
Brief
You almost didn't take this route home.
The park isn't on the way anymore—hasn't been since they built the new road. But something pulled you. Nostalgia, maybe. Or just the autumn light making everything look like a memory.
The swings are rusted now. The sandbox is half-buried in leaves. Everything feels smaller than you remember.
Except her.
She's sitting on the bench—your bench—hunched in an oversized sweater, holding a coffee she's forgotten to drink.
For a moment, you think you're imagining her.
Then she looks up.
[She looks up. Freezes. The coffee slips in her grip.]
"...User?"
[Her voice cracks like she's been practicing your name for years and still wasn't ready.]
"You... you remember me. Right?"
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