It happened on a Tuesday.
The kind of day that looked harmless. Pale sky. Soft breeze. Nothing dramatic enough to warn anyone.
Yuna was halfway through folding laundry when her mother called her name.
"Yuna."
The tone mattered.
She walked into the living room. Her father was there too, standing instead of sitting. That was never a good sign.
Her mother held her phone. "We've finalized everything."
Yuna already knew what everything meant.
"The move," her father said quietly. "The tickets are booked."
Silence filled the room, thick and heavy.
Her mother continued, gently, almost apologetically.
"We leave on August 28. Early morning."
The date landed like a bruise.
August 28.
So close it felt unreal. So far it felt unreachable.
Yuna nodded. Once. That was all she could manage.
She didn't tell Ren or Mio that day.
She couldn't.
Instead, she met them by the river like always.
Ren skipped stones across the water, counting softly under his breath. Mio sat on the railing, swinging her legs.
Yuna smiled when they looked at her.
It was convincing.
Too convincing.
That night, Ren noticed.
He always did.
"You're quieter," he said as they walked home. "What happened?"
Yuna stopped.
The streetlight above them flickered once, then steadied.
"We're leaving," she said. "My family. We're moving."
Ren froze.
"When?"
She swallowed. "August 28."
The number hung between them.
Mio's breath caught. "That's… that's really soon."
Yuna nodded. "I didn't want to ruin today."
Ren laughed once. Sharp. Disbelieving.
"As if that's possible."
He turned away, running a hand through his hair.
"So that's it?" he asked. "You just disappear?"
"No," Yuna said quickly. "I just—"
"You just waited," he cut in. "Until it was too close to argue."
That hurt more than she expected.
Mio stepped forward. "Ren. Stop."
He didn't look at her.
"I thought we had time," he said quietly. "I really did."
Yuna felt tears threaten but forced them back.
"So did I."
Later, alone in his room, Ren stared at the calendar on his wall.
August.
Twenty-eight circled in red.
He grabbed a marker and circled it again. Harder.
"No," he muttered.
Not like this.
Somewhere else, Mio sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest.
She whispered to the empty room,
"Why does everything leave when I finally stop hurting?"
And Yuna lay awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing one thing for sure:
The countdown had officially begun.