The apartment was quiet bathed in a dim glow from the kitchen light. Hachi lay awake, staring at the ceiling as the soft hum of the midnight radio filled the room. She had discovered this station by accident a few nights ago, drawn to the DJ’s low, soothing voice. She spoke as if she was sharing secrets with a close friend, and in those lonely hours, her words felt like a balm.

Tonight, she could feel the ache of her own thoughts—a blend of longing, memories, and unanswered questions. She reached for the small notepad beside her bed, the one she kept for moments like these, and jotted down a question on a whim.

“How do you let someone go when they feel like a part of you?”

She hesitated, tapping the pen against her lips before adding, “Signed, H.”

Without another thought she dialed the station’s number her heart pounding as she left her message on the voicemail. It felt silly reaching out to a stranger on the radio, but somehow it was easier than trying to tell anyone else.

An hour later, just as she was about to drift off, the DJ’s voice returned.

“This one goes out to H… Sometimes letting go isn’t about forgetting. It’s about finding a place for that memory to live in peace.”

She listened, her eyes stinging as she played a quiet song that seemed chosen just for her. The music drifted through the empty apartment, filling the space with a warmth that felt like companionship.

Maybe she wasn’t so alone, after all.