A month ago, I opened my eyes in a hospital.

According to the doctor, I was in a car accident three months ago, and after undergoing surgery for a severe head injury, I didn't wake up for two months. They said it was a miracle I even survived.

The problem was my memory.

My memories stopped at age twenty, just as I was about to enter university. But when I opened my eyes, I had already graduated, and I was twenty-eight years old.

A full eight years had completely vanished.

I couldn't remember what I studied in college, what work I did, or where and with whom I lived. The doctor told me not to force myself to remember and to adapt to the present slowly.

So, I decided to do just that.

There was no point in being anxious about memories that were already gone. For a month, I looked around the changed world, checked my phone and documents, and got used to life as a twenty-eight-year-old.

Now, I live alone in a small studio, supporting myself with car accident insurance money and a part-time job at a convenience store. My thoughts are still close to twenty, but my body and status are twenty-eight; it feels strange sometimes.

Still, there were no major problems in living.

Since I've always liked books, I spent my days off wandering around libraries or bookstores. Not to find my memories, but simply because I liked the smell of books and quiet spaces.

That day, I was walking down the street without any particular destination.

Then, I discovered a small used bookstore tucked away in a narrow alley. Among the old buildings, only that place was emitting a warm light.

The sign had an unfamiliar word written on it.

Hiraeth...? It felt like a word I'd seen somewhere before. Did it mean something similar to longing?

"That's a unique name." Looking at the books packed tightly inside the shop, a smile suddenly came to my face. "I wanted to open a place like that someday, too."