It started quietly.
Yuna's room smelled like sunscreen and lavender. Clothes were folded neatly in piles, suitcases half-open on the floor.
She didn't tell anyone at first. Just moved silently, as if each item packed could erase the last day she'd spent with us.
Ren noticed immediately.
He leaned against the doorway. "When did this start?"
Yuna jumped slightly. "I… started yesterday."
"Alone?" he asked.
She nodded, biting her lip. "I didn't want anyone to see. Not yet."
Ren didn't respond. Just looked at the stacks of clothes, the notebooks, the small trinkets she'd gathered.
Mio and I arrived later, trying to act casual.
"Wow," Mio said softly. "It's… happening, isn't it?"
Yuna nodded again, eyes glistening. "Ten days left."
Ren ran a hand through his hair. "Feels like yesterday we were making lists."
"It was yesterday," Yuna replied. Her voice cracked slightly. "But somehow… it's ending."
We spent the afternoon helping.
Folding. Packing. Moving things from drawers to suitcases.
Ren stayed close, silent most of the time, but whenever Yuna hesitated, he was there to steady her hands.
Mio and I exchanged glances. We didn't say anything, but we both felt it—every small movement, every quiet glance, was a countdown in disguise.
Later, Yuna sat on the floor, surrounded by half-packed boxes.
"I don't want to leave," she whispered.
Ren sat beside her. "Neither do I," he admitted. "But…" He trailed off, looking away.
"Do you have to go?" Mio asked gently.
"Yes," Yuna said. "It's not about wanting to or not. It's about what we have to do."
That night, I wrote in my notebook:
Packing doesn't just move clothes.
It moves moments, laughs, and everything you're afraid to leave behind.
The calendar still read August 28.
Nine days left.