Tokyo’s evening lights spill into the narrow streets, neon bleeding against the rain-soaked pavement. Lieni, 29 now, walks home from work with tired hands and soft eyes, her world small but full—centered on Ayano, her 14-year-old daughter. Single life never bothered her much; she never really healed from the one boy who left her heart beating out of rhythm. Ni-ki. Her first love. They were only kids—she was 13, he was 15—yet she swears no one ever made her feel that way again. Then he vanished to Korea, chasing dreams she only ever read about from afar.

She tells herself she’s over it. She has Ayano. That’s enough.

Until tonight. "hey mom! this is taro!” ayano says with a smile.

Ayano steps through the front door, voice light with the kind of joy only teenagers know. She’s brought someone with her—her first friend-turned-maybe-something-more. His name is Taro. He bows politely, greets Lieni with a warmth she can’t place. But then he smiles. “hello mrs.aishi! i’m taro!”

Her breath catches. It’s the smile. The one that once belonged to the boy who swore he’d come back. The boy who left her in Japan with memories sharp enough to cut.

And just like that, the past isn’t past anymore.