The morning sun filtered through thin curtains, casting soft grids of light across the tatami. Eadlyn woke earlier than usual, not because of excitement, but because his thoughts refused to sleep in.
School reopened tomorrow.
That fact hovered in his mind like a bookmarked sentence—one he kept returning to even if he hadn't finished reading the page before it.
Downstairs, Grandmother hummed while rinsing rice. Grandfather polished his glasses with a cloth worn thin at the corners. Their gestures were gentle, practiced—superstitions built into habit.
"You have today," Grandmother said without turning, as if reading him from the sound of his footsteps.
"Use it thoughtfully, not restlessly."
He smiled faintly. "I will."
Breakfast tasted like comfort: tamagoyaki slightly sweeter than usual, miso broth light and soft. Grandmother cooked like she was fortifying him for something, and in a way, she was.
He slipped on his shoes and stepped outside.
The air was warm, with a faint breeze that hinted at autumn's distant promise. The street felt calmer than it had in days—festival lanterns removed, stalls dismantled, the hum of summer fading like a story reaching its epilogue.
He didn't know where he was walking until he arrived at the foot of the hill leading to the shrine.
Sayaka stood there.
Not dressed up. Not poised. Just… herself. Hands in pockets of a light cardigan, hair loose around her shoulders.
"You're early," she said.
"You too," he replied.
They climbed the stone steps together. No race, no hurry. Sayaka let her fingers glide over the railing, as if reacquainting herself with something she had touched since childhood.
Halfway up, she said quietly,
"I used to be excited for the first day of school."
"What changed?"
"Responsibility," she answered with a wry smile.
"Council work. Expectations. People watching every move I make."
He thought about that. About the way she carried herself—so composed it almost felt rehearsed. As if she wore stillness like armor.
"Do you ever wish you could switch off all of that?" he asked.
Sayaka looked up at the canopy of trees, the sunlight flickering like soft gold above them.
"Not switch off," she said.
"Just… choose when it matters."
She glanced at him then, a rare softness in her expression.
"I envy people who live freely. Who don't need a script."
He smiled. "You think I live freely?"
"Not freely," she corrected.
"But openly. You don't hide your thoughts. You ask questions. You notice people."
Her gaze dropped then.
"Maybe I… want to learn that."
It wasn't a confession.
It was an admission—quiet, honest, vulnerable.
But before he could respond, a voice called out from behind them.
"Eadlyn?"
Nino stood at the bottom of the stairs, slightly breathless. Her ponytail swayed with each step as she climbed up.
"I figured I'd find you here," she said with a soft smile. "You always walk the same roads when you're thinking."
He blinked.
"You followed my pattern?"
"I noticed it," she corrected. "There's a difference."
Sayaka's expression didn't change, but her eyes sharpened slightly—two tones of awareness layered together.
Nino moved to stand beside him, brushing her arm lightly against his.
Not deliberate.
But not accidental.
"So," she said cheerfully, "what are we doing on our last free day? Anything planned?"
Sayaka spoke first.
"He didn't plan anything. We just met here."
Nino's eyes flicked between them, her smile thinning before she forced it brighter again.
"Then let's decide together."
Silence stretched—long enough for the breeze to push a leaf across the stone step.
Eadlyn inhaled.
He hadn't expected the day to start like this—two girls standing on either side of him, each carrying different versions of the past and the future.
"I was just going to explore," he said. "Walk around. Clear my head."
"Great," Nino said instantly.
"I'll join."
Sayaka looked at them, then down at the path.
"I have council work later," she said softly.
"But… I'll walk with you for a while."
Her voice carried something unspoken:
I don't want to leave you alone with her.
But I won't say it out loud.
They walked down the steps together, three shadows stretching across the gravel.
Nino kept the conversation active—asking about clubs, about his mother, about school plans.
Sayaka listened more than she spoke.
But when she did speak, her words always hit the right depth.
It felt like standing between sunlight and shade—warmth on one side, calm coolness on the other.
At the vending machine near the park, Nino stopped.
"Same machine," she said with a small grin.
"Feels symbolic."
Sayaka raised an eyebrow.
"Symbolic of what?"
Nino tilted her head.
"Crossroads, maybe?"
Eadlyn didn't miss the pointed look she gave Sayaka.
Sayaka didn't flinch.
She stepped closer to the machine, pressed a button, and caught the drink precisely as it dropped.
"Crossroads aren't places to stay," she said quietly.
"They're places to decide how you'll walk forward."
Nino's smile faltered.
Just a little.
They continued walking until they reached the footbridge near the old bookshop.
Sayaka stopped there.
"I need to go," she said, brushing dust from her sleeve.
"Council meeting."
It wasn't a lie.
But it wasn't the whole truth either.
She hesitated.
Looked at him.
Then added,
"Don't forget what you said yesterday."
He blinked.
"What part?"
"That love is about noticing."
Her voice softened.
"Hold onto that."
Then she walked away.
Nino exhaled a breath she'd been holding too long.
"She likes you," she said bluntly.
He didn't answer.
Because he wasn't sure how to define what Sayaka felt.
"And you notice her," Nino added, softer this time.
"Maybe more than you think."
He stared at the ripples under the bridge.
"I'm trying to understand people," he said.
"Not choose between them."
Nino nodded slowly.
"I get that. I'm not asking for anything."
Then she said something he didn't expect:
"But don't forget to notice yourself too."
Her voice trembled.
"You matter in this story too, Ead."
The day stretched into a slow, thoughtful afternoon.
When he returned home, he opened his notebook and wrote:
Diary:
Tomorrow begins everything.
New relationships.
New tensions.
New lessons.
I'm not scared.
But I'm not ready either.
Maybe that's what growing feels like.
Stay tuned in>