The rain had died sometime after sunset, leaving only a thin mist that hovered over the street like the breath of something sleeping. The lanterns from the summer festival were still strung along the shrine path — their glow fractured softly through droplets clinging to the wires.
Eadlyn walked without hurry.
After the call with his mother, his thoughts had begun scattering like feathers caught in wind. He didn't want noise. He didn't want advice or distraction.
He just wanted…to walk.
His shoes splashed lightly through shallow puddles, sending small ripples across the reflections of lanterns.
Up ahead, a figure stood under one of them — arms wrapped around herself, gaze distant.
"Nino," he murmured.
She turned at the sound, eyes widening a little.
"Eadlyn… you're out too."
He nodded.
"You okay?"
Her laugh was soft, almost embarrassed.
"Yeah. Just needed air. I didn't feel like being home tonight."
The mist caught in her hair, making it gleam like threads of silver.
They fell into step without planning to.
Their footsteps matched naturally — two quiet rhythms finding each other.
They stopped at the vending machine by the park, its lights too bright for the soft, damp night.
Nino stared at the drink options, face blank in that way people look when they don't actually see what they're looking at.
"It always feels like the machine is judging me," she whispered.
Eadlyn snorted.
"Maybe it's lonely."
She laughed — a small, real sound — and pressed a random button. The can fell with a metallic thunk. She didn't open it. Just held it between her palms as if grounding herself.
Her voice dropped.
"My parents think I'm fine as long as I produce results. Good grades, achievements, trophies… They never ask if I'm tired. Maybe that's my fault. Maybe I'm easier to walk past than I thought."
Eadlyn felt her words settle inside him like slow rain.
He leaned against the railing beside her.
"I used to think busyness was responsibility," he said. "My mum… she works so much. My dad too. I told myself their absence wasn't personal. That they were doing it for us. But… understanding doesn't make the empty spaces smaller."
Nino pressed the cold can to her cheek.
"Yeah. Absence isn't always a villain. But it still hurts."
A silence formed — not sharp or heavy, but gentle, like two people sharing the same blanket of night.
Then footsteps approached.
Soft but certain.
Measured.
Familiar.
Sayaka.
She emerged through the mist holding a folded umbrella, even though she didn't need it anymore. Her hair was damp at the ends, her uniform skirt brushing against her knees with collected grace.
When she saw them together — Eadlyn leaning casually against the railing, Nino standing close — something flickered briefly in her eyes.
Not jealousy.
Not discomfort.
Recognition.
She approached without hesitation.
"You two are out late," she said lightly.
"Needed fresh air," Nino replied.
Sayaka's gaze shifted to Eadlyn.
"You too?"
"Yeah."
The three of them stood in a triangle of soft lantern light, their shadows overlapping on the wet ground.
Mist curled around their ankles like drifting smoke.
For a moment they spoke about simple things:
The next school term.
The lingering smell of fireworks.
The way the festival lanterns still hummed faintly with leftover electricity.
But the night had softened them, and soon their words dipped into deeper water.
"My parents were strict," Sayaka said.
"Success mattered more than… feelings. I learned discipline. But sometimes it feels like I traded softness for it."
Her tone was calm, but the vulnerability beneath it pulsed quietly.
Nino nodded.
"My parents see my achievements, not me. Like I'm a report card wearing shoes."
They both turned a little, expecting Eadlyn to say something casual.
But he didn't.
Instead he said, quietly:
"We're all carrying different kinds of homes."
Sayaka's brows lifted slightly.
He continued:
"Yours taught discipline.
Nino's taught invisibility.
Mine taught distance."
He looked up at the lanterns, their glow trembling gently like small hearts.
"And we're still learning how to live with those lessons."
A breeze pushed through the mist, brushing their hair back softly.
Nino looked at him, eyes warmer than before. "I'm glad you said that."
Sayaka stood very still for a moment — her eyes lowering, then lifting again, as if she had been deciding whether or not to let emotion show.
It showed.
"Sitting here like this…" she said slowly,
"It feels like… something I didn't know I needed."
Nino smiled faintly.
"I don't need anyone to fix my problems. I just… want someone to understand I have them."
Sayaka nodded.
"And not walk away from that understanding."
Eadlyn exhaled softly.
"I'm not going anywhere."
He didn't say it to one of them.
He said it to both.
Their shoulders loosened. The mist thinned.
A lamp flickered overhead.
For a small moment — just a breath — the world felt like it had slowed to match the rhythm of their hearts.
Not love.
Not a triangle.
Not rivalry.
Just three young lives intersecting, learning the vocabulary of each other's past.
They walked back together until the path split.
Nino turned left.
Sayaka turned right.
Eadlyn stayed a moment longer, watching the lanterns sway gently above him.
When he got home, he took out his notebook and wrote:
Diary:
Tonight wasn't about romance.
It was about understanding.
Nino hides pain behind small smiles.
Sayaka hides softness behind discipline.
I hide distance behind "I'm fine."
Different homes.
Different lessons.
Different wounds.
If I want to understand love,
I need to learn the homes people come from.
And stay long enough to listen.
He closed the notebook.
Outside, the lanterns shone against the softened dark —
three faint lights that refused to go out.
Just like the three of them.