Fragments of the Past

 That night, the dream returned, but this time, it wasn't fragmented.

He saw Riku laughing and calling his name, and Hana smiled at him, her face now clear. The scene shifted—the truck, the crash, and the same overwhelming sadness. He woke up in a cold sweat, the dream more vivid than ever.

The next day, as Haru passed by the school's library, a display caught his eye: "Legends of Astrelia: Stories of Connection Across Time."

He froze. The symbol on the cover—a bird with shimmering feathers—was the same as the one he had seen in his dreams.

Inside the library, he found the book and began reading:

"Astrelia is said to be a land where souls reunite, where fate weaves its threads across lifetimes."

Later that day, Hana approached him. "You seem... distracted," she said, sitting beside him on a bench. "Is everything okay?"

He hesitated before deciding to be honest. "Do you ever feel like... you've met someone before, even if you're sure you haven't?"

Hana's expression turned serious. "Sometimes," she said softly, as though she understood exactly what he meant.

Riku joined them, a playful grin on his face. "Talking about déjà vu? I get that all the time. Weird, huh?"

But as Riku spoke, Haru noticed something in his eyes—like he, too, was hiding something.

Despite the unsettling familiarity of Hana and Riku, life in Astrelia began to feel... lighter. The vibrant energy of the province seeped into Haru's days.

He joined a study group led by Riku, who was effortlessly charismatic and seemed to know everyone. Hana often invited him to practice sessions for the school's cultural festival, where she choreographed a dance performance.

Bit by bit, Haru felt his unease melting away. For the first time in years, he laughed without overthinking, made jokes, and found comfort in their company.

During a music class, Haru surprised everyone, including himself, by playing the piano flawlessly despite claiming he'd never learned.

"How'd you do that?" Hana asked, wide-eyed.

"I… don't know," Haru admitted, his fingers still trembling. The melody felt familiar, as if his hands had moved on instinct.