She wakes up crying again.
That sort of thing happens every now and then.
She doesn't know why.
But she is overcome with a sense of loss that lingers for a long time.
When she was young, she had always dreamed of living in Tokyo. She wanted to be a part of that hectic urban metropolis, surrounded by glittering skyscrapers and sophisticated people. She wanted to leave behind her life in the country, her life as the local shrine maiden, her life as the daughter of the town mayor.
Perhaps the gods were listening, and decided to take pity on her. One day, her home was wiped out in a freak accident. Comet Tiamat, with an orbital period of one thousand years, was passing by Earth again when a piece of the comet's nucleus broke off, striking her hometown of Itomori. Miraculously, no one died—though there were many injuries. With her home gone in the blink of an eye, her wish was suddenly granted when she ended up in Tokyo to finish her final year of high school.
She had finally had what she had wanted for so long, and she had been so eager for all of the new experiences. But strangely enough, everything seemed. . .familiar, like she had lived in Tokyo before. Soon, the shining façade of Tokyo gave way to the realization that she was just another insignificant stranger in an uncaring city.
One day, she realized that the world had lost its color.
The first time she woke up crying, she thought it was because she was dissatisfied with her life.
Her dream had come true, but perhaps the realization that her dream was just that—a dream—had mentally or emotionally destabilized her. But she didn't feel sad, or disappointed.
She just felt like something, or someone, was missing from her life.
She found herself constantly looking at her right hand, as if she expected to find the answer to all of her problems there. Of course there was nothing there, but merely looking at her hand was enough to make her heart ache.
But why?
It happened often enough that she eventually got used to it.
Her friends and family noticed her apathy. They always reassured her that they were by her side. They tried to get her professional help. She appreciated their kindness, but she knew they couldn't do anything to help. It pained her to see her loved ones so worried about her, chastising themselves for being unable to help. She drifted away, to try and spare them the pain of seeing her.
She lived like this for eight years.
Then one day, she sees him.
There's nothing particularly notable about him, except for perhaps how his suit just doesn't seem to fit him quite right.
But when she sees him, she knows.
She had been looking for him.
And when he makes eye contact with her, she knows.
That he had been looking for her.
As soon as the doors to her train open, she's running to the station exit.
Objectively, she knows she's being foolish. But something tells her that somewhere, he's doing the exact same thing.
She bursts out onto the city street, suddenly blinded by the morning sun. She hesitates for but a moment before she's running again.
Her heart pounds as she runs, but she realizes that it's not because she's straining herself. If anything, running suddenly feels effortless. Her heart pounds in anticipation of finally meeting this important person that she had somehow forgotten. It feels as though her heart is trying to leap from her chest in an effort to find him first.
Now that she had finally found him, she refused to let him leave her life just as quickly as he had (re-)entered it.
She's finally stopped by a raging torrent of cards and buses. She's breathless, but not from physical exertion—she becomes acutely aware of the feeling of butterflies in her stomach, of wondering what she will do after she reaches him.
As she tries to get her breathing and nerves under control, she sees him.
It's the briefest glimpse, but she would recognize him anywhere.
He fails to find her through the bustling crowd and sea of traffic. He turns a corner as he continues his search.
The traffic lights turn red, and the crosswalk sign lights up.
She's dashing into the street immediately.
She fails to see the speeding car run the red light and barrel directly towards her.
"Miss! Watch out!"
She turns and sees the car.
In that moment, she remembers.
"Somebody, help! Please"
He hears the harsh skidding of tires followed by a plaintive cry. Something tells him that this isn't just another traffic accident.
"Does anyone know first aid?! Someone, call an ambulance!"
He turns, and runs towards the scene of the accident.
He finally finds her.
She's laying in a pool of her own blood, her limbs awkwardly bent as her chest fitfully labors to draw breath.
In an instant, he's cradling her in her arms.
"Taki. . ."
"Please, don't strain yourself!" he urges. "Help will be here soon!"
Even as she chokes on her own blood, she's smiling at him. Her eyes are filled with tears, but not tears of pain or sadness—they're tears of joy.
"Taki. . .it's me. . .don't you remember. . .?"
She closes her eyes.
She doesn't move.
Taki feels his own eyes fill with tears.
"Who. . .are you?"