Day 85.
The first time I fell for her,she didn't notice.
She was running across the courtyard,hair tied in a crooked ponytail,lunchbox swinging in one hand,and a bright smear of ink on her cheek.
She smiled at a teacher, tripped over a bench, laughed at herself,then ran up the stairs like nothing happened.
And I remember thinking:
"She's chaos.But she's mine."
Now I'm falling all over again—and this time,she doesn't even know I exist.
"Do you want to eat lunch together?" I asked.
Aoi blinked at me.Then nodded, like I was just a kind classmate.
We sat on the rooftop.I gave her melon bread.
"Thanks," she said."Do you… always eat up here?"
"Only when it rains," I lied.(It wasn't raining.)
She looked at me for a long time.
"…You feel familiar," she said.
My throat caught.
"You too," I replied.
Day 84.
We passed each other in the hallway.She smiled.
Not the smile I once knew—the one that remembered jokes, and songs, and secrets.
But a polite, hesitant smile.
A beginning.
Later, she tapped my shoulder in class and asked,
"Have we talked before?"
I laughed gently.
"A couple times."
Day 83.
I showed her the music box again.
"It's pretty," she said. "Did someone give it to you?"
I shook my head.
"No. It… reminded me of someone."
She tilted her head.
"I hope she was special."
"She is."
That night, I didn't cry.But I didn't sleep either.
I lay in bed, notebook on my chest,writing things I already knewbecause I was afraid of the day I wouldn't:
"She used to love me."
"Now, she's learning how to do it again."
"I don't know if I'll have enough time."
Day 82.
She ran up to me in the library.
"Ren!" she said, cheeks flushed.
I froze.
She said my name.
"You remembered?"
"I saw it in my notebook," she smiled. "You wrote it in the corner."
A pause.
"…I'm glad I did."
And for the first time in days,hope didn't feel like a lie.