Chapter 21
The People Who Came Back.
The days after the station opened were strangely peaceful.
At first, Aira thought nothing had changed.
The city looked the same.
The university was the same.
The cafés were still crowded.
Trains still arrived late.
People still complained about the weather.
But little things began happening.
A woman stopped outside a bakery and suddenly remembered the daughter she had lost twenty years earlier.
An old man found a photograph in his desk and remembered the friend who had disappeared when they were teenagers.
A family living several streets away discovered a room in their house filled with belongings belonging to someone nobody could remember.
The forgotten were returning.
Not physically.
Not all of them.
But their names were coming back.
Their stories were returning to the people who had once loved them.
Aira began keeping a notebook.
Every time someone remembered a forgotten person, she wrote down the name.
She didn't know why.
Maybe because she was afraid that if she stopped writing, the memories might disappear again.
Ren noticed the notebook one afternoon.
“You've written hundreds of names.”
Aira closed it.
“I don't want to forget them.”
“You won't.”
“You can't promise that.”
Ren smiled.
“I can promise I'll remind you.”
Aira looked at him.
“You're getting better at promises.”
“I've had practice.”
She laughed.
Then her phone rang.
It was her mother.
Aira answered.
“Mom?”
“I need you to come home.”
Something in her voice made Aira sit upright.
“What happened?”
“I found another room.”
Aira's smile disappeared.
“Another room?”
“Yes.”
“In the house?”
Her mother hesitated.
“No.”
Aira waited.
“Under the house.”
Ren looked at her.
Aira stood.
“We're coming.”
When they arrived, her mother was waiting beside the old storage room.
The floor had been moved.
Beneath it was a narrow staircase leading downward.
Aira stared into the darkness.
Ren stood beside her.
“Do we really want to do this?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Aira smiled faintly.
“Let's go.”
They descended.
The stairs ended at a small underground room.
There were boxes everywhere.
Old photographs.
Letters.
Clothes.
Toys.
Aira picked up a photograph.
It showed Yuto as a baby.
Her mother was holding him.
Her sister stood beside her.
Aira was sitting on the floor.
Everyone was smiling.
Aira's eyes filled with tears.
“We really were a family.”
Her mother touched her shoulder.
“You still are.”
Aira looked at her.
Then she noticed something behind the photograph.
A wooden box.
She opened it.
Inside was a journal.
The cover had a crescent moon carved into it.
Aira recognized her sister's handwriting.
She opened the first page.
There was only one sentence.
If Aira remembers Yuto, she will eventually remember the beginning.
Ren leaned closer.
“The beginning of what?”
Aira turned the page.
The next pages were filled with drawings.
The station.
The train.
The Keeper.
Yuto.
Haru.
And someone else.
A tall figure standing behind them all.
Aira's heart tightened.
She turned another page.
Her sister had written:
The Keeper didn't create the forgotten.
Another page.
She only inherited the responsibility.
Another.
The first disappearance happened long before our family existed.
Aira looked at Ren.
“This goes back much further.”
He nodded.
She turned the page again.
The writing became darker.
There is a place beneath the station where the first memory is kept.
Aira stopped.
“The first memory.”
Ren looked at her.
“That's what the man said.”
Aira nodded.
Then she saw the final sentence.
If you ever find this, do not open the door beneath the seventh platform.
Silence filled the room.
Aira slowly looked up.
“There's a seventh platform?”
Her mother shook her head.
“Not that I know of.”
Ren looked at the journal.
“But your sister did.”
Aira closed the book.
The old station suddenly felt much larger than they had ever imagined.
And somewhere beneath it, something had been waiting for them long before they were born.
Aira stood.
“We're going back.”
Ren sighed.
“I knew you were going to say that.”
She smiled.
“You're coming?”
He took her hand.
“Always.”