Location: The Hidden Library of Meiji no Kotoba, outskirts of Shinjuku

  Amidst the shadows of Tokyo's skyscrapers lies a place invisible on maps: an ancient library without an official name, steeped in history. Its walls are lined with wooden shelves brimming with books that lack ISBN codes, while every speck of dust in the corners appears to have lived longer than any contemporary influencer.

  In this sanctuary, Mecho Cho was reading—upside down, her body hanging from the chair's frame while her short purple hair brushed the floor like roots searching for truth. The world around her felt empty, as if time were racing through the pages of ancient texts, seeking lost meaning that might be hidden within the words.

  “I know... this world is already fractured,” she whispered, one finger tracing the pages written in a language that even Google Translate would struggle to comprehend. Her voice was soft but resonated in the silence, inviting the sounds of other dimensions trapped in time to respond.

  Footsteps entered the room.

  “Excuse me,” came a calm and deep voice.

  Mecho remained still, a smile gracing his lips, reminiscent of someone harboring a secret within their gaze—one that bridges the clash of two worlds. Could he be sensing the pounding heartbeat of time, disrupted yet gently acknowledging the presence before him?

  “You arrived late, dimensional trespasser,” he said nonchalantly, his gaze unfocused. Each word he spoke seemed to reverberate through the unusual space, akin to a mantra that unlocked a deeper truth.

  Fitran stood at the threshold, his black cloak slightly damp from the drizzle; yet, his eyes remained profound, filled with hunger—not a longing for love but something more elusive. In that gaze lay both anxiety and hope, as if he were in search of a piece of himself lost on the journey of life.

  “Who are you?”

  Mecho turned to face him, sitting upright and blinking rapidly. That moment felt like a confirmation of destiny; between them was a magnetic pull, as if two separated souls were reuniting after millennia apart.

  “I am Mecho, the Keeper of the 'Remnants of Words'. I once could read the timelines, but now I can only perceive intentions. Yet you...” He stepped closer, almost soundlessly. “You... have no timeline.”

  Fitran fixed his gaze on him. “Can you see that?”

  “I do not see. I hear the rhythm of the world. You have no local rhythm,” Mecho replied, dancing lightly to music only he could hear. In his mind, he felt waves flowing from other dimensions, as if soft whispers from an unwritten future were beckoning him.

  “I am indeed not part of this world,” Fitran said. His voice sounded heavy, burdened by the weight of accumulated time, casting doubt in his heart about his place in this reality.

  Mecho smiled wider. “Finally. Someone who is not pretending.” He felt as though he had found a mirror reflecting the same vulnerability and honesty in their souls, awakening hope amidst the emptiness.

  They sat together in a corner of the library. Between them was only a small candle, its flickering yellow light pulsing gently like an old heartbeat. This simple moment, where time seemed to slow down, transformed each second into a priceless treasure amidst the shadows of past memories creeping along the room's corners.

  Minutes passed in silence.

  Mecho took an old piece of paper and handed it over. The paper trembled gently, as though it contained the spirits of stories ready to be shared, waiting to be revived by the right voice.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “I once dreamed of this. About you. Look.”

  Fitran began to read:

  “When a falling star lands in a world devoid of magic, it carries the shadows of unfulfilled desires. Yet within those shadows… flowers that never existed will bloom.”

  Fitran lifted his gaze, feeling as if time momentarily stood still between them. “Did you write this?”

  Mecho shook his head, his eyes reflecting the depths of a soul that had witnessed more than mere reality. “It was written by me… two years from now. But I have no idea who I will be two years from now.”

  Fitran fell silent, acutely aware of the weight of the words that filled the air. He recognized such symbols well; he had encountered prophecies woven through the threads of time, echoing in the voice of the Void. But in this world? Without magic, without the familiar wonders of his dreams?

  No. This world is not devoid of magic. In fact, it conceals its magic within humanity—individuals who often remain unaware that they are part of a grand narrative. In the recesses of his mind, Fitran senses the intertwining aroma of despair and hope, beckoning him to explore the meaning behind each revelation.

  And Mecho... is an anomaly, a figure who seems to transcend the boundaries of time and dimension, drawing him into a deeper reality.

  “I want to ask you something,” Mecho suddenly inquired.

  “What is it?”

  “You came to this world after someone died, right?”

  Fitran was taken aback. “...yes.”

  “Her name was Aqua. I did not know her personally, but... I dreamed of her before her death. And about you—coming to take the place of the ‘extinguished star.’”

  Fitran sighed, his heart heavy with Mecho's words. His face reflected sorrow and confusion, as though he were confronted with memories he could not forget. “I am not replacing anyone.”

  “But that’s how Ruby feels,” Mecho stepped closer, her gaze penetrating deeply into Fitran's, as if searching for something lost within the depths of his soul. “That’s what Akane is beginning to feel, even Kana.”

  Fitran gazed at the girl, trying to digest every word while feeling the strange vibration that arose between them. In an instant, a melancholic feeling enveloped them, as if they were trapped in a dimension outside of time. “And you?”

  Mecho paused, her hand touching her chest as she clutched at the elusive sensation within her. She felt the pulse of life beneath the surface, a stark contrast to the encroaching darkness. “I don’t feel... but I sense it. Like the sky knows a storm is coming but cannot cry.”

  The clock read 22:17.

  Mecho led Fitran to the rooftop of the library. The cold wind brushed against their skin, like words spoken from another dimension. The city shimmered beneath the moonlight, appearing as an illusion, a place where time and space converged. From above, Tokyo resembled a game board where players had forgotten they were merely pawns.

  Mecho stood at the edge of the railing, her arms outstretched like wings, as if ready to soar into another realm. That moment transcended time, erasing all burdens and doubts. “Once, I wanted to die,” she said suddenly.

  Fitran remained silent, feeling the weight of the words linger in the air, shifting the atmosphere around them. Hope was replaced by uncertainty, forging a deep connection between them. “It’s not because of a broken heart, nor because of a failure in life. It’s just that… nothing feels real to me. Every ‘happiness’ is like an advertisement; every ‘love’ feels like a rerun—an empty experience that makes me feel… I’m perhaps not a part of this world.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I understand. I’m not part of this world… but neither are you. So, for the first time...” He locked eyes with Fitran. “I am not alone.”

  Fitran glanced up at the sky. “The sky of this world... has no exit.”

  Mecho stepped closer, so close that her breath felt like melting vanilla ice cream. In her mind, she felt a magnetic pull drawing her into the deepest recesses of her soul, as if time and space no longer mattered between them.

  “If you’re trapped… let me be the door.”

  Fitran didn’t respond, but his eyes reflected the image of a girl who was... broken in a beautiful way. Deep inside, Mecho glanced at Fitran, sensing a mysterious aura enveloping him; a desire to protect and to be understood.

  “Aren’t you afraid of me?” she asked.

  Mecho shook his head. “What should be feared is this world. Because someone like you... does not come without reason.”

  Several minutes later...

  They sat on the rooftop stairs, their shoulders touching. No one spoke. Amidst the silence, Mecho felt his heartbeat sync with the sound of the night wind, as if every breath was a message from another dimension touching their souls.

  Yet, in the back of Mecho’s mind, the echo of a sound reverberated:

  “When a flower that never existed blooms... the world will change.”

  And he knew.

  If this world had a chance to be saved—it would not solely be because of love from the past. Rather, it might be due to love from a dimension that should never have existed. For years, Mecho had been trapped in vague memories, dreaming of paths he had never walked—paths leading to Fitran, a figure he had never conceived before.

  A love that is illogical.

  Unmoored.

  But real.