Twenty-seven days.
Once Ren said the number, it stayed with us. Not spoken again, but always there—hanging in the pauses between sentences, sitting beside us like an extra person no one invited.
We didn't go home right away.
Instead, we walked along the river, the four of us this time. Our steps were slower, more careful, like we were afraid of breaking something fragile.
Yuna tried to act normal.
She talked about random things—the heat, a movie she wanted to watch, how the cicadas were louder this year. No one stopped her. No one laughed much either.
Ren kept his hands in his pockets.
Mio stayed close to me.
At the vending machine, Ren reached for a drink, then stopped.
"Twenty-seven," he muttered. "That's not even a full month."
Yuna stiffened. "I told you I didn't want this to become… this."
"Then what did you want it to be?" he asked, not angrily—just tired.
She didn't answer.
I watched the sunlight reflect off the river, trying to memorize the color. It felt important, like something I'd need later.
That evening, Mio and I lingered behind as Ren and Yuna walked ahead.
"They're hurting," Mio whispered.
"I know."
"And you?" she asked. "Are you hurting too?"
I thought about it. About how I'd been writing summer like it was infinite, like words could slow time.
"Yes," I said honestly. "I think I just hide it better."
She smiled sadly. "You don't have to hide with me."
My chest tightened. "I know."
The next few days passed strangely.
We did ordinary things—ate popsicles, sat by the water, complained about the heat—but everything felt sharper. Like each moment knew it might be one of the last of its kind.
Ren started counting without meaning to.
"Twenty-six," he said one morning, then stopped himself.
Yuna pretended not to hear.
That night, I opened my notebook and turned to a fresh page.
I didn't write about the future.
I wrote about now.
Mio's laugh sounds softer lately.
Ren looks like he's running out of time.
Yuna smiles like she's already apologizing.
I paused, then added one more line.
Summer hasn't ended. But we've started saying goodbye.
Outside, the cicadas cried into the dark, steady and relentless.
For the first time, I wondered if they were counting too.