Scene 1: A Plan Out of Nowhere

“Haruki!”

Her voice cut through the after-school chatter like a pebble breaking the surface of still water.

I turned to see Hikari jogging toward me, waving a piece of crumpled paper above her head.

“You’re coming with me this weekend,” she declared.

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a question.”

“Nope.” She slapped the paper onto my desk.

It was a flyer—faded ink, slightly torn at the edges—advertising the Shitamachi Summer Light Festival. The date printed at the bottom was this Saturday.

“That shopping district is half-abandoned,” I said.

“That’s what makes it perfect,” she replied, eyes glimmering. “It’s a place the world forgot. Which means it’s ours now.”

Scene 2: Streets That Remembered

The “festival” was more of a gentle gathering than a real event. A few old lanterns swayed in the summer air, casting warm patches of light onto cracked pavement. The air smelled faintly of grilled squid and caramelizing sugar.

Half the shops were shuttered, their faded signs covered in dust, but here and there, a stubborn few had opened—selling goldfish in plastic bags, taiyaki pastries, and shaved ice in paper cups.

Hikari walked ahead, her head swiveling like she didn’t want to miss a single detail.

“This place feels like it’s breathing its last summer,” she murmured, pausing to watch a vendor flip takoyaki balls over a hot plate.

“You make everything sound like poetry,” I said.

She grinned. “That’s because I’m trying to make you see it the way I do.”

Scene 3: Goldfish and Paper Lanterns

We stopped at a goldfish scooping stand. The old man running it handed me a flimsy paper scoop.

“Get one for me,” Hikari said, crouching to peer into the water.

I tried. The scoop broke in two seconds.

Her laugh spilled into the night air, light and unrestrained. “You’re hopeless!”

“You try it then,” I said.

She did. And of course, she caught one almost instantly, lifting it gently into a small bowl.

She leaned closer to the bowl and whispered, “You’re coming home with me tonight, little one.”

“Do you name all your pets before you buy them?” I asked.

“Only the ones worth remembering,” she said.

Scene 4: The Riverbank

Later, we wandered toward the river where a small crowd had gathered. Someone lit fireworks—not the grand kind, but hand-held sparklers and short bursts that painted the sky for only a second before fading.

We sat side-by-side on the cool concrete embankment, feet dangling above the black water.

Hikari’s eyes followed every spark like it was a once-in-a-lifetime event.

“You know,” she said softly, “these fireworks are exactly why I like small festivals.”

“Because they’re cheap?” I teased.

“Because they’re not trying to be perfect. They just… happen. And then they’re gone.”

I didn’t say anything. I was too busy realizing she wasn’t just talking about fireworks.

Scene 5: The Walk Home

The streets grew quieter as we left the river behind. Hikari slowed her steps, the goldfish bowl cradled in her hands.

“Hey, Haruki,” she said suddenly.

“What?”

“If I ever can’t come to this festival again… will you tell me what it looked like?”

The way she asked it—like she was already picturing that day—made something twist in my chest.

“Sure,” I said. “But you’ll be there.”

She smiled at the ground. “Yeah. Maybe.”

[To Be Continued in Chapter 6]