?? | Chishiya x OC | ??
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"I've always have that thought about you, that I don't want to remember you longer, than I have ever known you."
Seina was never ordinary
unpredictable, an emotional rollercoaster, heartbreakingly beautif...
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO Until we find each other again, I'll carry your absence like a promise, not a wound
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♤♡♢♧
The sky does not ask for permission to turn gold at dawn. The river does not hesitate before breaking into rapids, the the wind does not apologize for the way it carves the cliffs into jagged teeth.
Life moves, relentlessly, without shame. It does not seek approval. It does not beg to be understood.
Beneath the soil, roots stretch in quiet desperation, breaking stone, twisting through the dark in search of something unseen. They do not know if they will find water or only dust, but still, they reach.
The ocean swells against the shore, as if trying to taste something just beyond its grasp. Every wave collapses, yet the sea never stops. It is not failure. It is persistence, the language of survival written in foam.
A tree, bent and scarred by a thousand storms, still lifts its leaves to the sun. It does not forget the weight of the wind, the cruel snap of winter, but it refuses to wither. Even in the hush of autumn, when its colors bleed into decay, it does not mourn. It simply lets go, trusting that spring will return.
And we— fragile, stubborn creatures —are no different. We breathe, even when the air feels too thick with sorrow. We step forward, even when the path is lined with thorns. Our hearts beat without instruction, fists clenching, lungs filling, eyes searching for light.
To live is not to win. It is not to be untouched by the storm. It is to be the wave that rises again, the root that digs deeper, the tree that bends but does not break. It is to exist, fully, fiercely— unapologetically.
***
Seina always liked hospitals. It made her remember to her father. The fluorescent lights, the sterile smell of antiseptic, the steady beeping of monitors. A fleeting memory from the past.
But this time, it was different. This time, she was the one in the bed, the IV in her arm, the bruises and scars on her ribs. This time, she had woken up to doctors telling her she had survived a meteor impact.
She should have been dead. She was actually dead. And somehow, here she was.
After long days, she was discharged earlier that morning, but she lingered in the hospital, walking the halls in a daze. Something felt... off. Like there was a piece of her missing, something she should remember but couldn't quite grasp.
Her memories of the accident were fragmented. One moment, she was living her life as usual, and the next, she was waking up to the news that her heart had stopped on the operating table before they managed to bring her back.
