The applause of graduation day faded, replaced by the quiet reality of the summer stretching out before us. High school was over. Our familiar world was gone. And the future we had debated, planned for, and dreaded was now imminent. Sakura was heading to Todai, I was heading to my university a few hours away, and the promise to make 'us' work across the miles felt both powerful and terrifyingly real.
The first few weeks of summer were a strange mix of freedom and lingering goodbyes. We spent time with Kenji and Aiko, cherishing our final moments as a high school group. There were farewell dinners, casual hangouts, and shared reflections on the crazy year we'd had.
"Can you guys believe it?" Kenji asked one evening, as we sat on the rooftop that held so many memories. "A year ago, this club was dying, Hiroshi was average-er, and Sakura Yamato was a goddess on a pedestal. Now look at us. Graduated. Facing... adulting."
"And a long-distance relationship," Aiko added softly, her gaze thoughtful.
"Yeah, that part's still wild," Kenji admitted, looking at me and Sakura. "You guys are really doing this?"
"We are," Sakura said firmly, taking my hand. Her resolve was still there, a quiet strength.
"It won't be easy," I added honestly.
"Nothing with you two ever is," Kenji grinned, lightening the mood. "But hey, you figure things out. Just promise you'll visit! Both of you! My mom's already planning your welcome-back dinners."
We promised. Saying goodbye to Kenji and Aiko felt like saying goodbye to a piece of the comfortable familiarity of high school, to the people who had been our anchors and our witnesses. Their belief in us, though, was a portable anchor we could carry into the future.
The focus then shifted to preparing for our individual moves. Packing up my room, sorting through books and belongings that represented my high school self, felt symbolic. I was packing not just my things, but the life I had lived, the person I had been before stepping into this new phase.
I helped Sakura pack some of her things too. Her room, usually so pristine, was filled with boxes. Helping her fold clothes, pack books (many of which were far more advanced than mine), and decide what to take to Todai was a different kind of intimacy. It was seeing the practical side of her transition, the tangible reality of her leaving.
Her family was busy with preparations for her move, too. I saw Mr. Yamato occasionally when picking up Sakura. His nods were still reserved, but there was a subtle difference. Less assessment, more... observation. Perhaps a cautious acceptance that I was still in the picture, part of the background as his daughter prepared for her future.
Sakura's excitement about Todai was palpable, mixed with understandable nervousness. She talked about her dorm, her roommate, the classes she had registered for. Hearing her talk about this new world filled me with pride for her, but also amplified that quiet ache of the approaching physical distance.
"Just packing up my old life," I commented one evening, talking to Sakura on the phone as I folded clothes.
"Me too," she said softly. "It's strange, isn't it? Everything changing."
"Yeah," I agreed. "But... we're still us. Right?"
"Always, Hiroshi-kun," she said, her voice firm. "Always."
The summer was a countdown. A bittersweet period of final moments, practical preparations, and the growing reality that the next time we saw each other, it would be in a different city, under very different circumstances. The quiet aftermath of the graduation applause wasn't silent; it was filled with the rustle of packing tape, the hum of anticipation, and the steady beat of our hearts, ready to face the miles ahead, hand in hand, as we stepped out of the familiar into the great unknown. Our high school chapter was closed, and the first blank page of our long-distance story was about to be written.