“Hey, older me, are you listening?”

As she exhales, the smoke escapes in uneven wisps, trembling as much as her hands. The cold night air catches it, carrying it away like a fragile whisper. the smoke curling into the night sky. Her eyes drift to the music sheets in her hand, stained with coffee rings and ink smudges, symbols of dreams that feel impossibly distant.

“Do you remember the songs we used to hum into the night, dreaming they’d one day fill concert halls? Or how the weight of silence felt heavier than the piano keys beneath our hands? searching for something that felt real?”

Her voice wavers, but she forces a faint laugh, bitter and quiet.

“I wonder… was it worth it? Did we find it? Or did we lose too much trying?”

She takes a step closer to the edge, the music sheets trembling in her grip as the wind threatens to tear them away. Slowly, she loosens her hold, letting them slip from her fingers. The papers scatter into the night, drifting down like forgotten memories.

“If this is the price, then maybe—” Her voice faltered, breaking under the weight of her own words. A tear broke free, gliding down her cheek like rain trailing a windowpane, silent but impossible to ignore. She didn’t wipe it away—she just stood there, letting the cold night air sting her skin, her breath trembling as much as the cigarette between her fingers. 

Then the balcony door creaks open, and a voice cuts through the heavy silence:

“Kiko!?”

Kiko freezes, her breath catching. Slowly, she turns her head, the glow of the cigarette casting faint shadows across her face. Standing in the doorway is Yumi, her expression, a mix of fear and desperation.

For a moment, the world seems to hold its breath. Kiko blinks at her, then offers a faint, bittersweet smile.

“And then there was her. The one who brought me here.” 

The voice of the present faded, replaced by the echoes of that first night, the one that seemed so far away now. It was just before everything changed, when she had nothing but fear and a song in her heart.