Dylan sat cross-legged at his desk, his dorm quiet except for the low hum of the desk lamp and the occasional creak from the floor above. Photographs blanketed the desk surface—edges overlapping, moments colliding, fragments of life frozen in time.

Some were crisp and vivid. Others slightly smudged from fingerprints or thumbtack holes. Together, they told a story.

Or at least, they tried to.

He picked up an old photo—one from their first year.

Five kids seated awkwardly on the rooftop ledge, drinks in hand, eyes wide with possibility. Dylan’s mouth tugged into a faint smile. Their faces were rounder back then. Their poses stiffer. But their smiles—genuine, full of unfiltered joy.

He sifted through the pile.

Livi—caught mid-laugh, her head tilted back, hair framing her face like sunlight. But Dylan lingered, remembering the forced smile at the café, how her eyes didn't quite match the energy. How many times had she buried exhaustion under charm?

Another photo: Ren, leaning back with one brow raised, mid-sarcastic retort. But Dylan remembered the café window, the subtle shift in his eyes when no one else was looking. Ren always had armor—jokes, shrugs, deflections—but there were cracks. And now Dylan could see them.

Next was Sora, crouched beside a campus koi pond, staring at the water like it might reveal the future. He rarely spoke, but when he did, his words held gravity. Dylan realized he’d never asked Sora why he wrote in that notebook. He only assumed it was introspection.

Then, Hikari.

She stood beneath the cherry blossoms, looking into the lens with soft certainty. Not a posed smile—just her being fully present. Her gaze didn’t ask for approval. It simply was.

Dylan swallowed.

She had always looked into the camera like she was looking at him—even before he was brave enough to look back.

A quiet knock broke his trance.

“Yo, you awake?” Ren’s voice, less cocky than usual.

“Yeah,” Dylan called, sitting up straighter. “Come in.”

Ren opened the door slowly. He took in the scattered photographs and whistled. “Looks like someone broke the time capsule.”

“Just... thinking,” Dylan said.

Ren stepped closer, picking up a shot of the group sharing street food. “Late-night melancholy? Or just the usual Dylan brooding hours?”

Dylan smirked. “Bit of both.”

He hesitated, then asked, “Do you ever feel like we’ve been so busy trying to remember everything, we forgot to actually live it?”

Ren didn’t answer right away. He studied the photo in his hand before setting it down.

“Sometimes,” he said. “Yeah. I mean, don’t get me wrong—your camera probably saved half our memories from dying in group chat scrolls. But... maybe we were all hiding a little behind something.”

Dylan looked at him, surprised.

Ren gave a half-smile. “You had your camera. Livi had her plans. Sora had his silence. I had... sarcasm.”

“You still do.”

“True,” Ren said, mock offended. “But sometimes it’s just easier to joke than to admit you’re scared shitless of what comes next.”

They locked eyes. It wasn’t funny. It was honest.

“You feel that too?” Dylan asked.

Ren nodded. “Yeah. But don’t tell anyone. I’ve got a rep to maintain.”

Dylan chuckled. “Your secret’s safe.”

Ren gave a mock salute. “Night, Sinclair.”

As the door closed, silence returned. But it didn’t feel heavy.

It felt real.

Later That Night – Campus Grounds

Unable to sleep, Dylan grabbed a hoodie and stepped outside.

The campus had transformed under the moonlight—buildings bathed in pale silver, shadows cast long across the walkways. The vending machines hummed softly, glowing blue in the distance.

He wandered without thinking. Past the student center. Past the empty courtyard where they used to race across the lawn at midnight. Every place he passed echoed with ghosts of laughter.

Eventually, his feet brought him to the cherry blossom path. The petals danced in slow spirals, catching on benches and grass. The trees above him swayed gently, whispering to the wind.

He tilted his head back and exhaled.

For the first time in a long time, he didn’t lift his camera.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He turned.

Hikari stood under one of the larger trees, arms wrapped lightly around herself, her expression peaceful.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I didn’t expect anyone else to be out here.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she replied. “Everything’s moving so fast lately.”

He walked over, standing beside her.

“I’ve been thinking... I’ve spent so much time trying to preserve moments, maybe I forgot to be in them.”

She looked at him, not surprised. “You’ve been holding on too tight.”

He nodded. “I think I’m scared. That if I stop taking pictures, it’ll all disappear.”

She reached out gently and brushed a petal from his shoulder.

“It won’t,” she said. “It’s still here—even if you don’t capture it.”

The breeze moved softly between them.

“I want to live it,” Dylan whispered. “All of it. Before it’s gone.”

“Then live it,” Hikari said. “With us.”

They stood together under the falling blossoms, silence wrapping around them like silk.

And in that quiet, Dylan didn’t feel lost.

He felt seen.