Graduation was supposed to feel like something—like closure, or a beginning. Yuu felt neither.
The hall was packed with the smell of fresh uniforms, wilting flowers, parents crying politely. Cameras clicked. Girls wiped away mascara tears. Boys joked loudly to hide the lump in their throats.
But there was no Rika.
He knew it the moment he walked in. Her absence wasn't quiet. It was glaring. He searched the room once. Then twice. No platform shoes, no bleached curls, no chewing gum. Not even her usual glitter-scented perfume.
Yuu didn't wait for his name to be called. He slipped out the side door and ran.
He checked the bubble tea shop first. The one where she always ordered something ridiculous with five toppings. Empty.
Then the arcade where she once made him play a dance battle against his will. She'd laughed so hard she cried. Empty.
Then the train station steps, where she used to sit alone, earbuds in, watching people pass like she was trying to guess their lives. Still empty.
It was only after an hour of frantic walking that he stopped. Stood still. Closed his eyes.
The rooftop.
Of course.
She was there, as if waiting to be found.
The city stretched behind her, a gray blur under heavy clouds. The wind played with the ends of her skirt and hair. A duffel bag sat next to her, half-zipped, bulging with clothes and a worn stuffed rabbit poking out.
She didn't turn when he opened the door.
"You missed your name," Yuu said, walking toward her.
"Did I?" Her voice was calm. "Oops."
"Rika."
She sat on the ledge like always, legs dangling over the edge. Like she wasn't afraid of falling. Like she wasn't afraid of anything.
"I can't do it," she said finally.
"Do what?"
"Keep pretending." Her voice was too even. That was always when she was hurting most. "I thought I could push through. Fake it till it got better. But it's not getting better, Yuu."
She looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were puffy but dry.
"My mom's getting worse. I found out I didn't get into any schools I applied to—because I didn't send the paperwork. Couldn't. She… she burnt it. Said I was better off staying home and 'being useful.'"
Yuu said nothing. Just stood close enough that she could feel he was there, but far enough to let her keep breathing.
"So I'm going," she said. "To Tokyo. I've got enough for a week in a capsule hotel. After that? Who knows. I'll figure it out."
He stepped forward. "You don't have to do this alone."
"Yes, I do." She swallowed. "Because I always have."
Her voice cracked, then steadied. "But… I didn't want to leave without saying goodbye."
He reached into his bag and pulled out a small envelope. Inside was a photo. One he'd taken of her laughing, head thrown back, eyes closed, sunlight hitting her just right. It was real. Unfiltered. Pure.
She stared at it for a long time. "You printed this?"
He nodded. "Thought you'd forget how beautiful you are."
She tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. "That's unfair. You can't say things like that and then let me go."
"I'm not letting you go," he said. "I'm just letting you choose."
She folded the photo carefully, tucked it into her coat pocket, and leaned her forehead against his chest. He held her there, arms around her, as if he could somehow hold the pieces of her together.
"I'm going to miss you so much," she whispered.
"I'll miss you every day."
For a moment, the world went quiet except for the wind.
Then she pulled back, eyes shining but clear. "I'll come back. When I've made something of myself. When I'm not just running."
"I'll be here," he said.
"Liar."
He smiled faintly. "Only a little."
He watched her walk away, duffel bag swinging behind her, head held high. The sky began to drizzle, but she didn't pull out an umbrella.
Yuu stayed on the rooftop long after she was gone.
The sun dipped below the clouds, painting the sky in soft amber.
And for the first time in a long time, he cried.
Not because she left.
But because he let her go.