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'At the end of the day, whether one returns to the past or travels to the future, the present does not change. So it raises the question: just what is the point of that chair?'

But Kazu still goes on believing that, no matter what difficulties people face, they will always have the strength to overcome them. It just takes heart. And if the chair can change someone's heart, it clearly has its purpose.

'Miki ...' Leaving her flowing tears unwiped, Kei gave her best smile to Miki. Thank you, for the honour of having you.'

'I'm sorry, Nagare,' Kei mumbled.

'What for?' Nagare asked, staring at the paper cranes.

'I'll go to the hospital tomorrow.'

At four weeks, it was a bit early to be calling it a baby, but that didn't deter her. In the morning she would start with 'good morning', and while calling Nagare 'Papa', she would set out to explain the events of the day. She found these imaginary conversations with her baby the highlight of any day.

But waiting to see Kumi's face would mean not being able to return to the present. This was something that Hirai was all too aware of. Yet even though she knew that she had to just drink up the coffee, the distance between the cup and her mouth remained the same.

If I drink this coffee now, I will never see my sister again. Even though I finally made her smile, it will never happen again. Yet she knew she would never be able to drink the coffee with Kumi's face in front of her.

That dream had not changed, and nor had her little sister, who was there in front of her with tears of joy streaming down her face. Her little sister Kumi, who had loved her big sis with all her heart, had, time after time, come to persuade her to return to the family, never giving up. While her parents had disowned her, Kumi had hung on to the belief that Hirai would come home.

'What dream?' she asked Kumi.

With red teary eyes, Kumi looked up and took a deep breath. To run the inn together. With you,' she replied. Her face transformed into a big smile

'This has always been my dream,' Kumi muttered, looking down, her tears spilling onto the table.

But even once Hirai knew about travelling to the past, she never once considered doing so herself. She lived life in the fast lane and had no regrets. And what was the point anyway, she thought, if the rules meant that you couldn't change the present, no matter how hard you tried?

That was, until Kumi died in a traffic accident.

Often the task of watching over her, still a young baby, fell to six-year-old Hirai. When she started elementary school, Hirai would give her a piggyback to school. It was a country school, and the teachers were understanding. If she started crying in class, Hirai was able to take her out of class to comfort her. In school Hirai was a reliable big sister, diligent in looking after her little sister.

He had been listing the destinations that he had travelled to in order to visit gardens. She had simply assumed his actions were a hangover from his love of his work as a landscape gardener. But she was wrong. The destinations he made a note of were all the places that he had visited with her. She didn't notice at the time.

All i ask is that you can do what you can as my wife. We are husband and wife after all. Even if I lose my memory, I want to be together as husband and wife. I cannot stand the idea of us staying together only out of sympathy.

So I ask you never to forget one thing. You are my wife, and if life becomes too hard for you as my wife, I want you to leave me.

'Here,' he said. Like a shy child, he offered her the brown envelope he was holding.

She tried to push the letter away. 'But you get better,' she said.

'Then you can throw it out,' he said, handing her the letter more forcefully. His tone was different from his normal gruff self. He spoke with such gentleness that it gave her the odd feeling that she must have missed something.

(You recover!)

'Don't worry.'

(You recover ... Really!)

Every word she spoke, she delivered with all her strength.

In her mind, it wasn't a lie. Even if he had forgotten who she was. Even if nothing she did changed the present. He looked her straight in the eyes and she looked right back at him, her face streaming with tears.

He looked happy. 'Oh really?' he said in a soft whisper.

'Yes,' she said.

(What does it hurt if I lie? If I can relieve his anxiety, even if it's just for a moment, it's worth it...)

After being diagnosed with Alzheimer's, he had struggled each day with the dread and anxiety of losing his memory. Yet she, his wife, had not seen how he had borne these thoughts and feelings alone. On learning that she had come from the future, the first thing he had wanted to know was whether he had forgotten her, his wife. This realization filled her with both joy and sorrow.

'I can't let the coffee go cold,' she said and brought the cup close to her mouth.

'So I forget? I forget you?' he mumbled, looking down.

Hearing this, she was overwhelmed by confusion. She didn't even know why there was a coffee cup in front of her.

'So it's really you?' she said.

'Huh?'

'You know who I am?'

'What?' He looked at her with bemusement.

But she was, of course, not joking. She had to make sure. It was obvious that she had returned to the past. But when? Before or after the onset of the Alzheimer's?

'Just say my name,' she said.

But with the last letter, after casting his eyes over it, he was overcome with a feeling that he had missed something important. He read it word by word while asking different people to tell him what the words were – hence the long time it took to reply.

It wasn't until later that she learned he could barely read or write. When she found out, she asked him how he managed to read all the long letters she wrote to him. Apparently, he just allowed his eyes to wander over them. Then he just wrote in his reply the vague impression he got from this gazing.

Certainly, his replies were short. But they never sounded negative, like they had been written out of obligation. On the contrary, they always seemed frank and genuine. So she wouldn't give up quite yet. In fact, she was still waiting two and a half months after she had sent the ultimatum.

Then one day, after those two months, a letter arrived from Fusagi. All it said was: 'Let's get married.'

At first, Kohtake thought he must be busy with work and didn't have the time to reply, but in letter after letter Fusagi continued to give these brief replies. She took this to mean that he wasn't very interested in her. Kohtake wrote in her letter that if he wasn't interested then he shouldn't bother replying, that with this letter she would stop writing if she didn't get a reply.

But why did he want to return to the past?

Kohtake was very curious about this. She had asked him on several occasions, but he just said, 'It's a secret.'

'Apparently he wants to give you a letter,' Kazu said, as if reading Kohtake's mind.

'Give it to me?'

'Uh-huh.'

'A letter?'

'Fusagi said it was something he never managed to give you.'

Kohtake was silent.

Kohtake had put on her most confident voice to reassure Kei and Kazu. She meant what she said. She was putting on a brave face, but her bravery was real. I can still be there for him because I'm a nurse.

She had explained Fusagi's illness to Kei and Kazu before, and Nagare and Hirai knew about it too. She had resigned herself to the fact that one day he would completely forget who she was. She was always preparing herself. If it happens, she thought, I will care for him as a nurse. I am a nurse, so I can do that.

In that moment, Fusagi remembered that he had a wife, but he didn't remember that Kohtake, standing before him, was his wife.

What's that?' she asked, pausing once again in what she was doing.

'For my wife,' he muttered in a quiet voice. 'It's for my wife.'

'Is that a letter?'

'Yeah.'

'For your wife?'

'Yeah, I never managed to give it to her.'

'I can't just throw it away.' Kei's face showed her dilemma as she looked at the letter from Kumi.