Chapter 26: Overlapping Memories (Part 1)

The morning sun cast its golden light over Pete's farm as he worked tirelessly in the fields, a routine that had become second nature. His shirt clung to his back as he bent to pull weeds from the soil, the sound of his watering can filling the quiet air. The farm, vibrant with growing crops, had become his sanctuary—where his thoughts often ran free, but today, his mind was calm.

As he wiped the sweat from his brow and straightened his back, Pete spotted a figure approaching from the dirt road leading into his farm. The unmistakable pink hair flowing in the gentle breeze gave her away before she was even close. Popuri.

She waved with a bright, cheery smile, walking with the confidence of someone who wasn't used to being turned away. Her shoes kicked up small clouds of dust as she stepped onto his field.

"Morning, Pete!" she called out.

Pete leaned on his hoe and offered a polite nod. "Morning, Popuri. What brings you here? Need milk? Pineapples? Or just came to say hi?"

Popuri stopped a few feet away, folding her hands behind her back and rocking on her heels, her expression light but unreadable. "Actually, neither. I wanted to ask you for a favor."

Pete raised an eyebrow, already suspicious of her playful tone. "A favor?"

Popuri nodded and then glanced around as though checking for eavesdroppers. When she was satisfied, she leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Can you meet me by the hot springs later today?"

Pete blinked, caught off guard by the sudden and random request. "The hot springs?" he repeated, his confusion evident.

She smiled, tilting her head slightly. "Yeah. There's something I want to talk to you about, and…well, it's just better if we talk there."

He paused, unsure of what to make of her odd invitation. This Popuri wasn't someone he knew well, but he at least knew that she wasn't the type to be secretive. At least, not in his experience. Still, there was something in her tone—a mix of mischief and sincerity—that piqued his curiosity.

After a moment, Pete gave her a nod. "Alright, I'll meet you there."

Her smile widened, and she clapped her hands together. "Great! I'll see you this afternoon, then."

Before he could ask any follow-up questions, Popuri spun around and headed back the way she'd come, her pink hair bouncing with each step.

Pete watched her go, still bewildered by the encounter. As he returned to his work, he couldn't shake the feeling that whatever Popuri wanted to talk about wasn't going to be as simple as it sounded.

He sighed, gripping the hoe a little tighter. "This town gets stranger by the day," he muttered to himself. But as the sun climbed higher in the sky, Pete found himself looking forward to the meeting, curiosity gnawing at the edges of his thoughts.

That afternoon, the forest trail leading to the hot springs was quiet except for the sound of Pete's boots crunching against the dirt path. The air was warm but pleasant, and the soft rustle of leaves added a calming backdrop as he approached the springs. When the trees thinned, he spotted Popuri standing near the pond, her pink hair catching the light like a beacon against the green.

At her feet sat a small woven basket, its contents hidden beneath a checkered towel. Popuri's cheerful smile brightened as Pete walked closer, though her clasped hands behind her back hinted at mischief.

"You made it," she said, her voice light and welcoming.

Pete nodded, stopping a few steps away. He glanced at the basket and raised an eyebrow. "I'm here. What's this all about, Popuri? You're being… a little mysterious."

Popuri tilted her head playfully. "First, I wanted to properly thank you for helping my mom the other day. I didn't get the chance to do it right at the clinic."

Pete shrugged, his expression softening. "You're welcome. But if that's all, you could've just said it back at the farm. No need for all this suspense."

Her smile widened as she crouched to pick up the basket. "Well, that's not all." She reached inside and pulled out a small package, carefully wrapped in wax paper. "I wanted to give you something. A proper thank-you."

Pete's curiosity spiked. "A gift?"

She nodded, holding it out to him, her grin unwavering. "Go ahead, open it."

Taking the package, Pete carefully unwrapped the wax paper. With each layer, a wave of curiosity—and something he couldn't quite name—built in his chest. Finally, the contents were revealed, and Pete froze. In his hands sat a strawberry dog. The hotdog, expertly covered in spiced strawberry jam to blend savory and sweet seamlessly, looked almost too perfect. His breath caught, his voice coming out as a whisper. "Where did you get this?"

Popuri giggled, crossing her arms with pride. "I made it myself."

"You… made it?" Pete's tone was a mix of disbelief and wonder. His thoughts raced back to Flowerbud Village, where his wife—his Popuri—had invented this strange recipe. It had been her signature recipe, something uniquely her's. And yet, here it was in his hands, made by this Popuri. How she knew how to make it was a mystery.

Popuri tilted her head, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. "You don't like it?"

Pete blinked, shaking off the whirlwind of memories. "No, I— It's not that. It's just… How did you—" He stopped himself, not sure how to finish the question.

Pete stared at Popuri, his fingers still holding the strawberry dog as her words sunk in. He blinked, unsure how did this happen. He wants to ask her a hundred more questions, but he is almost too scared to ask.

"You're telling me… you came up with this, all on your own?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Popuri laughed, her hands clasping behind her back. "Pretty much! It wasn't exactly easy to figure out, you know. At first, it didn't even make sense. Why would anyone combine strawberries and a hotdog? But Elli asked me about it, and the moment she said the words strawberry dog, it got stuck in my head like an itch I couldn't scratch."

Pete tilted his head, intrigued. "Elli asked you about it? Why?"

Popuri shrugged, a puzzled look crossing her face. "Elli asked me if I know anything about strawberry dogs, and that you have been eating them. When she told me it was some kind of food, I thought it would be the grossest thing imaginable. But then… I don't know. It was like a memory or a dream. Something about it felt familiar, but I couldn't figure out why."

Pete's grip on the strawberry dog tightened. A memory? Familiar? His heart skipped a beat, but he said nothing, letting Popuri continue.

"So," Popuri continued, leaning forward with the animated energy of a storyteller, "I started messing around in the kitchen. My first idea was to make some kind of strawberry dessert—like a pastry. I sliced a piece of cake like a hotdog bun, filled it with strawberries and whipped cream. And you know what? It was good. Really good. But it didn't feel right. Like I was chasing the wrong idea. I kept thinking, this isn't it."

Pete's lips tugged into a small smile. "So you tried again?"

"Of course!" Popuri declared, puffing out her chest as if the mere memory of her determination gave her strength. Her pink eyes glittered with playful fire. "I wasn't going to let it go. After a few more, uh… questionable desserts, I thought, what if it's savory instead of sweet? That's when I swapped the strawberries for a hotdog. And, well…" She shuddered with mock horror. "It was disgusting. Like, gag-worthy."

Pete chuckled, unable to resist. "You don't say."

Popuri wagged a finger at him, though the corners of her lips betrayed her amusement. "Go ahead, laugh. But I wasn't about to quit. I mean, if someone thought it was a good idea, there had to be a way to make it work. So I kept tweaking things."

Her expression softened, brows furrowing in concentration as she retraced the steps aloud. "I tried strawberry jam on the hotdog. Replaced the bun with regular bread. Then I thought, what if the jam not just sweet? What if it's spiced? That's when I started mixing the strawberry jam with cinnamon and cloves. And…" A slow grin spread across her face. "That's when things started to click."

"And then you just… figured it out?" Pete asked, his voice quieter now, as though speaking louder might break the strange spell her story had cast over him.

Popuri grinned, placing her hands on her hips. "Yep. I knew I got it right when it stopped tasting weird and started tasting… I don't know, special. Like the savory and sweet were finally working together. I couldn't believe it actually turned out okay. But even after all that, I still don't know why I had to make it. It was like… like I already knew how, deep down, and I just had to pull it out of my head somehow."

Pete stared at her, his thoughts a tangled mess. What Popuri described was almost uncanny—eerily similar to the memories of Flowerbud Village he'd been holding onto. Back there, his wife had invented the strawberry dog in much the same way: trial and error, experimentation, and an almost inexplicable determination to make it work. At least that was what she told him.

And now, here Popuri was, standing in front of him, recounting the same story without even knowing its significance.

As the two settled on a patch of soft grass near the bubbling hot springs, the afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the tranquil scene. Popuri leaned back on her hands, her pink hair catching the light, while Pete unwrapped the rest of the strawberry dog, the sweet and savory scent wafting up to him. He took a cautious bite, the flavors bursting on his tongue. For a moment, he closed his eyes. It was exactly the same—down to the delicate balance of cinnamon and cloves. His chest tightened, a flood of bittersweet memories threatening to overwhelm him.

Popuri tilted her head, watching his expression with curiosity. "Well? How is it?"

Pete opened his eyes, forcing himself to swallow the lump in his throat along with the bite of food. He managed a smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's… perfect."

Popuri perked up at that. "So, where did you get strawberry dogs?"

Pete hesitated, his grip tightening on the wax paper. He couldn't tell her the truth—that his wife in another timeline, a version of her, had created this recipe. It was too strange, too impossible to explain. So he crafted a softer lie, one that wasn't entirely untrue.

"An old friend of mine used to make them. Back when I was younger," he said finally.

Popuri sat forward, intrigued. "Oh? What kind of friend? Were they a cook or something?"

Pete hesitated again, his gaze drifting toward the water. He could hear the faint bubbling of the springs, the soothing sound grounding him as he chose his words carefully. "We were childhood friends. We grew up together. She loved flowers and strawberries." He smiled faintly, though the ache in his chest deepened.

Popuri's smile softened. "She sounds wonderful. What happened to her?"

Pete froze, the question hitting him harder than he'd expected. For a moment, he considered deflecting, brushing it off as a story for another time. But when he looked at Popuri, her expression wasn't prying or impatient. She just… cared.

"She died," Pete said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "When we were kids."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy and unshakable. Popuri's cheerful demeanor faded as she saw the shadow cross Pete's face. Without thinking, she leaned closer, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry," she said softly. "Was she someone important to you?"

Pete nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground. "Yeah. She was."

Popuri stayed quiet for a moment, her hand still resting on his shoulder. She didn't push for more, didn't ask for details. Instead, she gave him a comforting squeeze, her presence grounding him in a way he hadn't expected.

"You know," she said after a long pause, her voice warm and steady, "when someone leaves us, it doesn't mean they're really gone. If she made something like this, something that stayed with you all this time… that means a part of her is still with you, doesn't it?"

Pete glanced at her, surprised by the wisdom in her words. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, he looked down at the strawberry dog in his hands, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips.

"Yeah," he said finally, his voice steady. "I guess you're right."

Popuri beamed at him, her hand dropping back to her lap. "See? That's the magic of food. It brings people together—even the ones we've lost."

Pete chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You're wiser than you let on, you know that?"

"Don't let that get around," Popuri teased, leaning back with a grin. "I've got a reputation to uphold."

Pete laughed, the sound lighter than it had been all day. "I think I heard Kai say something like that.

Popuri's mood shifts as she looks away. "Please don't bring up that jerk!"

Pete chuckles, "Sorry about that."

After Pete finished the strawberry dog and exchanged farewells with Popuri, the two parted ways. Pete headed back toward his farm, the memory of their conversation lingering in his mind, while Popuri made her way home. The sky had turned a soft shade of twilight, the stars just beginning to twinkle against the fading blue.

When Popuri stepped through the door of her home, the familiar scent of her mother's herbs greeted her. The house was warm and inviting, but she felt a strange heaviness settle over her. She sighed, rubbing her temples as a faint throb began to pulse in her head.

"Popuri? Are you all right?" Lillia's gentle voice broke through the quiet. She was seated by the small living room table, sorting through a tray of dried herbs. Her pale face, though worn from years of illness, was filled with concern as she looked up at her daughter.

Popuri offered a small smile, though she continued to rub at her temples. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a little headache."

Lillia set down her herbs and motioned for Popuri to sit beside her. "You've been so busy lately. Are you sure you're not overdoing it?"

"It's not that," Popuri said as she took a seat, her fingers still pressing lightly against her temples. "It's… something else."

Lillia frowned, tilting her head. "What do you mean?"

Popuri hesitated, her gaze falling to the wooden floor. "I've been having these strange dreams," she admitted, her voice quieter now. "They're not like normal dreams. They feel… different. Like I'm living another life in another place. Everything seems so real, like I'm not just dreaming—it's like I've been there before."

Lillia reached out, cupping Popuri's cheek with a tender hand. "Dreams can be strange that way," she said, her tone soothing. "But that's all they are, Popuri—dreams. They're not real, and they don't mean anything. You shouldn't let them trouble you."

Popuri leaned into her mother's touch, finding comfort in her warmth. "I know... you're right," she said softly, "but I can't stop thinking about them. They feel so vivid, so important, like they're trying to tell me something."

Lillia smiled gently, brushing a strand of hair from Popuri's face. "You've always had such a vivid imagination," she said with a hint of nostalgia. "But sometimes our minds play tricks on us, especially when we're stressed or tired. Don't let it weigh on you, sweetheart. You're here, with me, with our family. That's what's real."

Popuri nodded, managing a small smile in return. "Thanks, Mom. You're right. I guess I just need to stop overthinking."

Lillia gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. "That's my girl. Now, why don't you rest for a bit? You've had a busy day."

Popuri agreed, but as she retreated to her room and lay down on her bed, her mind refused to quiet. The dreams returned to her thoughts like ripples in a pond, impossible to ignore. She couldn't shake the sense that they weren't just dreams—that they were fragments of something more, pieces of a puzzle she didn't yet understand.

Staring at the ceiling, she whispered to herself, "If they're not real, then why do they feel like a memory?"

The question lingered in her mind as her eyes slowly closed, and the echoes of her dreams followed her into the night.