Day 1 – 6:42 a.m.
Kazuki wakes up to silence.
No sizzling.
No electric kettle.
No Aya humming some awful 90s J-pop off-key in the kitchen.
He stumbles out.
The living room is clean.
Too clean.
A note on the fridge:
"Out of town. Don't wait. – A"
No heart. No exclamation. Not even a sarcastic "try not to die."
He stares at the note for a while.
It doesn't stare back.
Day 1 – 8:10 a.m. – School
Kokoro isn't in class either.
Sensei shrugs when Kazuki asks.
"Field trip, maybe."
He stares at her.
She's clearly lying.
She sips her iced coffee and dodges his questions with Olympic-level indifference.
Day 1 – 10:34 a.m.
Kazuki finds a pair of chopsticks in his bag.
Aya's handwriting is scrawled on the wrapper:
"For when you forget to eat again. Idiot."
He forgets to eat anyway.
Day 1 – 9:03 p.m. – Apartment
He microwaves instant curry.
It's awful.
Too spicy.
Too sad.
He opens the fridge and sees half a lemon. Aya left it because "you never know when lemon will save your soul."
She was always saying nonsense like that.
But now the lemon just looks abandoned.
Day 2 – 7:50 a.m.
No message.
He texts:
"You okay?"
No reply.
He types again.
Deletes it.
Wants to say:
"Come home."
Doesn't.
Day 2 – Lunchtime
Sensei corners him behind the gym.
"Let me guess," she says, arms crossed. "You realized too late that Aya is your anchor."
He opens his mouth.
She holds up a hand.
"Don't say anything. Let me enjoy this. It's not often I get to watch a hormonal protagonist stew in guilt without punching something."
He looks away.
She smirks.
"Do you know where she went?"
He shakes his head.
She sips from her thermos.
"I do."
Beat.
He looks up.
She smiles, tired.
"But I'm not telling you. You have to figure it out."
That night – Kazuki's Room
He sits with his notebook.
Blank pages stare at him.
He finally writes:
"I miss the sound of her toothbrush."
Then he closes it again.
Day 3 – After School
He walks home slowly.
Rain is light.
Soft drizzle.
The city feels quieter without her.
He passes the bakery they used to raid after class.
The lady there squints. "Where's the loud one?"
He doesn't answer.
Just buys the melon pan Aya liked.
Apartment – 6:00 p.m.
There's a box on the table.
Inside:
A new pair of socks (he kept stealing hers).
A single photo of them from last winter.
And a note:
"Stop waiting for the story to fix everything.Start writing your own ending."
It's in her handwriting.
But it didn't come in the mail.
She must've dropped it off when he wasn't home.
His chest feels tight.
Night – Kazuki walks
No umbrella.
No destination.
His thoughts are loud.
Too loud.
Every corner of the city has Aya's ghost laughing in it.
He ends up outside a coin laundry.
Sits under the awning.
Text in hand.
Again, he doesn't send it.
Until—
A voice behind him:
"That's very dramatic, you know."
He freezes.
Turns.
It's her.
Hair tied up.
Sweatshirt too big.
Holding a drink and staring at him like he's the idiot she left behind.
He stands.
Too fast.
Almost slips.
"…Aya."
She looks up at the sky.
"Did you figure it out yet?"
He says nothing.
Just walks forward.
Stands in front of her.
And finally says—
"…I want you to come home."
She tilts her head.
"Want me as your roommate?"
He steps closer.
"No. I want you to come home as you. Not the version who smiles so I won't feel guilty. Not the one who hides her hurt because I'm too slow to see it."
She stares.
He keeps going.
"I'm scared. Of choosing. Of losing. But I realized… when you left, I couldn't hear the story anymore. Because the story's not fun without you in it."
A long silence.
She exhales.
Takes a sip.
Then—
"Finally."
She smacks his forehead with her bottle.
"Ow—!"
"You took three days to figure out what Kokoro knew months ago. I was about to hire a skywriter."
"…Is Kokoro okay?"
Aya shrugs. "She needed space too."
He nods.
Then she looks at him.
Smiles—not teasing.
Just soft.
"It's not over, you know. Just because I'm back. You still have to choose."
"I know."
"You're still confused."
He nods.
She takes his hand.
"Then let's walk slow."
They walk back through the rain.
No umbrella.
Just one step at a time.
Together.