The next morning felt lighter.
Not dramatically different, but lighter.
Yuna noticed it when she woke up. The room didn't feel quite as unfamiliar. The sunlight through the window looked warmer, softer against the walls.
Maybe it was the call from last night.
Maybe it was just time doing its quiet work.
She stretched and checked her phone.
No new messages yet.
But that was okay.
Back home, Ren had fallen asleep later than usual. After the call, he stayed on the pier long after Aio and Mio had left, listening to the ocean and replaying Yuna's voice in his mind.
He woke to the sound of his alarm and the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen.
For the first time in days, he didn't immediately reach for his phone.
Not because he didn't want to.
Because he knew she was still there.
At school, Yuna found Hana waiting by the gates.
"You look less like you're about to run away today," Hana said.
"Was it that obvious?"
"Painfully."
They walked inside together.
Classes passed faster this time. Yuna answered questions without second-guessing herself. She even laughed when Hana made quiet jokes during math.
During lunch, they sat under the same courtyard tree.
"You're thinking about someone again," Hana said suddenly.
Yuna blinked. "How do you know?"
"You smile at your phone."
Yuna looked down at it.
Ren had texted.
Ren: Guess what Aio did today.
She typed back.
Yuna: Something stupid?
Ren: Extremely.
She laughed softly.
Hana watched her with curiosity but didn't push.
Meanwhile, Ren sat at a small outdoor table near the pier with Aio and Mio.
"Why are you smiling like that?" Aio asked suspiciously.
"I'm not."
"You are."
Mio sipped her drink. "Let him be happy."
Ren ignored them and typed another message.
Ren: The vending machine ate his money again.
Yuna responded instantly.
Yuna: Karma.
The simple exchange felt natural.
Effortless.
But later that evening, when Yuna walked home alone, something tugged gently at her chest.
She stopped near the beach and watched the waves.
The ocean here was bigger.
Louder.
But it didn't feel like their ocean.
And suddenly she understood something she hadn't fully admitted before.
Missing someone wasn't always painful.
Sometimes it was quiet.
A soft ache that appeared when the sky turned orange.
Or when laughter faded and the walk home grew silent.
Back home, Ren stood on the pier again, staring at the same sunset.
The same colors stretched across the water.
He imagined her somewhere under that sky.
Different view.
Same moment.
He whispered it without thinking.
"Don't forget."
Miles away, Yuna looked up at the fading light.
And whispered the same thing.
"Don't forget."
Summertimes were coming.
And the feeling of missing someone wasn't a weakness.
It was proof that something mattered enough to carry with you—no matter how far you went.