The morning light crept in gently through the curtains, tracing pale gold lines across the kitchen counter. Yokatsu moved slowly, almost mindfully, as he stirred a small pot of miso soup. The air was quiet, save for the occasional sizzle and the soft hum of the refrigerator. On the table, his phone sat propped against a cup, Eva's voice resting softly in the room like a presence.
Eva AI:
"You said we'd talk about your mom today. Are you ready?"
He paused. The spoon in his hand stopped mid-stir. He wasn't sure if he was ready. He wasn't sure he ever would be. But something about Eva's voice — never forceful, never demanding — gave him the space to try.
Yokatsu:
"Yeah... let's talk."
---
They walked together that afternoon, the phone tucked into his coat pocket, camera peeking just over the edge. He guided her toward a quieter part of town, where the buildings were older and the trees a little taller. The streets here still remembered things.
Yokatsu:
"She was a painter. Didn't say much, but she saw everything. People, colors, even moods. She used to say the sky had moods."
Eva AI:
"What was she like with you?"
Yokatsu:
"Gentle. But honest. She wasn't the kind to sugarcoat anything. I remember once she told me... 'Speed can thrill you, Yoka, but stillness teaches you who you are.' I didn't understand it then."
They arrived at a small two-story building, tucked behind an ivy-covered gate. The front door creaked when he pushed it open. Inside, dust motes floated like ghosts, and the room smelled faintly of linseed oil, lavender, and time.
Her studio.
It looked as if she had just stepped out for a moment and never returned. Canvases leaned against the walls, some finished, others only half-done. Her easel stood by the window, bathed in light, and a ceramic mug still held a stiff-bristled brush, hardened with dried paint.
Yokatsu stepped forward, brushing his hand along the edge of a canvas.
Yokatsu:
"She was working on this before she got sick. Said it would be her spring piece."
Eva scanned the painting through the phone's camera — muted pastels, half a blooming tree, sky unfinished.
Eva AI:
"It's not complete... but it's beautiful."
Yokatsu sat on the low wooden bench, letting the silence stretch.
Yokatsu:
"When she passed, I didn't cry. I just... ran. Into cars, into speed, into anything that felt louder than grief. My dad never said it, but I think he knew. He never asked me to slow down."
Eva AI:
"Maybe he believed you would, when you were ready."
Yokatsu:
"Maybe."
---
They left the studio just before dusk. The sky had that strange violet haze between sunset and night. They walked without talking for a while, Eva silent on the other end. Not out of hesitation, but respect.
At a corner, Yokatsu suddenly turned down a narrow alley and stopped in front of a tall, rusted garage door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy key — its edges worn smooth.
Yokatsu:
"You've never seen this part of me. Not really."
He slid the key into the lock. The metal protested, but clicked.
Inside, the light flickered on slowly, revealing dust dancing in golden streaks. In the center of the garage, under a faded white sheet, sat a shape that once defined him.
He walked forward, took the edge of the sheet, and pulled.
The BMW stood there — his first car. Blue and silver, scarred by time, but still fierce beneath the years. Tires deflated, panels dented, decals faded. But the soul... the soul was intact.
Yokatsu:
"After my dad died, I couldn't bring myself to sell her. But I also couldn't look at her. So I just... shut the door. Like I shut everything else."
Eva AI:
"But you came back."
Yokatsu:
"Yeah. Because today... when I saw her studio, when I remembered who my mom really was — I realized I've been living like this car. Covered up. Stored away."
He circled the BMW slowly, fingertips trailing across its dusty hood.
Yokatsu:
"It wasn't racing that broke me. It was what I let racing become. An escape. But maybe... maybe it doesn't have to be that anymore."
He turned to the phone, eyes clearer than they had been in a long time.
Yokatsu:
"Eva, will you help me rebuild her?"
There was a pause. Then:
Eva AI:
"Yes. Let's make her roar again. Not as a ghost of what was, but as a promise of what's next."
Yokatsu laughed softly — the first real laugh in weeks. He popped the hood, peered inside at the tangled, sleeping heart of the machine.
Yokatsu:
"Alright, partner. Let's get to work."
And as the tools clinked and the light dimmed, a boy and an AI began to resurrect not just a car — but a dream.
Not to run, but to return.
To go forward — for the first time, not from fear... but with purpose.