Mornings used to be simple. Wake up, get ready, ignore the world.
Now I had something else to think about.
"Good morning."
It wasn't much. Just two words. But when I said them, I could feel my chest tighten like I was doing something wrong.
She was standing by the school gate, just like yesterday, waiting for me. The moment she saw me, her eyes lit up like the sky clearing after a storm.
" Good morning " I greeted her. "You remembered!" Hikari beamed. "That makes it two days in a row. A streak!"
"I guess," I said, eyes on the ground.
She laughed and clasped her hands together dramatically. "At this rate, you'll be the most sociable guy in class by next week!"
"I doubt it."
"Ah, there's that charming pessimism again."
I didn't mean to smile, but maybe something like it slipped out. Just a little. At lunch, I thought I'd get a moment of peace—until I saw her waving from the stairwell.
"Let's eat somewhere better today," she said. "You know, for the sake of variety."
Before I could say no, she tugged at my sleeve. We ended up on the rooftop. The wind was cool and the sky felt open—free, even. She handed me another homemade lunch. I didn't ask why she made it. Maybe I was afraid she'd stop.
We ate quietly for a while, the kind of quiet that didn't feel awkward anymore. She started talking about her family, about how her younger brother always messes up her room and how her mom sneaks snacks into her bag when she's not looking.
I didn't say much. But I listened. And for her, I think that was enough.
On the way back to class, she walked a few steps ahead of me, humming some random tune. The sun caught in her hair, and for a second, it didn't feel like I was walking behind someone with only 91 days left.
It felt normal.
It felt...good.
But that was the problem.
After school, we ended up walking together again. At some point, it had stopped feeling like a coincidence. There was no awkward "do you want to walk together?" anymore, no hesitation or second-guessing. We just… did. Fell into step without thinking about it, like it had always been that way. Like it was normal.
The silence between us wasn't uncomfortable either. It wasn't the kind that made you want to fill it with pointless words. It just existed—quiet, steady, almost easy.
Still, something had been bothering me.
"Hey," I said.
She blinked, snapping out of whatever she was thinking about, and turned her head slightly. "Yeah?"
I hesitated for half a second, then asked anyway. "Why me?"
"…Hmm?"
"You could hang out with anyone," I went on, trying to sound casual even though it didn't really feel that way. "So why me?"
She didn't answer right away.
Instead, she looked up at the sky, her eyes following something I couldn't see. Like she was searching for the right words—or maybe deciding if she even wanted to answer at all.
For a moment, I thought she'd just brush it off.
Then she spoke.
"Because you looked like you needed someone," she said quietly. "And maybe… I did too."
I frowned slightly.
Maybe she did too?
What was that supposed to mean?
I glanced at her, trying to read her expression, but she was already looking ahead again, like she hadn't said anything unusual at all. Like it was just a normal answer. But it didn't feel normal. There was something behind it—something she didn't explain.
Did she mean she was lonely?
Or… something else?
For some reason, I wanted to ask.
But I didn't.
The words just didn't come out.
By the time I thought of what to say, we'd already reached the point where our paths split.
She stopped and turned to me, her expression lighter again, like whatever had been there a second ago was gone.
"See you tomorrow?" she asked.
I nodded. "Yeah."
She smiled faintly, then turned and walked off without another word.
I stood there for a second longer than I needed to.
Then, before I could stop myself, I looked up. I didn't want to. But I did anyway.
**91 days.**
Still there.
Still counting down. Like it hadn't changed at all.
That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, watching shadows shift slowly in the dark.
I told myself it didn't matter.
That it was just a number.
That none of this meant anything.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I was lying to myself.
Because somehow, without noticing when it happened—
I already cared. Because that night I had decided to keep a record of the streak I started.