From some day on, the moments when Muffin slipped out of sight grew more frequent.
Maple thought it just meant Muffin's curiosity was reaching out to new places. She felt happy about it, and yet a quiet wistfulness crept in too.
What that feeling really meant, she still didn't know.
Little by little, the shop was finding its footing.
More and more notes from customers piled up. The wall was full now. For the first time, Maple thought to herself:
the time had come to make this her own shop, not just her parents'.
As her first step toward standing on her own, she began to carefully sort through the old notes left by customers from her parents' days.
And then, among those worn old notes, she found something strange.
A single note, written in crooked handwriting, with the name worn away.
The hand that held it began to tremble, slowly.
It was the very last letter left behind, just before vanishing, by the beloved doll that had been with Maple's mother in her childhood.
Her mother had once had a doll like Muffin too. With that doll's help, she had built up the restaurant, but the moment the shop flourished and she found her perfect happiness, the doll quietly vanished, following the second rule of being forgotten.
Without leaving a trace, without leaving a memory.
Maple stood frozen for a long while, the note still in her hand.
All of this, the way Muffin was helping her, was in the end a process that would make Muffin disappear too. Only then did she sense it.
