Tuesday felt softer that week: rain gentler on the cobblestones, river slow and silver beneath a low sky.
Elara and Ciel met at the small tea shop by the river, windows fogged against the morning chill. Steam curled from chipped porcelain cups, tracing ghosts in the space between them.
For a while, neither spoke. Outside, passersby drifted past, umbrellas blooming and folding like silent flowers. Inside, the world seemed to hold its breath around their table.
"You used to see me," she said softly, breaking the quiet. "Before I saw you."
Ciel's hand paused on the teacup, eyes shadowed by something older than memory.
"Yes," he whispered. "In dreams. And every Tuesday, I waited. I thought maybe… maybe if I sat close enough, the rest of the memory would return."
Elara traced the edge of her cup with trembling fingers.
"And did it?"
"Not all of it," he admitted. "But enough to know it was always you."
She swallowed, heart heavy with something like grief.
"It frightens me," she whispered. "How much you remember — and how little I do."
"It frightens me too," he confessed. "Because what if this time, you never remembered? What if next time, it's me who forgets first?"
The words hung there, fragile as steam. Rain pattered gently against the window, blurring the river into watercolor.
"Ciel…" she began, voice breaking, "what if both of us forget each other?"
The question cut through him deeper than he'd expected. For a moment, the quiet tea shop felt miles away — all he could hear was the rush of blood in his ears.
"Then…" he breathed, fighting to steady his voice, "I want to believe something in us will still remember how to look."
"And if even that fails?" she asked, tears threatening.
"Then I'll draw you again," he whispered. "And maybe you'll walk by and recognize your own face on my page."
Elara's shoulders trembled. She reached across the table, their fingers interlacing, cold skin warming in shared resolve.
"Promise me," she whispered, "that even if we forget, we'll keep searching."
"I promise," he said. "Even if all that's left is a single drawing. Even if I don't know your name. I'll keep looking."
Outside, the rain traced secret messages down the glass. Inside, two souls, bruised by lifetimes they could barely remember, made a vow older than memory itself.
And for that Tuesday, it was enough.