Since there were quite a number of people who seemed to like the story I discontinued, I decided to redo the story, fixing up some bits of places I didn't like, and other stuff, though not much changed in the beginning. The process is going slowly, as is with all my other stories...so I ask for patience and if I were to give up on a story I would tell you all...I wouldn't just suddenly drop it cause I know how that feels, having a good story just suddenly stop updating and never get updated again...I'll try my best to balance everything out and I hope that this time the story is a little towards my own liking and that you all still like it. Please read and review.
Eight years ago:
Zakuro was sitting on the couch at home, a blanket on top of her, in front of the on television. She was trying to rid herself of sadness by watching some TV. Her best friend, Tohma, had moved to America with his family a few days ago. They had known each other ever since way back when. Though they weren't related in any way, Tohma had always been like an elder brother to her, if not more. They always did stuff together. One was almost never seen without the other. They were inseparable. Also, when one felt down or bothered, they would confide in one another no matter what the problem was.
Zakuro got off the couch and, with the blanket still on her and dragging behind her like a cape, went to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of. When she returned, the English news was back on. She and Tohma had been learning English together as an elective second language. Ever since, they had adopted the habit of watching the English news every night.
"Earlier today, there was a devastating accident in California."
Zakuro choked on her water. 'That's where Tohma lives!' she thought. Zakuro calmed down slightly as she reasoned with herself. California's a big state…the chances of being her friend were very small, she was just simply overreacting.
"A speeding car had collided with another at an intersection, causing both to spin out of control. The first car spun into two other cars while the second was knocked though the guard rails and remained there with the end of the vehicle sitting over a cliff. The two adults in the car managed to escape the teetering car, but their eight year old son had remained unconscious in the back seat."
Zakuro had felt her heart beating speed up. The age of the boy was merely a coincidence, that there were a lot of eight year old boys in California.
"As the frantic parents tried to get their son out of the car, the car had flipped over the edge and fell 20 feet. By some miracle, the eight year old child had survived the fall, rescued 23 minutes later. The boy is currently under heavy surgery, but doctors still do not know whether young Tohma Nojima will be able to recover.
Zakuro's glass of water fell though her hands and smashed on the floor, as she fainted.
Zakuro still had nightmares of that day when she heard about Tohma's accident. She had never found out whether or not Tohma had made any kind of recovery. Although she forced herself to be able to face the facts if worse came to worse, she couldn't help but fear that Tohma didn't make it. It has been eight years since that day, and Zakuro was already in high school, a movie star, and a member of the Tokyo Mew Mews, and she still couldn't help dwelling in the past.
One night, after yet another nightmare, Zakuro got out of bed and went down into the kitchen for a glass of water. As she drank, something caught the corner of her eye. She walked over and picked up a picture. It was a picture her and Tohma, her lengthy purple hair fell over her shoulders as Tohma, who had his black hair reaching the bottom of his neck, stood next to her, arm around her shoulder and Zakuro holding it in her own. The picture was taken not to long before he moved. Subconsciously she started gripping her glass of water tightly as memories started to seem through.
"Ow," she gave a small cry of pain as the glass shattered cutting her hand.
As she bent down and gathered most of the glass pieces in her other hand, the doorbell rang.
'Who could be calling at this hour?' Zakuro wondered to herself.
She dumped the glass shards into the trash can and went to answer the door. When she opened the door, she can face to face with a boy with jet black hair that reached his neck and who was more or less her age. Zakuro couldn't help but think back to the picture she was staring at just moments ago.
"Excuse me, but to you know where this address is?" he asked, though in English, while showing her a piece of paper.
"Yes, I do, do you need directions?" Zakuro asked, also in English, looking at the address he was showing her.
As soon as Zakuro spoke, the boy realized he was speaking in English.
"Oh I'm sorry, I'm always forgetting I'm not in California anymore," the boy said, this time in Japanese.
"Oh, so you DO know how to speak Japanese," replied Zakuro, though hearing that the boy came from California made something go off in her head.
"Yes I do, but that doesn't help me any of finding my apartment," he said smiling sheepishly.
"Not a problem. Here, you just go down this road and-"
"Maybe…you…could write it down for me?" he said tentatively, scratching his head.
"Sure, no problem," she said with a smile, and feeling the cold night wind said, "Why don't you come in."
"Thanks," he said, rather thankfully, as he walked into the house.
Zakuro went into the living room and got a pen and paper out. The boy followed while taking in her house.
"Wow, you have a really nice house," he commented.
"Thanks," said Zakuro, looking up. She hadn't seem Tohma in eight years, so she had excepted Tohma had died, and no one had told her, and yet a hopeful feeling swelled in Zakuro's chest.
"Zakuro…" came a small whisper.
Zakuro looked up abruptly.
"Wh-what did you say?" she asked.
"Oh sorry, it's just… it's nothing," the boy said hesitantly.
When Zakuro continued to look at him, he gave in.
"To be honest, I don't even know who this person is," said the boy, "to tell the truth, I was in an accident seven or eight years ago. I had lost my memory then, everything before that is a blank to me. I can't remember anything, but my parents had told me if ever I needed help to just look for someone named Fuijwara Zakuro. Apparently she's some big star here in Japan…but I've never seen her…so I don't even know what she looks like…"
There was a ringing silence as Zakuro looked at him, utterly shocked. The boy looked at her.
"Are you ok?" he asked.
"Yeah…" she said in a daze, "W-what did you say your name again?"
"I'm sorry, I completely forgot to introduce myself," said the boy with a laugh of realization that he had forgotten to introduce himself, "My name is Nojima Tohma. Nice to meet you."
Zakuro had never gotten around to answering his question that night, for she had fainted.