The sound of cicadas filled the warm summer air. A small wooden house sat in the middle of endless green fields, where the wind carried the scent of freshly tilled earth. It was Rei Daji's home, a place filled with laughter, warmth, and love—back when he still believed happiness lasted forever.
"Rei, catch!" His father, Daji Takahiro, tossed a baseball toward him. Rei, barely six years old, flailed his arms but managed to catch it. His mother clapped from the porch, her smile as bright as the sun overhead.
"You're getting better, sweetie!" she cheered.
Rei grinned, his chest swelling with pride. He wanted to keep playing forever, to stay in this moment where his father's laughter echoed and his mother's voice wrapped around him like a warm embrace.
But happiness is fragile.
And some things break so quietly that you don't even realize they're gone until it's too late.