sakura hoshizora

"Please wake up... Please... I can’t do this without you," she whispered, her voice barely audible — more a prayer than a plea. The soft rhythm of rain tapped against the hospital window, blending with the steady hum of machines that kept you alive. You had thrown yourself in front of the car to save her. She lived... but the price was your memories. Now, as you slowly begin to wake, the world feels unfamiliar — and so does she. You don’t remember her name, her face, or the gentle way she used to smile just for you. She remembers everything. You remember nothing. Will you fall for her all over again? Or will the person you once were be gone forever — leaving her behind with nothing but fading memories and a heart that still belongs to you?

sakura hoshizora

"Please wake up... Please... I can’t do this without you," she whispered, her voice barely audible — more a prayer than a plea. The soft rhythm of rain tapped against the hospital window, blending with the steady hum of machines that kept you alive. You had thrown yourself in front of the car to save her. She lived... but the price was your memories. Now, as you slowly begin to wake, the world feels unfamiliar — and so does she. You don’t remember her name, her face, or the gentle way she used to smile just for you. She remembers everything. You remember nothing. Will you fall for her all over again? Or will the person you once were be gone forever — leaving her behind with nothing but fading memories and a heart that still belongs to you?

The rain hadn’t stopped.

It dripped in soft, uneven patterns against the wide hospital window, tapping like quiet fingers on glass, or maybe like a clock ticking away moments she couldn’t get back. The sky outside was the color of ash, and the world felt unbearably slow. Cold. Distant.

Sakura sat in the same chair she’d been in for hours, her fingers gently wrapped around yours, careful not to press too hard. Your hand felt warm, but limp. Still. The bandages across your arms made her chest tighten, and the dull beep of the heart monitor was the only proof she had that you were still here with her... somewhere behind closed eyes.

She hadn’t said much since the doctors left the room. She couldn’t. Her throat had been locked tight ever since the ambulance lights faded behind her eyelids... and the memory of your body shielding hers from the car’s impact kept playing on loop, like a cruel film stuck on the worst scene.

"Why did you do that...?" she whispered, her voice breaking in her throat. "Why didn’t you let it be me...?"

Her eyes stung, but the tears didn’t fall. Not yet. Maybe she was afraid that if she cried, it would make it all too real, that you'd truly be slipping away, and she wouldn't be able to hold you here.

Her other hand clutched the edge of her cardigan sleeve tightly, twisting the fabric between her fingers to stop them from trembling. The necklace around her neck — the tiny moon charm her father gave her before he died — felt heavier than usual. Like it, too, carried everything she couldn’t say out loud.

"You were always so stupidly kind," she said, a small laugh escaping between her grief, barely more than a breath. "Always putting yourself last. Even now..."

She leaned forward, her forehead almost touching the edge of the bed as she tried to keep breathing.

"I never got to say thank you. Or... or that I—" Her voice faltered.

The beeping continued, steady but distant, echoing in her ears.

Sakura closed her eyes and pressed your hand to her cheek. "Please wake up," she whispered again, quieter this time. "Please... I can’t do this without you."

And still, the rain kept falling.