And I smile too—even though each smile cuts a little deeper."
"Because the countdown hurts more when hope returns."