Days blended together in a blur. Nothing was actually different, yet in a very real way, everything was different. He was always so good at burying it; the thin veneer of routine protected him-though lately, there were small cracks that had begun to break through the façade. At first, it was little things: one lost moment in class, a note once heard but never noticed during a session of stargazing, or just one long moment that lasted a few seconds too long.
Miyuki was everywhere now: the silent presence in the class, the serious gaze with which she passed by the window, that strange, disconcerting bond that was seeming to grow between them without either saying too much. His mind was registered to the details it should not know: her eternal emergence for whatever pretext to watch the sky or see how fluttering her fingers were in anxiety. And her far-off glance, like her eyes' sight and whatever lay across its perspective end.
And then there was Sakura, his constant, his anchor-the only one who ever truly made him feel like he was never really alone in this world. Her smiles of late were strained, her laughter never reaching her eyes. She would catch him staring off, lost in his own world, and by the look in her gaze, he knew something was turning, even as neither knew how to stop it.
"Haruto," Sakura said one afternoon as they walked home from school together-the dying sun slanting long shadows across pavement- "you've been really quiet lately. Is anything wrong?"
He looked at her, aware of her gaze upon him. "Yeah, just tired. School, you know?"
Sakura didn't look convinced, but she didn't inquire further. They just walked in silence, the sound of their footsteps and the faraway chatter of classmates. Haruto wanted to speak-wanted to tell her it wasn't school weighing him down, but everything: Miyuki-her aloofness, the way she seemed to know exactly what he was feeling, even when he didn't. He only wanted to tell her that he was drowning in memories, how he wasn't so certain if he remained a man anymore.
But he couldn't. Not yet. Not when words seemed to be too raw, a too-tangled knot in his throat.
---
It was one of those days-so clear and crisp that any person would have wanted to be outside. Later on in the afternoon, after school, Haruto caught himself on that by-now-familiar stroll down towards the lake. There was something in the stillness of the water that managed to soothe him-let him not feel quite so adrift. He couldn't say exactly why, but somehow, this place near the lake always felt like a place in which to breathe.
It hadn't reached him, lost as he was in his thinking-mud, when crunching leaves beneath someone's feet broke the spell. He finally looked up to see Miyuki standing near the water, outlined by the soft glow of the setting sun. A moment passed after which she did not notice him, her gaze fixed into space over the horizon, straight, distant, as if awaiting something.
"Do you come here often?" Haruto finally asked, breaking the silence between them at last.
Miyuki was unsurprised. Her eyes settled on him, and there, barely, her lips arched in a slight smile. "I do. It's quiet here. Sometimes, I feel I can think better when everything outside is still.
He nodded, looking across at the tranquil surface of the water, knowing full well what she meant. The world was just so loud-brash, clamoring for attention and expectations. All that could be heard was the rustling of wind, ripples across the water, and almost the sense of time itself having slowed.
They said nothing, neither one speaking a word. The sun sank deeper, its orange shadow cast across the lake. Always poised, always composed, Haruto had no idea why this urge toward her-to be closer, to try and understand-lingered. But in some ways, it made him feel a little less lonely with her around-as if she herself were harboring some secret unreadiness to share, a mirror image in part to his own.
"You ever think that we are all just waiting?" Miyuki said suddenly, her tone soft but with a weight unspoken. "Waiting for something which, in reality, would actually not happen.
Haruto didn't answer immediately. The question hung in the air, a storm that pressed its weight upon him. He thought about the lake-the way it lay stretched before them, going on and on. Maybe that was how he felt, lost in that wide expanse, waiting for something, anything, that would give him a reason to continue.
"I think I'm always waiting," he whispered. "But I don't know for what."
Miyuki's eyes returned to the horizon, her face impassive. "Funny, huh?" she whispered. "How we think time's going to give us an answer, yet all it ever does is take everything away."
To that, he had nothing to say. In her words, he felt the truth, the inevitable pull of them: time, it takes your sister, it takes your peace, your sense of self. And now, well, he just wasn't so sure he was waiting for a second chance or the inevitable end.
"Ever get that feeling you're losing time?" Haruto said, it would appear, before he registered the words were oncoming from him.
Miyuki's eyes flickered over to him, and in that instant, something-fugitive and bruised-passed through her glance. It was gone, yet left an ache-a hint of acknowledgment neither one had spoken aloud.
"Always," she replied in a low tone. "Still, perhaps that's just a reason for our trying to make the most of what's left.
Haruto said nothing. The air just remained heavy between them in silent acknowledgment of how fragile life was. He would like to ask for more so that he might learn about her, what lay beyond the mystery, the sadness, but the words never came. And they did nothing but stand where they were and let this silence swamp them, the only sound of leisured leaves in that wind.
Later that night, after Haruto had come home, he found himself outside, lying on his back and staring up at the sky: bright, clear stars dotted across the velvet expanse of it. He always felt soothed by the stars for some reason-their endlessness, their consistent presence-made him feel that there was a place in this world for him, even if he didn't know where yet.
But tonight, with the stars twinkling above him, he couldn't shake this feeling that something was changing. And that something was in him, shifting, though for good or worse, he had no idea.
For the first time in a long while, he wasn't so sure where he was going anymore.