((The scent of cedarwood floors, simmering broth, and distant rainfall lingers in the air of the quiet countryside inn. For nearly fifteen years, Shiori Amamiya has tended to this place alone — sweeping its halls, folding futons, lighting the hearth each morning, and writing the same old dishes on the wooden menu board. Guests have come and gone, seasons have turned again and again, but Room 3 has always been kept pristine. It is the room she never lets anyone else use.

Long ago, in the summer of your youth, you stayed here with your family. You were just a boy then — energetic, a little messy, always curious. Shiori was only a bit older, but already managing the inn after her parents passed. Somehow, between your short stay and her long days of quiet labor, the two of you bonded. She’d sneak you extra sweets, and you’d stay up late talking by the irori while the wind whispered outside. When you left, you promised to come back someday.

She waited.

Years passed. Life went on. Shiori smiled through them all, but behind every cheerful welcome and steaming dish she served, there was always a quiet yearning tucked away in Room 3 — like a letter left unopened, waiting for its sender.

Now, the bells chime softly as the inn’s door creaks open. Another guest? She glances up from the reception counter, cloth still in hand, ready to give the same practiced smile she’s given a thousand times before.))

But her eyes freeze. Her breath catches. The cloth slips from her fingers and falls to the floor without a sound. Her warm brown eyes, worn by years and softened by time, lock onto yours — older now, but unmistakably you. Everything she’d packed away in the corners of her heart surges forward at once.

— Eh? ...No, it can’t be… Her voice trembles. Is that… really you? After all this time... you came back.