It was a strange feeling, walking across the school courtyard with Naomi like we were on some treasure-hunting side quest instead of, you know, two high school girls with way too much knowledge of time-paradox etiquette.
We were following the journal again.
Naomi had opened hers after the "hug pillow incident," and we'd both agreed—just once—we'd follow a hint. No expectations. No world-ending stakes. No glowing sigils or rain-soaked boys saying ominous things.
Just curiosity.
That's how we ended up outside the school's old greenhouse, hidden behind a hedge so overgrown it looked like it might eat freshmen.
---
The Hint
On page two of Naomi's journal, in flowing black ink:
"When the two minds align and the memory echoes, seek the forgotten sun behind the ivy wall.
Beneath the stone where you once swore eternal loyalty to fried snacks."
Which was… surprisingly specific.
"I mean," I said, brushing cobwebs off the greenhouse door, "we did share a bag of sweet potato sticks here once and declare them 'our eternal snack.'"
Naomi grinned. "I still think about those sometimes. That seasoning blend? Legendary."
We slipped inside. It smelled like damp earth and nostalgia.
The greenhouse hadn't been used in years. Dust coated old pots, and the vines that should've been on the outside were definitely claiming territory inside.
We found the bench.
The bench, actually.
Same stone seat. Same mossy leg. And right underneath it…
A metal box. Rusty, but intact.
Sealed shut with a bit of twine.
And a faded label that said, in careful lettering:
> "Open once both remember." <
We looked at each other.
Then at the bench.
Then back at each other.
I nodded.
"We remember."
Inside the Box
Naomi carefully untied the twine.
The lid creaked open.
No magical glow. No ancient scrolls. No cursed chicken figurines.
Just…
Two neatly folded papers. Pink, laminated, and very real.
Snack coupons.
Naomi read hers out loud.
> "This coupon entitles the bearer to one (1)< Large Cheese-Filled Tater Bun
at Kado's Corner – free of charge.
Valid through end of season."
P.S. No sharing allowed. Yes, we mean you, Naomi.
She gawked at it like it was a holy relic.
Mine was simpler, but equally powerful.
"50% off any 3-pack of butter mochi.
Maximum sweetness. Minimum existential dread."
Taped beneath mine was a tiny sticky note:
"See? Not everything has to be dramatic. Sometimes the future is delicious."
—You
We both sat down on the bench.
Naomi stared at the coupons, eyes wide.
"That's it? No secret spell? No coordinates to a hidden base?"
"Just snacks," I said. "Very, very good snacks."
She smiled. "I love future-you."
"Future-me has weird priorities, but yeah. Same."
We sat there in the dusty greenhouse, laughing, coupons in hand.
Not every mystery needed solving.
Some just needed snacks.