It was a quiet afternoon at SSD Hospital. The usual shuffle of nurses echoed through the corridor, blending with the steady beeping of monitors and the sharp scent of antiseptic.
Sunlight filtered in through the tall window beside Bed 16.
On the bed lay a woman in her fifties—Mrs. Choudhary. Her face was pale, her eyes wet.
She looked older than her years, worn more by grief than time itself. Her gaze was locked on a cherry blossom tree outside the window, standing tall and still in full bloom. Its pink petals hadn't started to fall yet, but the branches swayed gently with the breeze.
She stared at them as if they were trying to remind her of something she had forgotten.
A nurse entered quietly, clipboard in hand, checking the vitals displayed on the monitor. Her voice was light, routine.
"Hello, Mrs. Choudhary. You're doing well today, right?"
The woman didn't respond. Silent tears slipped down her cheeks as her eyes remained fixed on the blossoms.
"It was the same…" she whispered. "Same as before…"
The nurse paused, slightly confused. "Ma'am?"
Suddenly, the woman's voice turned sharp. "Where is Dr. Aagartha? She was supposed to be here today."
"She didn't come in," the nurse replied cautiously. "Said she had something important to take care of."
That was all it took.
Mrs. Choudhary's calm shattered like glass.
"No—no—CALL HER! She has to come!" she shouted, trying to sit up. Her hands thrashed, knocking over the water glass. "She doesn't understand! She doesn't see it yet!"
The nurse backed away and hit the emergency button. Staff rushed in as the woman began gasping for air between cries.
"Tell her! It's starting again! Tell her!"
She clutched her chest, her breath turning shallow, her body trembling as if fighting to hold on.
—
Across town, in a large, quiet house, Dr. Aagartha sat curled on her living room couch. In her hands rested a small, intricately carved box—one she had owned for years but never managed to open.
It wasn't locked. Just... sealed in a way that always made her hesitate.
Through the giant glass window, she stared at two cherry blossom trees in her yard. They leaned toward each other from opposite ends, their branches nearly touching—like they were meant to meet halfway.
Twenty-eight years old. Brilliant. Respected. And lately… lost.
Something had been pulling at her—visions, sounds, glimpses of a life she couldn't place. Like a memory from someone else's dream.
She blinked, her breathing unsteady.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit her.
Feathers.
A drowning cry.
A key.
Cherry blossoms falling… over and over again.
Her head pulsed. She leaned forward, holding her temples tightly. "Not again…" she murmured. "Why does this feel so real…"
And then the phone rang.
She glanced at the screen: SSD Hospital.
Her hands trembled as she answered.
"Dr. Aagartha," the nurse said on the other end, voice tight with urgency. "We need you. It's Mrs. Choudhary. She's in distress—asking for you. Screaming your name."
Aagartha didn't speak. She stood up immediately, grabbed her coat, the box—and left.
—
She drove fast, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. The road ahead was clear, but her mind wasn't.
"What is happening to me…" she whispered.
More flashes returned.
A lake.
A swan.
A hand reaching toward her.
Her name—called in a voice she didn't recognize, yet somehow knew.
—
Back at the hospital, Mrs. Choudhary's energy was fading. Her breath was shallow now, her voice barely a whisper.
"She's coming…" she said to no one in particular. "Maybe… maybe she'll remember this time…"
The staff stood silently around her, watching as her body gave up the fight.
—
Moments later, the door opened.
Dr. Aagartha stepped into the room.
The moment their eyes met, the tension dissolved. The chaos stilled.
Mrs. Choudhary's lips trembled into a faint smile. Tears welled in her eyes again.
"You came," she whispered.
Aagartha approached her bedside, cautious, confused. Something in her chest stirred.
The woman slowly reached under her pillow and pulled out a small, antique key—worn, elegant, and cold to the touch.
"This is for you," she said. "A gift. But don't open it now."
Aagartha hesitated. "What is it?"
"When you turn twenty-eight…" she whispered, her voice cracking. "Only then."
Her hand fell limp.
A final breath left her body.
And then—silence.
The monitor let out a long, steady beep. A nurse quietly turned it off.
Sunlight spilled gently through the window, falling across Mrs. Choudhary's still face. The light passed through the cherry blossoms outside, casting soft pink shadows over her hospital bedsheet—like the tree itself was bowing in farewell.
Aagartha stood frozen.
The key lay in her palm, suddenly warm. Suddenly heavy.
Like it had waited too long to be found.
She couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
Outside the glass, the cherry blossoms swayed in the breeze.
And for the first time in years…
Aagartha felt like she had forgotten something she was born to remember.