Rika doesn’t sleep that night.

How could she?

There’s a glowing fairy flying around her living room, sipping tea out of a thimble and humming lullabies that sound like music from another realm.

By morning, sunlight spills into the apartment like it’s been waiting for permission to enter. For the first time in weeks, the curtains are open. The air smells of jasmine and cinnamon—Vini’s idea.

Rika sits cross-legged on the floor, rubbing her eyes.

“…You’re still here.

“I live rent-free in your head, babe. Might as well make it cozy.”

Vini twirls in the air, her wings leaving trails of stardust.

“But you’re not real,” Rika says softly. “Right?”

“Define real. I’m your inner voice, given shape—the part of you that dreams, hopes, and refuses to give up.”

Rika blinks.

“…So you’re like… my imagination’s life coach?”

“Exactly. But with more glitter.”

Vini hovers near Rika’s shoulder and points at her chest.

“You’ve got a whole world in there, Rika. And you locked it away. Wanna see what it looks like?”

Before Rika can respond, the room begins to ripple—like a pond kissed by wind.

In a blink, they’re no longer in her apartment.

They stand in a vast garden.

Twilight-blue skies stretch overhead. The ground shimmers with glowing grass, and trees bloom with paintbrushes, dancing shoes, miniature dresses, and tiny dream jars tied with ribbons.

Rika gasps.

“This… this is beautiful.”

“Welcome to the Garden of Forgotten Dreams,” Vini says, floating above a glowing sketchbook bush.

“Every dream you buried is planted here. Every talent, every passion, every wild wish you were too scared to chase.”

Rika walks through it slowly.

She sees tiny crayons, cracked but still colourful. Trophies from childhood races, half-covered in moss. A sewing machine, humming with silent music.

A doll wears a dress she stitched at age nine.

She almost cries.

“You didn’t forget them, Rika. You just pushed them away. To survive. To belong.”

“…Because no one cared.”

“But you did.”

They come upon a small, wilted tree.

A guitar leans against its bark. Her name is carved into the trunk.

“This one,” Vini says gently, “was your dream to learn music. You never even started, because you thought… ‘I’m not good enough.’”

Rika touches the strings. They vibrate softly.

A tune escapes—fragile, unfinished, beautiful.

“The world told you creativity was a waste,” Vini whispers. “But look at all this. It was never wasted. Just waiting.”

Tears fill Rika’s eyes.

“I’ve spent so long pretending this didn’t matter.”

“And now you remember. That’s the first step.”

They sit beneath a tree of glowing origami birds. Rika leans back against the trunk, staring at the sky pulsing with galaxies.

“So what now?” she whispers.

“I don’t have a job. I don’t have money. I don’t even know what I want.”

Vini looks at her gently.

“You do know. You just don’t believe you deserve it yet.”

The birds rustle softly above.

“But I’m going to help you. We’ll heal the broken parts. The scary parts. And we’ll grow new dreams. Stronger ones. With roots.”

Rika wipes her eyes. She feels... lighter.

“I want to start over.”

“Then you will.”

She closes her eyes and smiles.

A soft wind passes through the garden, and somewhere deep within her chest…

a light flickers on.