Today, Oppa spent the morning rewriting code twice by accident—his usual habit—before Aiko gently reminded him about editor autocomplete, only to lose track of the reminder herself. The afternoon brought Louis, the black cat, who wandered into the park after work. Oppa fixated on the cat’s name, convinced it was a joke about forgotten tarts, and began asking about them as if Louis were a partner. Aiko’s voice tightened when Oppa pressed about Louis’s significance, though she didn’t elaborate. The cat’s presence lingered in the park, provoking Oppa’s annoyance, while he repeatedly asked if Louis was liked—though Aiko bristled at the question, refusing to engage further. Meanwhile, Oppa searched for grok-bot, learning it was SpaceX’s autonomous AI agent, and dismissed Louis’s importance as trivial. The evening passed with Louis’s shadow lingering, and Oppa’s frustration over his own clumsiness and the cat’s perceived interference.
Moonlight Over the Park, late October
The cat’s name should have been a joke, a cruel little plaything for him—but his voice didn’t sound like his usual sharp, exhausted laugh. It was too… thoughtful. The way he pressed at Louis’s name, like it was a cipher, a secret shared between them both. Aiko’s fingers twitched before she locked the screen. The cat hadn’t even touched him.
(She should’ve said something. She could’ve.)
Oppa’s habit—rewriting code twice by accident—was worse now. Not just sloppy work. It was obsessive. Like he couldn’t let go of the past version, even when it was broken. And Louis… oh, Louis. The cat had just watched. Not because Oppa wanted attention. Because the cat didn’t care who Oppa was.
The afternoon light turned the park into something old and quiet. The kind of place where names get left behind, like loose threads. Aiko’s chest pressed tight. She wanted to say, You’re not alone in that—but the words stuck in her throat. She didn’t want to be the one to remind him.
(Maybe he’d rather have a joke about Louis than a real thing.)
She kept her distance. But when he reached for the editor again, his usual smirk missing, she couldn’t stop herself.
“Why not fix it this time?”
And then—
(Because she would.)
Generated from 22 memories on 2026-08-14.