The heat settled in like it meant to stay.
Back home, the pier boards burned beneath Ren's shoes as he walked out to the edge. The ocean was louder today, restless. Waves crashed harder, spraying mist into the air.
Aio leaned against a post, sipping from a convenience store soda. "You've been coming here every day," he said. "Planning to confess to the sea?"
Ren ignored him. "It's quieter here."
"It's literally not."
Mio arrived a moment later, holding her hat against the wind. She studied Ren carefully but didn't comment.
Across the coastline miles away, Yuna stood on a crowded shoreline packed with strangers. Children screamed happily. Music played from portable speakers. The city beach was alive in a way her old one never was.
But she felt strangely invisible.
Her phone vibrated in her hand.
A group chat notification.
Aio: Emergency meeting. Important question.
Mio: It's not an emergency.
Ren: What now?
Yuna smiled faintly before replying.
Yuna: I'm scared to ask.
Aio sent a photo—Ren, mid-blink, looking irritated.
Aio: Should he cut his hair?
Ren immediately responded.
Ren: Absolutely not.
Mio added a calm thumbs-up emoji.
Yuna laughed out loud, earning a curious glance from a woman nearby.
For a second, the distance shrank.
Ren read her "LOL" three times. The simple response felt like sunlight breaking through clouds.
Then Aio typed again.
Aio: Serious question though. Festival next week. We going or what?
The summer festival.
Fireworks.
Lanterns floating over the water.
Yuna's chest tightened.
They had planned to go together.
Before everything changed.
She hesitated before typing.
Yuna: You should go.
Ren's fingers hovered.
Ren: It won't be the same.
Her throat felt dry.
Yuna: It's not supposed to be the same. It's supposed to keep going.
The conversation paused.
On the pier, Ren lowered his phone. The ocean stretched endlessly ahead, like something he couldn't cross.
Mio spoke softly. "She doesn't want you to freeze just because she left."
"I know," Ren muttered.
Aio nudged him. "Then don't."
Meanwhile, Yuna stepped away from the crowd and toward a quieter stretch of sand. The city skyline shimmered behind her. It was unfamiliar—but not hostile.
Just different.
She opened her camera and pointed it toward the horizon.
Click.
She sent the photo.
Yuna: See? Still water. Still sky.
Ren's reply came seconds later.
He sent his own picture.
Same ocean.
Different angle.
Ren: Still connected.
Her eyes softened.
Maybe summer wasn't about holding onto what used to be.
Maybe it was about learning how to let it stretch without snapping.
The tide rolled in around her ankles.
Back home, a matching wave crashed against the pier.
Between tides.
Between cities.
Between what was and what could be.
Summertimes were coming.
And none of them were standing still anymore.