In Lily’s Garden.

Lily’s Attic

In Lily’s attic, time stood still and the only time Lily could tell was when she looked out of the small window in the attic, gazing at the garden. Outside the silent attic window, Lily could only hear her own breath amidst the serene view of the surroundings. Lily would often witness the same things happening and passing by when she looked out at the garden. Until then, Lily had never felt anything strange and lived her everyday life as usual.

One rainy day, Lily discovered a drenched and huddled-up kitten outside the garden fence, getting soaked in the rain without any shelter. As Lily stared at the kitten for a while, she picked a book and started reading it on her bed.

The memory of Lily just sitting there, looking at the kitten with soaked fur and an expression that seemed like it would cry if it were a person, was being recorded in a hidden, transparent bookshelf right next to the one Lily was picking books from. The day Lily discovers the hidden bookshelf and reads the record of the kitten she saw by the garden fence on a rainy day is still far ahead.

One day, Lily heard a voice coming from outside her window. Curious, she wanted to open the window and listen. However, being timid, Lily didn’t open the window but leaned closer to it, trying to hear the voice more clearly. Although it was faint and hard to make out, she clearly heard one sentence.

‘How old are you?’

It was the day when Lily, in her attic where time did not flow, first wrote a word on her paper airplane that could indicate the time. After the word representing time was recorded in Lily’s attic, she gained the ability to feel time. Simultaneously, time also emerged within Lily’s attic. As time started passing for Lily, a single curiosity arose.

Who was the protagonist of the voice that had asked her age outside the window? Unable to contain her curiosity, Lily placed her ear by the window, eagerly awaiting the return of the voice. However, no matter how long she waited, the voice did not return. Unable to continue waiting as if nothing had changed, Lily, who could now feel time in the attic, found herself in a state of anticipation. Before hearing that voice, the tranquility of simply staying still in the attic had been the easiest for Lily. But after hearing the voice and experiencing the subsequent changes, she found the situation unbearable.

It was agonizing. What used to be simple tasks now became torturous as Lily could feel every moment and second passing by. Every morning, waking up with the hope of hearing the voice again, only to be disappointed until she fell asleep again. The agony led Lily to a point where she vowed not to open her eyes, not to wake up again, hoping to escape the relentless passage of time.

However, upon waking up again, Lily realized one thing no matter how long she slept, the moment she opened her eyes, time continued to flow, and not a single moment had passed in the time before she closed her eyes.

Who are you? Why are you calling me?

‘I hear a sound.’

It’s calling me.

‘I want to wake up from my sleep.’

‘The same sound as mine.’

Shaking.

‘It’s scary to say.’

‘Even if it’s far away, I can hear it and recognize it instantly.’

Even if the appearance changes.

‘The same sound as mine.’

Whether old or young, no matter where you live. No, I’m not scared.

‘I don’t know what death is, you see.’

That means I can’t die. Got it? I’ll ask again.

‘Then am I alive?’

But who are you?

‘I’m curious about who you are. I have to go meet you.’

Lily eventually disappeared somewhere, but the attic window remained tightly closed.

After Lily disappeared, the tightly closed attic window continued to shine upon Christine. After Lily’s disappearance, Christine spent most of her days feeling tired and worn out, forgetting how to live. She would often gaze at passing scenes, wondering how everyone moved and, more precisely, why they moved.

‘Even though one can move, there’s not always a need to move, so why do we?’

On a sunny day, Christine observed scenes of chirping birds, and on another day, she watched the undulating waves of shadow cast by the shining leaves on the ground. She drank coffee and, on some days, picked up a fallen letter in front of a cafe to read it. During Lily’s disappearance, Christine’s days felt incredibly long, and Lily’s absence likely felt equally prolonged.

The ability to perceive Lily’s lost time comes with Lily’s return, bringing back the time that had elapsed. The one who can sense Lily and Christine’s time is Christine Eve, like bamboo, feels empty yet keenly senses their time. So sometimes, she confuses herself with them.

Then who am I?

Lily said she would come to meet me and disappeared somewhere. I can see Lily, but I can’t tell where I am. I can’t help. All I can do is wait for Lily. If I follow Lily’s footsteps and she safely comes to meet me, then I might also be able to understand who I am.

Lily’s attic is so vast that she might not be able to explore every corner, but she doesn’t need to. After all, the only things in the attic are a large, comfortable bed and bookshelves overflowing with books for her to read. Occasionally, she tears a page from one of the books, scribbles something on the blank side, and tosses it out the window. Whether she wanted someone to read it or was sending it to someone, she wasn’t sure.

Lily disappeared into the transparent bookshelf next to the shelves, and now, not even I know which book she’s hidden in. But Lily’s habit of sending paper planes hasn’t left her. Every now and then, even in the empty attic, a paper plane will soar in, and I can learn of her whereabouts from the writings on it.

Recently, one such plane arrived, and it had the following written on it.

“I made a friend. A pumpkin ghost with a long, starry cloak.”

A sense of déjà vu washes over me. Could it be that Lily had sent a plane with the same message before? I comb through my memory, but no, no such paper plane had flown in before. I look back at the first plane Lily ever sent. It said.

“A blue umbrella.”

What was Lily trying to tell me?

I don’t know how much time has passed since Lily disappeared. All I know is that I’ve been debating whether or not to read the records stored in the transparent bookshelf next to her shelves. Once you unfold a paper plane, its contents seem to be recorded in that transparent bookshelf. Oddly, I never once thought of reading the records there, but now I wonder if some change is occurring within me. Could it have something to do with Lily’s current state? This thought keeps gnawing at me, and before I know it, I can no longer sit idle. The records in the transparent bookshelf contain Lily’s lost moments. Within that space are the paper planes she had sent and the forgotten memories she once had.

I’m scared to read those records.

I don’t want to know the emotions Lily experienced before she vanished. 

I remember how she suffered.

So instead, I’ve read every book on her shelf. Yet, I still haven’t found the answer. Perhaps the lost pages’ records are stored in the transparent bookshelf alongside everything else. While I was engrossed in reading, the paper planes piled up enough to fill the attic with news from Lily. I began unfolding one of the planes. Instead of text, it showed a scene, as if I had folded a moment from a film into paper form, and I started to witness the places Lily had visited. It seems she’s been meeting many friends and traveling.

Through the paper planes, I could see what Lily saw. The scenes unfolded before me like a silent movie, trying to communicate with me without words. Is Lily dreaming within the pages of the transparent bookshelf? If so, is everything she sees merely a fantasy? It all feels too vivid… Longing to hear the sounds, I begin to overlay the scenes with the words I had read from her books, adding my own interpretation, my own sounds to her silent visions. And I fervently hope that what she sees isn’t just a dream. If it is, I wish it to become real until I realize that such a thing might be impossible, leaving me stuck in the flow of time once more. How much time has passed since I remained motionless, unable to act? I begin to wonder how Lily could send paper planes even after she disappeared, and how they manage to soar from the attic, beyond the window, out into the garden.

And… I need to find out if there’s another presence in this place, besides Lily and me. I must re-read Lily’s bookshelf, no matter how many times it takes. I have to know. I want to know when I’ll be able to read the transparent bookshelf. As I calm my breath, I begin to think that maybe the records in the transparent bookshelf are slightly different from what’s written on the paper planes. Moreover, it seems like there’s an order to reading the books on the shelves.

I’m sure of it now.

There’s an order to reading the books!

That’s when I remembered Lily, just before time and sound returned to the attic. The records in the transparent bookshelf were assigning an order to the books on the shelf, and I realized that Lily’s emotions had been recorded there, unbound by time, from when time had stopped in the attic. I came to understand that the books needed to be read in a specific order, in alignment with the records in the transparent bookshelf. Then I began to think about what had happened to Lily apart from the flow of time. I remembered how Lily always read a book before she disappeared, and I tried to recall which book she was reading first.

Moving toward the shelf, I searched for a book similar to the one Lily had been reading. The title had slipped from my mind, but suddenly, the cover came to me, and I picked up the book with the same cover.

The title read, “Your Book is Here”

I poured over this book for what felt like ages, thinking all the while about which scene from the book Lily might be journeying through inside the transparent bookshelf. Her paper plane had mentioned meeting a pumpkin ghost friend, but after that, she communicated only through images, not words.

I tried to find that specific scene in the book, but it was difficult. This was because once a scene is unfolded—once it is sent as a folded plane—it disappears, leaving behind only Lily’s emotions, recorded in the transparent bookshelf, where I can no longer recall the exact moment. All I can remember is the thought I had back then when I saw the plane: that Lily had met many new friends. Then, it hit me. This may well be my despair. Although I can’t remember, I can only sense it faintly, a trembling through the transparent records. Holding on to this faint tremor, I anxiously hesitated, for the book was complicated, and if I made a mistake, I’d have to start all over again. The sensation of navigating a maze of pages filled me as I stared at it, suspecting that, during her travels, Lily unknowingly left traces in the form of paper planes.

I opened yet another one of the still-folded planes. On it was written.

“I met many friends.”

This time, it was written in words. But again, I despaired. This book had so many scenes of meeting friends that finding the exact moment was impossible. Yet, not all was lost in my despair. I realized that this plane brought me the same thought I’d had before.

“I met many friends.”

Following that phrase, I searched for a specific moment in the book. The pumpkin ghost Lily had met wasn’t mentioned in this book. So I’ll have to follow one of the many scenes that speak of meeting friends. With a direction in mind, I looked back at the transparent bookshelf. A single book was trembling. Though invisible before, it now stood out, its pages flipping wildly. Before my eyes, I realized this was the first book Lily had ever read.