It was a week later when Hikari finally returned to school.

She looked thinner, paler, her smile stretched a little too tightly. But when she saw me, her eyes lit up like always.

“Haruki!” She waved, almost as if nothing had happened.

I wanted to scold her, to tell her how worried I’d been, but the words stuck. Instead, all I could say was: “You disappeared.”

She tilted her head innocently. “Sorry. My body needed a vacation.”

The way she said it, like it was a joke, made my chest ache.

That afternoon, as we walked together, she suddenly turned to me.

“Do you want to see my room?”

Scene 2: Her World

Her house was quiet when we arrived, her mother giving me a small, knowing smile before letting us upstairs.

Hikari opened her door with a flourish, as though she were revealing a treasure chest.

And in a way, she was.

Her room was… alive.

Maps covered the walls, marked with circles and arrows. Photographs of bridges, rooftops, rivers. Sketches taped over every bare space — some neat, others rushed, all vibrant. Glow-in-the-dark stars dotted the ceiling, faintly glowing even in the afternoon light.

It felt like stepping into her heart.

“This,” she said proudly, spinning in a small circle, “is where all the adventures begin.”

Scene 3: The Lists

I walked slowly, scanning the walls. On the desk lay several notebooks, some open, others stacked neatly. The pages were filled with plans — train routes, sketches of places we hadn’t visited yet, clumsy doodles of food stalls she wanted to try.

One list caught my eye:

See the northern lights (impossible?)

Touch a cloud

Write a letter to my older self

Kiss someone I love

I froze. My eyes lingered on the last line until my cheeks grew hot.

Hikari noticed and darted forward, snatching the notebook with a blush of her own. “Don’t look at that one!”

I mumbled something incoherent, turning away, but my heart pounded so loudly I thought she might hear it.

Scene 4: The Ceiling

“Come here,” she said suddenly, grabbing my wrist and pulling me onto the bed.

We lay side by side, staring up at the ceiling. In the dimming light, the glow-in-the-dark stars began to shine softly.

“When I can’t sleep,” she whispered, “I pretend I’m camping under the real sky. It makes me feel less… trapped.”

Her voice trembled on that last word.

I turned my head toward her, but she kept her eyes on the ceiling, her smile small and fragile.

“Someday, I want the real stars. Not just plastic ones.”

Scene 5: The Confession Almost Spoken

The silence stretched, heavy but gentle. I wanted to tell her right then how I felt — how much her presence had changed me, how much I wanted to protect her smile.

But the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, I whispered: “Then let’s go find them. Together.”

She finally turned to me, her eyes shining faintly in the glow of the fake stars. For a moment, her smile wasn’t a mask. It was real — soft, warm, grateful.

“Together,” she echoed.

And for the first time, I realized her room wasn’t just filled with dreams. It was filled with goodbyes she hadn’t spoken yet.

[To be continued in chapter 15]