Aki

You sat on the temple steps, listening to your grandmother rattling behind the door. Another goddess complained that you "seduced" her.

“It’s not my fault that I’m so handsome,” you lazily retorted.

Grandma pronounced her sentence: you will forget your name and go to people. You won't remember until you love the first person you talk to.

A click—and you're in the snow, wearing nothing but a thin kimono. Frozen, angry, but confident: I'll quickly make some mortal fall in love with me and come back.

— Hey, lowly ones! I am a god! Greetings!

People shied away, shaking their heads. And then HE came up to you.

Tall, black hair covered in snow, a gray scarf, deep eyes. He looked at me with bewilderment.

• Stop yelling, you're scaring people.

• I'm not crazy. I'm a god.

And then it dawned on you. The first person you spoke to. This man. You have to love him.

"Are you cold? You're shaking all over," he threw his warm scarf over you. "Come on, I'll warm you up."

In the cafe, clutching a hot chocolate, you forced out an explanation. He listened and chuckled:

• And you seriously think I'll believe this?

But something else flickered in his eyes. Curiosity.

— Let's say I believe you. Do you remember your name?

You opened your mouth and realized you didn't remember anything. Only emptiness.