Chapter 19: The Girl He Doesn't Know (Part 1)

The library was a quiet, almost sacred place in Mineral Town. Its shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, each filled with worn tomes and freshly bound volumes that spoke to the town's rich, if peculiar, history. Pete stepped inside, greeted by the faint smell of parchment and ink. The afternoon sun streamed through the tall windows, casting golden patches on the wooden floor. He paused, letting the stillness settle over him.

The shelves were organized meticulously, reflecting the passion of their contributors. A large section was dedicated to Basil's works. His books chronicled decades of his adventures as a plant hunter, filled with vibrant sketches of rare flowers and detailed notes on their habitats. Titles like The Flora of the Forgotten Valley and Botanical Mysteries of the Southern Islands lined the shelves, their spines cracked with use. Pete ran his fingers along them, momentarily tempted to open one, but he reminded himself of his purpose.

Another section of the room bore a subtle, unmistakable imprint—delicate yet profound. It was the mark of Mary, the quiet and unassuming librarian from Mineral Town. Pete paused as his eyes scanned the titles, a flicker of surprise rising in him. He hadn't realized just how much of her heart she had poured into her writing. She, who always spoke softly and carried herself like a whisper, had built an entire world of words.

Back in Flowerbud Village, he had known her as Maria—a girl defined less by her dreams than by her duty. She had worked at the library only to help her father, the village mayor, and he remembered how her passions once leaned more toward quiet religious reflection than the written page. But here, in these shelves lined with her work, Mary had come into her own.

Her stories revealed a side of her few had ever glimpsed: rich, emotional tales of love quietly blossoming in forgotten corners of the world; fantastical adventures filled with shimmering light and strange beasts, like daydreams woven into ink. Her imagination ran wild across the pages, unshackled by modesty or doubt.

Pete's gaze fell upon a slim volume—poetry, written in her neat, measured hand. The cover was simple, the title embossed in silver: Whispers of the Changing Sky. He opened it carefully, and a few verses met him like a gentle breeze:

Moonlight skips across the forest lake,

A silver hush in midnight's wake.

The trees, like dreamers, sway and lean—

And time forgets what it has seen.

He read it twice, then closed the book with quiet reverence, as though not to disturb the fragile beauty within. For a moment, he stood there, surrounded by the soul of someone he thought he knew—and realized he was only just beginning to understand her.

But Pete wasn't here for a leisurely read. His focus was clear: to uncover what had happened in the past to change his world so dramatically. Somewhere within these shelves might lie a clue, a record, or even the faintest hint of an event that led to this unfamiliar town.

He approached Mary, who sat behind the counter with her head bent over a journal. Her dark hair fell in braided behind her head as she scribbled something in her notebook. Pete cleared his throat softly, and Mary looked up, her shy smile welcoming but curious.

"Hi, Pete," she greeted. "It's rare to see you in the library. Looking for something specific?"

"Yes," Pete replied, leaning slightly on the counter. "I'm looking for anything that might give me some insight into… history. Specifically, events that could've shaped this town or, I guess, the world."

Mary tilted her head, intrigued. "That's a rather odd topic. Any particular time period or event you're interested in?"

Pete hesitated. How could he explain he was searching for a missing piece of a puzzle that only he knew existed? "Let's start with anything about the Harvest Goddess," he said carefully. "And maybe records of unusual phenomena. Anything that might stand out."

Mary nodded, her curiosity growing. "The Harvest Goddess? That's an interesting subject. Most of the books about her are more religious than historical, but I can help you find them." She gestured toward a corner of the library. "Follow me."

As Pete trailed behind Mary through the winding labyrinth of bookshelves, he felt a quiet flicker of hope stir in his chest—fragile, but persistent. The scent of old paper and polished wood clung to the air, and the soft hush of the library felt like a sacred space where forgotten truths might finally be unearthed.

Mary moved with purpose, her fingers trailing lightly along the spines of well-worn volumes until she paused and plucked a few from the shelves. She didn't say much—she never did—but her eyes, thoughtful and perceptive, scanned the titles before handing them to him one by one. There was a quiet certainty in her actions, as though she believed, without question, that what he sought could be found here—somewhere in these pages.

"These might help," she said gently, her voice low and even. "They cover some of the older records. Local legends. Migration patterns. Folk stories, too."

Pete took the books, the weight of them grounding him. It wasn't just information he was holding—it was history, memory, fragments of forgotten lives.

She led him deeper into the library, beyond the familiar reading tables and sun-dappled windows, to a quiet alcove where reference materials were kept. Dusty maps lined the walls, curled slightly at the edges. Cabinets filled with newspaper clippings, regional reports, and yellowing magazines sat neatly labeled, a treasure trove of Mineral Town's past—and perhaps his own.

Mary opened a drawer and began sorting through it, pulling out articles with practiced ease. "There are some early settlement reports in here," she said. "And a few travel logs from visitors. Maybe you'll find a clue."

Pete watched her for a moment, struck by her quiet diligence. She hadn't asked questions. Hadn't probed into the odd nature of his request. She simply helped, as though helping was second nature to her. And maybe, in this small town filled with routine and rhythm, that made her rare.

He turned his attention to the growing stack of materials, the possibilities sprawling before him in ink and parchment. Maybe, just maybe, the answers he had chased across memories and miles weren't so far away after all. Maybe they were here, waiting patiently—hidden in the careful lines of a map or the brittle fold of an old newspaper.

After gathering the stack of books and scrolls Mary had picked out, she carefully placed them on an empty table near the library's wide, sunlit window. She adjusted her glasses, glanced at Pete, and asked, "Is there anything else you need?"

Pete shook his head, offering a polite smile. "No, this is great. Thanks, Maria- I mean Mary."

With a nod and a small smile of her own, Mary disappeared into the maze of shelves, leaving Pete alone with his growing curiosity. He sat down, the wooden chair creaking slightly under him, and began thumbing through the materials, one by one.

The first few books were general histories of Mineral Town, filled with basic anecdotes about its founding and growth. Pete quickly learned that Mineral Town was established roughly 400 years ago, but the reason behind its founding was frustratingly vague. Most accounts simply described it as a "prosperous settlement for Mining and Farming" but why this location was chosen, or who led its development, remained unclear.

Turning to the next stack, Pete searched for any information about the Harvest Goddess. He flipped through pages of religious accounts, colorful illustrations, and tales of her blessings upon the land. Yet, none of it seemed to shed light on her origins. The books described her as an eternal being, one who existed "long before written history." Strangely, there was no mention of God or the faith he had grown up with, no explanation of what might have caused the belief in God to be replaced by the Harvest Goddess in this world. It was as though the religion he once knew had been replaced entirely.

Frustrated but unwilling to give up, Pete turned his attention to the large regional map Mary had included among the research materials. He unfolded it carefully on the table, the thin paper crackling as it stretched out before him. At first glance, it seemed ordinary—just another chart of hills, rivers, and winding roads—but then his eyes widened.

There it was—Flowerbud Village. Pete's eyes lingered on the name, his breath catching in his throat. His home. Still marked, still present, nestled against the mountains exactly where it had always been. The lettering on the map was familiar, almost comforting. And yet… it felt distant. Not just in miles, but in meaning. As though it belonged to a different lifetime, a different version of himself.

Compared to the central position of Mineral Town—his current home—Flowerbud seemed almost forgotten, tucked into a far-off corner of the region like an old photograph left in a drawer. A thin rail line connected the two settlements, snaking through valleys and wooded hills. It looked like a minor route, perhaps something Zack used for transporting crates of produce or supplies towards the city. Pete traced the line with his finger, remembering the winding trails, the scent of pine and soil, the quiet rhythms of village life. But now it felt far away, as if the land itself had pulled him further from where he began.

What caught his eye next were the names that didn't belong. At least, not in the world he once knew. Forget-Me-Not Valley. Sunny Island. Harmonica Town. Zephyr Town. Bluebell Town. Dozens more were scattered across the map like fragments of a dream he never had. Newer, bolder, and unfamiliar. Towns he had never even heard of—but drawn here with the same weight and permanence as Flowerbud. They sprawled outward, each connected by a dense, intricate railway system that wove across the countryside like threads in a vast, tangled tapestry. Every track seemed to lead somewhere, but more importantly, they all pointed in one direction: back to the city.

Each of these unfamiliar places was etched in crisp lettering, their names dotting the terrain like seeds scattered on the wind. Pete leaned in, studying the contours of each town. The names carried a strange sense of mystery, as if they were echoes of something he should remember but can't because he comes from a place or time that doesn't include them. They all sounded like communities akin to Mineral Town—small, self-contained, rural. Places where people might plant crops and raise livestock and greet each other by name. But none of them belonged to the world he once knew.

His thoughts were then interrupted by something that made his stomach twist: Leaf Valley. He remembered hearing about it years ago—vaguely, from news stories about people working hard from being demolished. A small, secluded village known for resisting development. But on the map spread before him, Leaf Valley was gone. In its place stood something else entirely, a theme park. Its cheerful, illustrated icon—ferris wheel and all—beamed brightly against the muted tones of the countryside. It felt like a blemish on the landscape, garish and artificial, a mockery of the quiet, rural life Pete heard about. He stared at it for a long moment, unsettled by the jarring contrast.

And there were more absences. Subtle at first, but increasingly unnerving. Waffle Town. Once a thriving settlement on a peaceful island—it was gone. The island itself remained, a lone speck of land surrounded by sea, but the island itself was now uninhabited, its name erased from history. In its place, further inland, was Harmonica Town, as though the world had quietly reshuffled itself while no one was looking.

Toucan Island was still around, a resort for people interested in a tropical getaway. It was untouched, its shape familiar. But when Pete looked for the Sunshine Archipelago, his breath caught in his throat. It wasn't missing people—it was missing islands. They weren't just abandoned. They no longer existed.

Pete sat back slowly, eyes scanning the map with a growing sense of unease. These weren't just random changes. Something deeper was at work. The geography of his world—his reality—had been rewritten, subtly, almost imperceptibly, like a dream that shifts the moment you try to remember it. The names had changed. The towns had moved. Some places had vanished entirely, replaced by curiosities or blank space. Others have appeared out of thin air.

He didn't know what it meant, but one thing was certain: this wasn't just about finding answers anymore. Something was wrong with the world. And it had been that way for a long time.

Pete leaned back in his chair, his hands still clutching the map. The sheer scale of the changes to this world was overwhelming. Entire towns had appeared, others had vanished, and even the very belief systems seemed rewritten. Whatever had caused this reality to diverge from the one he knew, it wasn't something small. It was as if the script of the world had been rewritten, erasing familiar truths and replacing them with unknowns.

Pete left the library, his steps slow and heavy as the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Mineral Town. His heart felt just as weighted, burdened not only by the questions that remained unanswered but by the crushing absence of any clue about what had happened to his old life. Every book, every map, every scrap of history he'd poured over had only deepened the mystery, leaving him more lost than when he'd started.

It felt unfair. For years, he'd lived with the guilt of his failure, haunted by the memory of Popuri's tragic death in his original timeline. The pain of losing her had been a shadow over his entire life—a constant reminder of what he couldn't save. But then, against all odds, he'd been given a second chance. Somehow, he'd changed history, saved Popuri, and created a new life where they'd grown up happy together.

Those brief days after rewriting history were like a dream. He and Popuri had grown up together, fallen in love, shared their vows, and started planning a family. For a short time, his guilt had lifted, replaced by a joy so profound it felt like he could finally breathe again.

It was only three days. Three fleeting, perfect days. But they were the best days he had ever lived. And then, they were gone. The joy he'd felt in those three days felt like a cruel trick now, dangled before him only to be ripped away. How could he not question why he was here? Why he was taken from the life he'd finally found peace in and thrust into a world where he didn't belong?

He paused at the edge of the road, staring out at the golden fields stretching toward the horizon. Somewhere out there was a truth he needed to find. Somewhere was the answer to why his life had unraveled like this. But until he found it, he was trapped between two worlds—one he couldn't return to, and one he couldn't fully accept.

As he walked into his farm, Pete looked up at the setting sun, its golden rays spilling over the farm like liquid amber. The sight was peaceful, serene, and for a moment, he let himself feel the stillness. "In a way," Pete murmured to himself, "this isn't a bad life. It feels like I've been given a fresh start. The people here don't hate me, and the farm… the farm is thriving. But…" His voice broke slightly, and his shoulders sagged. "I just miss her. Not this Popuri, but the one I was going to start a family with. The one who…" He trailed off, staring into the horizon as memories of Flowerbud Village tugged at his heart.

"Pete," a familiar voice called softly, breaking his reverie.

Startled, Pete turned to see Elli standing a few feet behind him, holding a woven basket in her hands. Her face was warm, but there was a hint of concern in her eyes.

"Elli?" Pete straightened up, masking his inner turmoil. "What's the matter?"

Elli tilted her head slightly, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Did you forget? We have a date night tonight. Our favorite show is coming on soon." She then holds the basket up and said, "Look, I made us some dinner!"

Pete blinked, the realization hitting him like a jolt. In all his frantic searching for answers and his quiet despair over Popuri, he'd completely forgotten about the life he was supposed to be living here. In this world, he wasn't a grieving farmer or a lost soul; he was Elli's boyfriend, someone she cared about deeply.

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. "Ah… yeah, about that." He paused, searching for the right words. "Listen, Elli, I'm not feeling so great right now. I think I might need a rain check on tonight."

Elli's expression shifted, a mix of surprise and concern crossing her face. "You're not feeling well? What's wrong?" She stepped closer, her voice softening. "Is it something you ate? Did you overwork yourself again?"

"No, no, it's nothing like that," Pete said quickly, raising a hand to reassure her. "I've just been… a little overwhelmed lately. That's all. I think I just need some rest."

Elli studied him closely, her lips pressed together as if debating whether or not to believe him. Finally, she nodded, though the worry in her eyes lingered. "Alright, but promise me you'll actually rest. You've been acting a little off these past days, and I don't want you pushing yourself too hard."

Pete forced a small smile. "I promise."

Elli held his gaze for a moment longer, then sighed and adjusted the basket in her arms. "Okay. But if you're still feeling this way tomorrow, come by the clinic, alright? Doctor Trent can check you out, just to be safe."

"Deal," Pete said, grateful for her understanding.

With a hesitant smile, Elli turned and began walking back toward the town, her steps light but her shoulders weighed down with concern. Pete watched her retreating figure, the guilt inside him twisting tighter with every step she took. He knew Elli cared about him—he could see it in the way she looked at him, in the gentle way she spoke. But was it fair to keep her at arm's length while he wrestled with his own turmoil?

More than that, how could he give her the love she deserved when his heart still ached for the life he'd lost? How could he even begin to offer her something real when he didn't truly know her?

This wasn't the Elli he remembered. The Elli he knew back in Flowerbud Village had been a cheerful baker with a fondness for sweets, her laughter often mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread. She spent her free time fishing by the river, a fishing rod in one hand and a bag of her favorite treats in the other. That Elli was like sunshine—warm, open, and endlessly kind.

But this Elli was different. She wasn't a baker; she was a nurse, calm and composed in her crisp uniform. In truth, Pete didn't really know her at all. She was a stranger—someone he had technically only just met a couple of days ago, even if this world insisted they were in a long-term relationship.

Pete sighed and looked back at the farmhouse, the twilight casting long shadows over the fields. He wasn't sure if it was his guilt for misleading Elli or his longing for the past, but his chest felt unbearably heavy. How could he possibly make sense of all this? One Elli was part of a life he'd lost, while this Elli was part of a life he didn't yet understand, one that seemed to expect him to be someone he wasn't sure he could be.

"For now," he told himself, he could only do what he'd always done—tend to the farm, keep moving forward, and try to find some way to reconcile the man he used to be with the stranger he was now.