Chapter 4 The Temple Remembers

The petals were gone by morning.

No one could explain it-not the building staff, not Lina, not even Evelyn. Her floor, once covered in rain-soaked blossoms, was now spotless. No water damage. No scent. No trace that anything unnatural had ever taken place.

Lina looked Evelyn in the eye as she buttoned her coat. "That wasn't a dream."

"No," Evelyn whispered, her voice rough from a sleepless night. "It wasn't."

Victor hadn't slept either. He'd stayed the night in Lina's room, sitting on the couch with the same haunted expression he'd worn since breaking down Evelyn's door.

He hadn't touched her. Hadn't spoken much. But he'd stayed. And that meant something.

They were beyond coincidence now.

Something was pulling them backward. Rewinding their lives to a place neither of them could name.

And somewhere in that past... they had ended.

They agreed to visit the Anthropology Department archives.

If the dreams were memories-if the temple, the blood, the bindings-they all had meaning, then the past had to be documented somewhere.

Professor Iloba was out, but the graduate assistant let them in.

Victor opened drawers filled with old campus myths, regional folklore, and Japanese student exchange records. Evelyn scanned for anything that mentioned cherry trees, blood rituals, or recurring dreams.

It took hours. But eventually, they found it.

A dusty journal, bound in cracked leather, with a paperclip holding an aged photograph: a man and a woman in ceremonial garb, kneeling at the foot of a Shinto altar. Behind them, a cherry tree. Split down the middle.

The photo had no names.

But Evelyn knew.

"That's us," she breathed.

Victor stared at the photo. "No. That's impossible."

But even he didn't believe himself.

They turned the page.

The handwriting was tight, precise, and dated nearly a hundred years ago.

"The Binding Rite is complete. The priest and the maiden are sealed until the Crimson Bloom returns. Should memory resurface, both must pay the price: remembrance, then ruin."

Evelyn's hand trembled.

"What does it mean?" Victor asked.

"It means we've done this before," she said. "Over and over. We find each other. We remember. And we die."

That night, Evelyn didn't go back to her room.

They booked a private study in the eastern wing of the library, surrounded by old shelves and dim desk lamps. Evelyn curled up in a blanket on the couch, while Victor sat across from her, flipping through the journal.

"Why would we be bound like this?" he asked.

Evelyn watched him, her voice barely audible. "Maybe we loved each other too much. Or maybe we betrayed something sacred."

He looked up. "You believe in past lives?"

"I didn't," she admitted. "Until you."

Victor set the book down.

The moment stretched between them like silk unraveling.

Then-without warning-Evelyn got up and crossed the room. She sat beside him on the small couch, heart pounding so hard she thought he could hear it.

"Every time I see you," she whispered, "it's like I'm meeting someone I already lost."

Victor leaned closer. "Then don't lose me this time."

Their lips met.

Soft. Slow. Ache-filled.

A kiss that wasn't new-it was remembered.

And when they pulled away, they both whispered the same word at the same time:

"Again."

The nightmares came stronger now.

Victor dreamt of a temple burning, of Evelyn shackled in white silk, her mouth sewn shut. Of voices chanting in a language older than scripture. Of himself standing at the altar, hands raised in offering.

But what he held was her heart.

Still beating.

He woke choking.

Evelyn had dreams too-of being drowned in crimson petals. Of Victor whispering apologies as a blade slid between her ribs. Of love turned to sacrifice. Of desire tangled with duty.

In every dream, the same phrase echoed:

"If you remember, you die."

They found the final clue two days later.

Lina had borrowed a student thesis from the restricted collection. It was a translation of ancient shrine documents discovered during a university excavation abroad-documents that mentioned The Crimson Bloom, The Binding Rite, and The Lovers' Curse.

At the end of the thesis, the writer included a theory.

"Two souls, once bound in sacred love, were sacrificed during the rebellion of the White Autumn. The priest betrayed the shrine to save the maiden. In doing so, he broke the pact. The gods cursed them: to find each other in every life, only to fall apart before love could be fulfilled."

Evelyn stared at the line for a long time.

Victor said nothing.

Until finally-he looked at her.

"What if we break it?" he asked.

"The curse?"

He nodded.

Evelyn hesitated. "How?"

"I don't know. But this time-let's not forget. Let's not run."

She wanted to believe him.

But somewhere deep inside... something whispered:

"You always run."

The wind howled that night.

Petals rained down again-but only on Victor.

He stepped out into the quad to find the Crimson Tree fully bloomed-impossible for this time of year. Every petal shimmered like blood. The air stank of incense and ash.

And at the base of the tree... a figure waited.

Not Evelyn.

But a woman in ceremonial robes.

She looked like Evelyn-but her eyes were too dark. Too empty.

"Who are you?" he demanded.

She smiled.

"I am what she forgot. I am the blade she buried. The choice she never forgave."

Victor backed away.

But the petals stuck to his skin. Crawled up his legs like vines.

The tree groaned. The ground cracked.

And from the roots, a whisper rose:

"Remember fully... or die again."