When we finally stepped out of La Luna, the late afternoon sun had softened into a gentle gold. The streets glowed as if the world itself was trying to soothe whatever shadows lingered in my mind. Sumire walked beside me, her steps light but deliberate, matching my pace without saying a word.
It was strange, how silence with her did not feel empty. It felt safe.
We continued down the street until we reached a small park tucked between two rows of old apartment buildings. The place had not changed much since childhood. Same rickety swings. Same peeling paint on the slides. Same rusty fence that somehow still stood strong despite the years.
Sumire stopped near the entrance, her gaze drifting toward the swings. "Do you remember this place?"
I let out a soft breath. "Yeah. You always picked the left swing."
She blinked, almost startled. "You remember that?"
"Of course I do."
A hint of color touched her cheeks. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear and walked toward the swings as if pulled by an invisible thread. I followed, taking the right swing out of habit. The chains creaked softly when we sat down.
For a moment, we just swayed gently, letting the cool breeze brush past us.
"It feels smaller," she murmured, looking up at the fading sky. "Back then, everything looked so big. Even this park felt like its own little world."
"Maybe it still is," I replied. "Just not the same way it used to be."
She glanced at me, her expression unreadable. "You always say things like that. Like you are older than you actually are."
"Hey, I have been through stuff," I joked lightly.
But Sumire did not laugh. She leaned back slightly, her fingers lightly gripping the chains. "I know."
Those simple words hung in the air. She did not pry further, did not ask for explanations. She simply acknowledged it. And somehow, that meant more than any questions would have.
After a quiet pause, she turned her head slightly. "You seemed really lost back in the café."
"…Yeah."
"Is it because of those people you talked about?" Her voice was gentle, careful. Like she was stepping across fragile glass but still choosing to take the step.
I took a slow breath. "I cared about them. A lot. Maybe more than I realized at the time."
"And you left," she said softly.
"I had to." The words came out rougher than I intended. "Everything was getting complicated. And I did not want to drag them down with me."
Sumire's swing rocked slightly as she shifted her weight. "Do you regret it?"
I looked up at the sky. Clouds drifted lazily, like they had nowhere urgent to be.
"…Sometimes," I admitted. "Sometimes I feel like I abandoned them. And sometimes I feel like I was the one who got left behind."
She did not respond immediately. Instead, she stared straight ahead, her eyes thoughtful.
Then she said, "If it still hurts, it means they mattered."
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" I asked with a weak laugh.
"No," she said plainly. "It is supposed to tell you that you are human."
Her straightforwardness caught me off guard. It was the same blunt honesty she had as a child, uncomplicated and sincere.
"But you know," she continued, nudging the ground lightly with her foot, "moving on does not mean forgetting. It does not erase what happened, or what they meant to you. It just means you are giving yourself permission to keep walking."
I stared at her.
Sumire was not loud. She was not dramatic. She did not try to replace anything or anyone. But her presence carried a quiet strength, a steady warmth that slipped through the cracks I did not realize were still open.
"Sometimes," she added with a tiny smile, "all someone needs is a reminder that they are not alone."
Before I could respond, she extended her hand toward me, hesitant, almost shy, but unwavering.
"Walk with me?"
It was not a demand. It was not an attempt to fill the void left behind by others. It was simply Sumire offering a moment, a step, a piece of her calm warmth.
I looked at her hand for a few seconds, feeling the echoes of old memories and the soft pull of something new.
I took her hand.
Her fingers curled around mine, gentle but sure. A quiet connection. A small start.
We left the swings behind and wandered through the park, our hands still intertwined. Neither of us said much, but the silence was anything but heavy.
By the time we left the park, the sun had already dipped behind the buildings. That soft glow of early evening enveloped the streets, draping everything in a gentle calm. The breeze carried a faint scent of the bakery nearby, and the street lamps flickered awake one by one, chasing away the growing shadows.
Sumire still held my hand.
She had not loosened her grip since we left the swings. Her fingers were small, her palm warm against mine. She walked quietly, but her shoulders were relaxed. For someone who used to shrink into herself every time the world grew too loud, she looked more at ease than I remembered.
And maybe… it was because of this moment. Because we were both here, side by side, after so many years.
We reached a narrow street lined with old houses. The kind with chipped paint, potted plants by the gates, and wind chimes that tinkled faintly whenever the air shifted. It was a peaceful place. Familiar somehow.
I only realized then that we had wandered far past the route we usually took home.
"Sumire," I said softly. "Your house is the other way."
She blinked, as if waking from a daydream. "Ah. You are right. I forgot."
"You forgot where your house is?"
Her lips twitched. "I was… distracted."
"By what?"
She tightened her grip on my hand for a moment, then looked away. "You."
My heart jumped. "M-me?"
She nodded, though her cheeks gleamed faintly pink under the streetlight. "Yes."
I swallowed. Sumire was always calm, almost unreadable, but today… she felt more expressive. More open. Or maybe I was just noticing the small things I had missed during our separation.
We turned back toward the main road. As we walked, she hummed quietly. A small melody. I had heard it before. Long ago.
"That song," I said. "You used to hum it when you were nervous."
Sumire paused. Her eyes widened slightly. "You remember that too?"
"Why would I forget something like that?"
She slowed her pace. Her lashes fluttered as she looked at me, a strange softness filling her gaze. "Himeya-kun… you remember so many things about me."
"Well… yeah." I rubbed the back of my neck. "We spent our entire childhood together."
"But still." She lightly touched her chest. "It makes me happy."
For a moment, I could not speak.
We finally reached the station road, where the street lights glowed brighter and the faint hum of cars drifted by. A few people were walking around, going home from work or running errands. Even in the mild bustle, Sumire stayed close beside me, her shoulder brushing mine whenever we turned a corner.
At some point, she stopped.
"Do you mind… walking a bit longer?" she asked.
"We can walk as long as you want."
She smiled. A small one, quiet but genuine.
We passed a convenience store, a quiet bookstore, and an apartment complex with kids playing near the entrance, their laughter echoing softly. The sky was flushing deeper into night. Stars peeked through the fading blue.
Sumire finally led us into another familiar spot. A hill overlooking the sea.
We used to come here as kids to catch fireflies.
The memory struck me before I even realized it.
"You chose this place on purpose, right?" I asked with a small smile.
Sumire looked down. "Maybe."
We walked to the railing at the edge of the hill. Below us, the town stretched in a scatter of warm lights. The windows of houses shone like tiny lanterns. The wind was cool, brushing against our skin like a whisper. And there is also the Enoshima sea candle...
Sumire leaned against the railing, her hair swaying slightly.
"You know," she murmured, "when I first moved back here, I came to this hill almost every evening."
"Why?"
"To remember." Her voice softened. "This place always made me feel connected to the past. But back then, the past felt very far away."
I stood beside her. "You missed this town?"
"I missed you."
I froze.
She kept her gaze on the lights below, but her voice trembled just a little. "Even after I moved away, I kept thinking about you. I kept wondering how you were doing, what kind of person you were becoming, if you still remembered the quiet girl who followed you everywhere."
"I never forgot," I said quietly.
Sumire laughed softly. "I know. You proved that today."
She lifted her gaze to the sky. The moon hung above us, pale and gentle.
"When I heard my sister mention a boy named Himeya," she said, "I thought it was impossible. But part of me hoped. And when I finally saw you today… I felt like something lost had suddenly returned."
Her words hit me with a strange weight. Heavy, but warm.
"You changed," I whispered.
"So did you." Sumire turned to me. "But the way you smiled when you recognized me… it reminded me of the boy I once cared about more than anyone."
Care… about?
My chest tightened.
She took a slow breath, gathering strength. Her fingers brushed the railing nervously.
"Himeya-kun… can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"If I told you I still feel that way… would it scare you?"
My heart skipped.
"Sumire," I breathed, "what do you mean exactly?"
She stepped closer. So close I could feel her warmth. Her eyes, usually calm and unreadable, glimmered in the soft light. Vulnerable in a way I had never seen before.
"I like you," she said. "I always have."
The world went quiet around us.
"When we were little, you were the only one who talked to me. The only one who held my hand when I cried. The only one who stayed with me."
She reached out and touched my sleeve lightly, as if testing whether this moment was real.
"And today… you looked at me the way you used to. Like you saw me. Not as the quiet girl hiding behind everyone. Just me."
Her voice shook.
"Being with you makes me feel warm and calm and a little scared, because I do not know what you really think of me anymore. But… even so… I wanted you to know."
Her words dissolved into the cool night air.
I did not speak at first. Not because I was unsure. But because something inside me stirred in a way I had not felt in a long time. And for the first time in months, maybe even years, the memories of Touka and Uguisu-senpai did not appear like shadows pulling me back.
Instead… they felt like gentle echoes.
Important, treasured.
But no longer chains.
I stepped closer, until our shoulders almost touched.
"Sumire," I said quietly, "I am glad you told me."
She swallowed, her turquoise eyes trembling. "I… I was afraid you would pull away."
"I am not pulling away." I placed a hand over hers. "I care about you too."
Her breath hitched.
"I care about you as someone important. Someone I do not want to lose again."
The silence that followed was soft, gentle, and full of meaning.
"Himeya-kun…" Her voice was barely above a whisper. "Can I… stay by your side again?"
I squeezed her hand. "If you want to, then stay."
Her eyes widened, shimmering. She did not cry, but she looked like she might. Instead, she stepped closer until her forehead rested lightly against my shoulder.
Her voice trembled against me.
"Thank you."
I let out a slow breath and rested my hand on her back. She was warm. Fragile. Real.
And she was here.
After a while, Sumire lifted her head. "Can we sit for a bit?"
We found a bench near the railing. She sat first, then gently tugged at my sleeve until I sat beside her. The moment I did, she leaned against me with a small sigh, letting her head rest on my shoulder.
A comfortable silence settled between us. She did not speak. She did not need to. The warmth of her leaning on me, the steadying weight of her presence, the quiet rhythm of her breathing… all of it felt like something precious.
"Himeya-kun," she said softly, "can I tell you one more thing?"
"Go ahead."
"I was afraid you had someone else in your heart."
My breath caught.
"You looked like someone who had loved before," she continued, "and someone who had been hurt deeply. I did not know if I had a place in your life anymore."
I stared ahead, the lights of the town flickering below us. "I did love," I admitted. "And I walked away from that part of my life. But I am still learning how to move on."
"And now?" Sumire whispered.
I turned to her.
"Now… I am here with you."
She closed her eyes, almost like she was savoring the words. Then she intertwined her fingers with mine, holding tightly.
Under the quiet night sky, with the wind brushing against us, Sumire spoke in a soft, trembling voice:
"I want to walk forward with you, Himeya-kun."
I squeezed her hand in return.
And for the first time since everything fell apart, I felt myself truly stepping into a new beginning.
With her.
Beside me.
Where she had always wanted to be.
Where I realized… I wanted her to be too.