It has been four months since that strange night.
And yet, even now, the memories remain elusive—like smoke slipping through my fingers no matter how tightly I try to grasp them. I've tried to recall what happened, but my mind only returns a hollow silence.
Still, life moves on.
I returned to the rhythm of everyday life, convincing myself that this ordinary routine was enough. Wake up, go to work, smile when needed, nod when expected. From the outside, I'm just another person in the crowd. But deep down… I can't shake this feeling.
Like I've forgotten something important. Something that once meant the world to me.
After graduating from university, I began working at a mid-sized publishing company in Tokyo. It's not a glamorous job, but it's stable. I'm an editor—my job is to polish manuscripts, communicate with authors, and help bring stories into the world. It sounds poetic, but most days it's just red lines and deadlines.
The dream I once held when I was younger—to become a novelist—remains just that: a dream.
Still, I haven't given up completely. Every night, I write quietly on an anonymous web page, posting chapters into the void, hoping that somewhere out there, someone is reading. Someone is listening.
…
"Hey, are you okay?"
A familiar voice snapped me out of my trance. I looked up to see my co-worker standing by my desk with a raised brow and a teasing smile.
"Ah… Yeah. I'm fine, Hanami-san," I replied, rubbing the back of my neck awkwardly.
"You've been spacing out a lot lately, Shin-san. You sure you're not being haunted? Better be careful, or a ghost might possess you," she said with a mischievous grin.
I chuckled, trying to brush off the concern. "You and your jokes, Hanami-san."
"Just looking out for you," she winked before heading off with a stack of manuscripts.
…
That night, the city lights twinkled faintly beneath the velvet sky. I made my way through the familiar streets, the gentle breeze brushing against my face. It had been a while since we last met—me and the old gang.
Clink!
"Cheers!" I raised my glass, the golden liquid inside catching the light as it clinked against the others. "It's been too long, Kousuke, Hiro."
Kousuke chuckled as he took a sip. "Well, Hiro and I still see each other pretty often these days."
"Huh? Since when? Why didn't I know about that?"
"Oh, you know that new short drama that's adapted from that bestselling novel? They've been using my café as a filming location lately," Hiro explained, a proud smile playing on his lips.
"Speaking of which—congratulations," I said, grinning as I leaned forward a little. "I heard Yuka-san is expecting?"
News like that spreads fast.
Hiro looked surprised for a moment before chuckling. "Man, the news reached you already?"
"Well, you know how it is. Word travels."
"Anyway, how about you, Himeya?" Hiro asked, tilting his head. "Still writing?"
"…Still writing, huh…" I hesitated. The words caught in my throat for a moment.
"That is to say… I am. Kind of."
"Everyone still talks about your stories, you know," Hiro said with a warm smile.
"Yeah," Kousuke added. "I even heard some of our old classmates asking about your latest stuff."
I gave a wry smile.
"I don't think I was all that popular in high school," I muttered.
Kousuke laughed. "You weren't. But your writing? Now that was popular."
"Ah… I see," I said with a soft laugh. "Well, I guess I'll take that as a compliment."
We fell into comfortable silence after that, the kind that only old friends can share. The bar's soft jazz music filled the gaps in our conversation. Somewhere in the background, a waitress refilled a customer's drink.
Time really does fly, doesn't it?
Even now, I continue to write the stories I want to write. But sometimes, I wonder… who am I writing them for?
"Carrying her like a princess... Not being able to drink warm drinks... Ringing the Bell of Dragon's Love as proof of love…"
That was the story I'd been working on. The story I created from nothing… and yet, it felt like I had poured a piece of myself into it. Like I was slipping my own emotions, my own yearning, between the lines.
But in the end, they're just words. Just fiction.
…
Saturday morning arrived, bathed in a pale blue hue. I made my way to the café where I always worked on my drafts.
"Supermoon and blue moon, huh…" I mumbled, sipping my lukewarm coffee while staring at the blinking cursor on my laptop screen. "I wonder if those kinds of moons actually exist…"
Tap.
A gentle touch landed on my shoulder. I turned around—and there she was.
"Nii-san? You're here early," said Kei, my cousin, her calm voice matching her ever-blank expression.
"Ahaha… I just felt like continuing the story today," I replied with a smile.
"Same order as usual?"
"Yeah. Coffee and toast, please. Thanks, Kei."
Kei gave a quiet nod and turned away to prepare the order.
Kei worked at this café part-time, and over the past few months, it had become a sort of quiet sanctuary for me. Whenever I wrote here, she was often nearby—sometimes offering a fresh pot of coffee, sometimes offering something even more valuable, her thoughts.
Despite her aloof demeanor, Kei was surprisingly romantic when it came to stories. She wasn't the type to show emotions on her sleeve, but she had a sharp sense for narrative—tone, pacing, character chemistry. It was uncanny, really.
Sometimes she'd compliment my writing. I never knew whether it was because I was her cousin or because she genuinely enjoyed it. But somehow, I think her praise always felt honest.
We didn't talk much when I wrote—just enough. She'd glance over my screen now and then, offer a short comment, and return to wiping down the counter.
Yet that quiet companionship… it was comforting.
As I stared at my screen, the story's characters slowly began to come alive again. I wasn't sure where it would go—just that I needed to write it. Even if no one read it. Even if I wasn't sure why I was writing at all anymore.
Somewhere deep inside, I suppose, I just didn't want to forget.
Didn't want to forget that feeling—that fire—that made me want to tell a story in the first place.
I leaned back in my seat, watching the morning sun rise higher through the café windows. The sky was blue and cloudless, as if inviting me to keep dreaming.
And so, I wrote.
One word after another.
As if trying to reach something far beyond the page.
...
That evening, I decided to take a short trip back to Enoshima.
There was something calming about that seaside town. Something nostalgic. As the train rocked gently along the tracks and the cityscape faded into the distant evening hues, my heart felt strangely lighter.
When I arrived at the station, the golden rays of the setting sunbathed the platform in a warm glow. Waiting there, waving gently at me with a smile, was someone I hadn't seen in a while.
"Long time no see, Meyya," said Haruka, my older sister.
"It really has been a while, Haru-nee," I replied, my lips curling into a soft smile.
Without needing to say much, she led me through the familiar streets back to our childhood home.
…
"I'm home, Mom, Dad."
"Welcome back, Himeya," my mother called from the kitchen. "You must be tired. Come, have something to eat before you collapse from exhaustion."
As always, her kindness wrapped around me like a blanket. Perhaps it's just a mother's instinct to worry about her son, especially one who now lives far away in the city. My father offered his usual quiet nod from behind his newspaper—his way of saying he was glad I was back.
The house hadn't changed. The scent of home-cooked meals, the hum of the old refrigerator, even the sound of the cicadas outside—all of it made the world feel a little less complicated.
…
After dinner, I returned to my room—the same one from my high school days. It had been cleaned recently, the floor free of dust, the sheets neatly folded. A soft floral scent lingered in the air. That must've been Mom's doing. She still takes care of it, even when I'm not around.
I sat down at my desk, the same wooden one I used to cram for exams and scribble down my earliest stories. I opened my laptop and let the pale screen light wash over my face.
A quiet hum filled the room as I returned to the story I had been writing.
A story about memories, dreams, and a girl whose name I couldn't quite remember.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
That's when I noticed something sitting on the edge of the desk.
A book.
It was my book—the one and only I had self-published years ago. My very first and only real step toward the dream I once chased so desperately.
Curious, I picked it up.
As I flipped it open, a small piece of paper fell out.
No—not a paper. A bookmark.
Attached to the end of the string was something I hadn't seen in a long time.
A delicate four-leaf clover, pressed between the pages.
"So that's how it is…"
I whispered to myself.
Somehow, I had the feeling that this story—this one—was connected to the memory I'd lost.
To that strange night I could never fully recall.
...
That night… without thinking, my feet carried me to a certain place.
I didn't know why.
I didn't have a reason.
I didn't even question it.
There was just this… pull. A quiet, invisible thread tugging at my chest, guiding me.
As I walked alone through the narrow, dimly lit path, a strange calmness settled in my chest. The soft rustle of leaves underfoot and the cool breeze brushing my skin reminded me of something distant… something I couldn't quite name.
Before long, a familiar sound reached my ears—the quiet murmur of waves, the scent of salt in the air.
And then, the view opened up before me.
There it was… the ocean, bathed in silver moonlight.
The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting a glimmer across the water's surface, making it shimmer like a mirror stretching into infinity. At the edge of the cliff, overlooking that serene sea, stood a small enclosure, simple yet dignified.
Within it stood a Western-style bell—old, weathered, but beautiful in its stillness.
"So, this is... the Bell of Dragon's Love," I murmured to myself, the words slipping past my lips almost involuntarily.
I'd written about this place before—described it in detail in my novel. But despite that, this was my first time coming here.
Or at least... it should have been.
And yet, something about it felt overwhelmingly familiar.
As if I had stood in this very spot once before.
Had I been here alone? No... I felt someone beside me, someone dear.
Could that be the reason I wrote that scene? The one about the promise to meet again... beyond the moon?
At the time, it was just a wistful line in a story. A piece of nostalgia that had no clear addressee.
Or... was that a lie?
Because right now, more than ever, I feel it. The presence of someone I desperately wanted to say those words to. But who?
"...Huh?"
Suddenly, amidst the rhythm of the crashing waves, I heard the soft crunch of footsteps drawing near.
At this hour? Out here?
Who could possibly—?
"Eh… Uguisu-senpai…?"
"Eh…?"
The moment I saw her, the world seemed to still.
How many years had it been? And yet, there she stood—more mature than I remembered, her beauty deepened by time, but unmistakably the same person I once admired.
No, not admired. Loved.
Even so, that love had remained unfulfilled.
And yet, as I stood there, watching her approach beneath the moonlight, a wave of nostalgia hit me so hard that my vision blurred. I felt like a child again—unsure, vulnerable, and strangely… happy.
Why?
Why did just seeing her again make my chest feel like it would burst?
"...Shin-kun, is that you?"
Her voice called to me, gently, as if touching a part of me that I'd forgotten.
She recognized me.
"Yes… it's me, Shin," I replied, my voice hoarse with surprise and something more.
We hadn't spoken in years. For all I knew, she could have forgotten me. But she hadn't.
Her eyes widened in surprise, then softened with recognition.
"I should've known," she said with a smile. "Looking back… of course it's you. It feels obvious now."
She raised one hand. In it, she held a familiar-looking paperback.
I took a step closer. My breath caught.
"That's…"
It was Beyond the Moon, my self-published novel.
There weren't many copies. I had printed them myself, for a few close readers.
And yet…
"It really was you who wrote it," Uguisu-senpai said quietly. "I had a feeling. I've been reading your stories ever since they were uploaded online."
"You… you knew it was me?"
"I read your work so many times back in school. Especially The Girl at the Lighthouse. It left a deep impression."
"But I thought you'd only read that one…"
"I read it many times," she said with a gentle smile. "I loved your stories."
A pause.
"I see…"
Her gaze dropped back to the book in her hand.
"But this story… this scenery… it resonated with me far too much."
"Scenery…"
That word. She used to write reviews in our school club. She often talked about the "scenery" in literature—the emotional landscapes left behind in a reader's heart.
"This novel… it didn't feel like fiction. It felt like something I had lived through. Something real."
Her voice trembled slightly, barely audible beneath the waves.
"Of course, that's impossible. But still… reading it felt like looking into memories I didn't know I had. Forgotten dreams. Lost feelings."
She looked up at me, eyes shining.
"It was a strange experience. But beautiful."
"…I feel the same," I whispered.
"There were times while writing it… I honestly doubted whether I was writing fiction or remembering something real. It felt like someone else—someone inside me—was guiding my hand."
I laughed awkwardly, realizing how absurd I sounded.
Then I remembered.
"What about you, Senpai? What are you doing now?"
She looked down, a faint, wistful smile forming.
"I… actually just came back to Japan."
"You were abroad?"
"Yes. I went overseas right after graduation. To Germany… for treatment."
"Treatment…?"
"A long illness. It kept me there for years."
My breath caught in my throat.
"And the strange thing is… the symptoms you described in your novel's heroine… were almost exactly what I had."
My knees almost gave out.
"That can't be…"
"But I've recovered now. A new medication was approved recently. It changed everything. I'm finally able to live a normal life again."
"That's… that's incredible…"
My voice cracked.
I hadn't realized how tightly I'd been clenching my fists.
"I'm so glad… I'm really, really glad…"
"Shin-kun… are you crying?"
"Huh…?"
It was only when she asked that I noticed the tears on my face.
"I-I'm sorry… I don't even know why I…"
"Why are you crying so much…?"
"I don't know. I just… when I saw that you were okay… I couldn't help it."
I choked on a sob as I tried to explain it—this impossible mixture of joy, relief, regret.
"Thank you…"
She stepped forward, offering a soft white handkerchief.
"Here. You're soaking wet."
"S-sorry…"
"While I was in Germany… I often felt like something important was missing," she said softly. "It wasn't just the fear of treatment or being alone. It was something deeper. Like… some warmth I'd lost and couldn't find again."
"Then one day, I found your story online."
The moonlight framed her silhouette. She looked up, as if remembering that lonely hospital room far away.
"It felt like finding a part of me I didn't know I'd lost. Like something inside me was slowly being restored."
Her gaze locked onto mine.
"That story… saved me, Shin-kun."
The words struck me with such force, I couldn't move.
And then… she smiled.
The kind of smile I had dreamed of for years.
A smile brighter than the moonlit sea.
With those gentle, heartfelt words, Uguisu-senpai smiled—so warmly, so sincerely—that it made my chest tighten.
It was the kind of smile that felt like a blessing. Like sunlight after a long winter.
And somehow, just hearing her say that… seeing that expression… it filled something inside of me.
As if the moon, once broken and missing pieces, had finally begun to shine whole again.
"...I think I've been searching for something too," I murmured, almost before I realized I was speaking.
The words spilled out from me without resistance—natural, unfiltered.
Yes, that's right. I was the same as her.
All this time, it felt like I'd been chasing after something.
Something I had lost without even realizing it.
Something important… something irreplaceable.
"But now… I feel like it doesn't matter anymore," I said with a quiet laugh.
That lingering sense of incompleteness I'd carried for so long—it wasn't there anymore.
Right now, I didn't feel empty. I didn't feel lost.
I felt whole.
My eyes drifted upward, past Uguisu-senpai's shoulder, toward the sky.
There it was: the moon.
Not just any moon—but a rare, brilliant Supermoon overlapping with a Blue Moon, casting a soft silver glow over everything.
A moment that only happened once in a long while.
A miracle suspended in the night sky.
Uguisu-senpai followed my gaze and turned to look over her shoulder. Her eyes found the moon too.
"Standing here, beside you, looking up at that moon… I don't know why," she whispered, her voice trembling, "But I feel so… content. I feel so fulfilled… That I could almost cry."
And just like that, tears threatened to spill from my eyes again—the ones I had only just managed to stop.
Panicking a little, I grabbed her handkerchief and dabbed at my face.
God, I was such a mess.
"…It's beautiful," she said, barely more than a breath.
"All of this—this moment—it's what I've been searching for all along. And now, I've finally arrived. I finally… made it."
"You might be right," she said softly, her voice cracking slightly.
I turned to look at her.
There were tears sliding down her cheeks too, catching the moonlight like diamonds.
She wasn't making a sound. Just gazing up at the sky, silently crying.
"…I wonder what happened to those two in the novel," she asked after a while, breaking the silence gently.
"The two characters who found each other again after so long… the story ended right there, letting the readers imagine the rest."
I nodded, "Yes. I thought anything more would've been unnecessary… like it would've ruined the ending."
"…Would you tell me?" She asked. "What happens after that ending? After they meet again?"
I looked at her, surprised. Then smiled—this time, with a hint of fondness.
"It's a bit of a long story, you know?"
"I don't mind," she said, shaking her head.
"We've got plenty of time now."
"…You're right," I replied. "Then… shall we talk? Slowly. One scene at a time."
"Yeah," she said with a smile. "Let's do that."
And under that vast, luminous moon…
The story we once lost...
The story that had ended too soon...
...began to move once more.