"For whatever we lose (like a you or a me) / it's always ourselves that we find in the sea"
~e.e. cummings
Manaka knows she should remember. There are gaps in her memory that she can't explain, but at the same time she can't find it in herself to care too much. The saltflake-snow is beautiful all around her, as if she has awakened in a winter wonderland, and she can't understand why the others aren't as exhilarated as she is.
Especially Hikari. There was a time when he—she pauses, struggling. All she knows is that he always felt things with such overwhelming vigor, such intensity and determination, and now he looks at her like she's a fish out of water. Like she's some lost soul. She isn't, really. She's whole, she's still Manaka, she's just…missing a few pieces, but she knows they'll come back.
Eventually.
And it's not as if she lacks anything in feeling—she still views the world with awe, still feels happy to see Chii-chan so grown-up and pretty, still delights in playing with Akira.
But quantity is not the same as depth. Living in the ocean has taught her that. Her feelings are all over the place, encompassing everyone, but they've lost some of the force behind them and she can't figure out why. What makes Hii-kun different from Tsumugu? Why do people keep asking her concerned questions? Why does she always imagine the sound of something splintering when she sees Miuna watching her and Hikari together?
It's one night, whistling by the waterside, that Manaka realizes what's different:
The sea is unsettlingly calm, and so is her heart.