Two weeks had passed since Haruto and Miyuki confessed their feelings under the evening sky. Those weeks had been a blur of quiet glances, whispered words, and moments that felt like they belonged to someone else's life—a life where happiness came easy, where the weight of loss and uncertainty didn't linger just out of sight.
They spent their days together as if the world beyond their little bubble didn't exist. Between classes, Haruto would walk Miyuki to her next lecture, his hand brushing against hers in shy familiarity. They'd eat lunch under the blossoming trees in the school courtyard, laughing over shared stories of their classmates or quietly enjoying each other's company.
In the evenings, when the air turned cool and the stars began to shine, they'd sneak away to the lake or the rooftop observatory. Haruto loved these moments the most. Miyuki would lean her head against his shoulder, her voice soft and melodic as she shared little pieces of herself—her childhood dreams, her love of music, and the hopes she still carried, even if she didn't admit them outright.
He would tell her about his sister, about the nights he spent stargazing to feel closer to her. For the first time, he found that the pain in those memories was beginning to fade, replaced by something gentler. He couldn't say when it had started, but he knew it was because of Miyuki.
"I think the stars are brighter when I'm with you," he murmured one night, his voice barely above a whisper.
Miyuki turned to him, her expression a mixture of amusement and something deeper. "Is that so?"
He nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "You make everything brighter, Miyuki."
For a moment, her smile faltered, a shadow passing over her face so quickly he almost missed it.
"Haruto," she began, her voice hesitant, "what would you do if... if the stars stopped shining one day?"
The question caught him off guard. He looked at her, searching her expression for some clue to what she meant. "That's not possible," he replied after a pause. "The stars don't just stop shining. Even if we can't see them, they're still there."
Miyuki didn't respond immediately. She looked away, her gaze fixed on the horizon where the lake met the sky. "Sometimes, I wonder if it's better to let go before things fade," she said softly, almost to herself.
Haruto frowned. "Why would you think that? Letting go doesn't make anything easier—it just leaves you with regrets."
Her eyes met his, and for a moment, he thought she might say something more, something that would unravel the mystery behind her words. But instead, she smiled—a small, fragile smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Never mind," she said, leaning her head against his shoulder once more. "You're right. The stars will always shine."
But Haruto couldn't shake the feeling that there was something she wasn't telling him.
---
Despite the quiet worries that lingered in the back of his mind, Haruto couldn't deny how happy he was. For the first time in years, he felt like he had something to look forward to—someone who made him feel alive.
He began to notice little things about Miyuki that made his heart ache in the best way. The way she hummed softly when she thought no one was listening. The way her fingers would brush against his when she passed him something, lingering just a moment longer than necessary. The way her laughter lit up the space around them, like the sun breaking through a cloudy sky.
Even Sakura seemed to notice the change in him. Though she said little about it, Haruto could see the relief in her eyes whenever she caught him smiling or laughing. It was as if she had been holding her breath, waiting for the day when he'd finally find his way out of the darkness.
Still, Haruto couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that something wasn't quite right. Miyuki's smiles, as beautiful as they were, often seemed tinged with sadness. There were moments when she'd grow quiet, her gaze distant, as if she were somewhere else entirely.
One evening, as they walked hand in hand by the lake, Haruto decided to ask.
"Miyuki," he began, his voice careful, "is everything okay?"
She glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"
"You just... seem different sometimes," he said. "Like you're somewhere else. If something's wrong, you can tell me."
For a moment, she didn't answer. The only sound was the gentle lapping of the water against the shore. Finally, she stopped walking and turned to face him.
"Haruto," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "what if... what if things don't last forever?"
He frowned, confused. "What do you mean?"
"I mean..." She hesitated, looking away. "What if this—what we have—doesn't last? Would you regret it?"
His heart clenched at the thought. "No," he said firmly. "I could never regret being with you, Miyuki."
She looked at him then, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Even if it hurts in the end?"
"Even if it hurts," he said, pulling her into his arms. "You're worth it, Miyuki. Every second of it."
---
That night, as Haruto lay in bed, he couldn't stop thinking about Miyuki's words. There was something she wasn't telling him, something that weighed heavily on her heart. He wanted to believe that their love was enough to keep her fears at bay, but a part of him couldn't ignore the growing sense of dread.
Meanwhile, Miyuki sat in her room, clutching her phone tightly. She had written and deleted the same message to Haruto a dozen times, her heart aching with every word she couldn't bring herself to send.
I love you, Haruto. But I can't do this anymore.
She knew she was being selfish, clinging to him despite knowing how it would end. But letting go felt impossible.
For now, she told herself, she would stay by his side. For now, she would hold onto the happiness they had found together.
Even if it couldn't last forever.