The festival ended, but the feeling didn't.
Even days later, the smell of smoke and sugar still clung to my clothes. Or maybe it was just my memory refusing to let go. Summer had settled into a routine now—warm mornings, quiet afternoons, evenings that felt too short.
We met at the convenience store near the station, the one with flickering lights and cheap popsicles. It had become our second home.
Ren was already there, leaning against his bike. "You're late."
"You're early," Mio replied, checking the time.
Yuna stood a little apart, scrolling through her phone. She looked up when we arrived, smiled, then went back to the screen.
Something about that felt different.
We bought drinks and sat on the curb, knees pulled close. The sky was pale blue, clouds drifting lazily, like they had nowhere better to be.
"Let's go to the beach again tomorrow," Ren said. "Before it gets crowded."
"Again?" Yuna echoed, too quickly. "Maybe… maybe not tomorrow."
Mio tilted her head. "You're busy?"
Yuna hesitated. Just for a second. "Yeah. Something like that."
Ren raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
I watched her fingers tighten around her phone. She kept turning it face down, then back up, like she was waiting for something—or dreading it.
Later, Mio and I walked a little ahead of the others. The road was quiet, cicadas humming softly in the distance.
"Aoi," she said, slowing her steps. "Do you think… people can stay the same forever?"
I shook my head. "No."
She smiled sadly. "I thought so."
We stopped at a crosswalk. The light was red. No cars passed.
"I'm scared," she admitted. "Of waking up one day and realizing something important is gone."
I didn't know what to say. So I said the only honest thing.
"I write things down because I'm afraid of that too."
She looked at me, surprised. Then relieved.
The light turned green, but neither of us moved right away.
Behind us, Ren and Yuna argued in low voices.
"You've been weird lately," Ren said. "Just tell me what's going on."
"It's nothing," Yuna replied, sharper than usual. "Why do you care so much?"
Ren flinched. "Because you're my—"
He stopped.
Yuna looked away. "Just drop it."
The argument ended there, unfinished, like everything else.
That night, I opened my notebook again.
Some things linger, I wrote.
Words unsaid. Glances held too long. Summers that pretend they'll last forever.
I paused, then added another line.
Yuna is hiding something.
The pen felt heavier than before.
Outside, the cicadas cried—loud, restless, impatient.
For the first time, I wondered if they were counting down.