Present Day - August 2025

The sun was already low when Ren Ito finished his last delivery.

The sky over Shizukawa had turned the color of watered-down ink — that soft orange fading into gray that only appears for a few minutes each evening. Ren liked this hour. People stopped rushing. The town felt like it was exhaling.

He adjusted the strap of his courier bag and checked the address one last time. The delivery slip was smudged, the handwriting uneven, as if whoever wrote it had hesitated more than once.

"Old District," he murmured.

That explained the quiet.

The Old District sat on the far side of the river, where the streets narrowed and the buildings leaned closer together, as if sharing secrets. The shops here closed early, their shutters rusted and their signs faded by decades of sun beatings. Ren’s bike tires clicked softly against the uneven stones as he coasted down the hill.

He had delivered here before, but it always felt different. The air was heavier. Sounds didn’t travel as far. Even his own footsteps seemed reluctant to echo.

After slipping the envelope into a narrow mailbox attached to a wooden door, Ren turned back toward the main road.

That’s when he saw it.

At the corner of a small, empty square stood a postbox.

It was deep red, the color dulled by age, with the iron edges worn smooth by countless hands. It didn’t belong to any modern postal service Ren knew. There was no logo on its front, no collection schedule. No sign explaining anything at all.

It simply existed.

Ren slowed his bike.

"Was that here before?"

He was sure he would’ve remembered it. The neighborhood square was usually empty, just the cracked pavement and a dead lamp post. Yet now the postbox stood beneath the light, seeming like it was faintly glowing in the sunset.

Ren felt himself dismount from his bike but without fully realizing why.

Up close, the postbox felt… warm.

Ren hesitated, then gently lifted the metal flap. It opened without a sound.

Inside was a single envelope.

It was yellowed with age, the edges soft and worn. The stamp was unfamiliar — old, maybe even unusable by now. What made Ren’s breath catch was the date written neatly in the corner - December 12, 2005.

"Twenty Years Ago?!"

"That’s not possible," Ren whispered.

The recipient’s name and address were written clearly.

Someone who lived in Shizukawa, someone who still lived here.

Ren glanced around the empty square. No one was watching. The lamppost flickered once, then steadied.

His fingers trembled as he took the letter.

The metal flap closed behind his hand with a soft clang.

He put the letter in his bag, got on his bike, and and took off toward the address.

He knocked on a worn down door that had seen better days.

The recipient opened the door slowly.

She was an older woman in her thirties, dark brown hair with streaks of silver hair tied neatly behind her head. When Ren handed her the letter, she frowned, adjusting her glasses.

"I didn’t order anything," she said politely.

"It—it’s a letter," Ren replied. "From… a long time ago."

She laughed lightly. "From a long time ago, you say? That's a hell of a long time to take to deliver a letter."

Then she saw the handwriting.

Her smile vanished.

The woman’s hands shook as she read the date. Tears welled in her eyes before she even opened the envelope.

"I wrote this," she whispered. "I was seventeen."

Ren felt his chest tighten.

She clutched the letter to her heart, laughing and crying at the same time.

"I thought it was lost forever," she said. "I waited years for a reply that never came."

Ren bowed deeply, unsure what else to do.

"I—I’m glad it reached you," he said.

By the time Ren returned to the square, the postbox was gone.

Only the lamppost remained.

He stood there long after the sky darkened, his mind racing.

The next morning, something felt wrong.

The old bakery near his house — the one that had been closed for years — was open.

Fresh bread sat in the window.

Ren stared at it, heart pounding.

On his way to school, he passed the same red postbox.

Inside was another letter.

This one was addressed to him.

The date on the letter, tomorrow.

See you soon for chapter 2!