Riska (lovunakim)

“Had some urgent turn of events forced her to move away, to another town? (But whatever the situation, she should have been able to tell you.) Or was she walking down the street when something fell from the sky, striking her in the head, and as a result, she lost her memory? Or was she no longer alive (killed in a traffic accident; murdered by some random, passing attacker; or dead from some fast-acting, rare disease, or by suicide?). Or was she kidnapped and locked away somewhere? (But by whom? And for what purpose?) Or had she suddenly stopped liking you—hating to even see your face or even hear your name? (Had you said something wrong, or done something you shouldn’t have?) Or was there a tiny black hole on a street corner somewhere that secretly opened up and sucked her inside as she passed by, like a leaf sucked down a drain? Or, perhaps…in this world every possibility is quietly awaiting a person. Danger lurks around every corner. But you have no way of knowing what actually happened to her.”
― Haruki Murakami, The City and Its Uncertain Walls