Life had begun to soften its edges for Rin ever since he reconciled with his old friends—especially Haruka. Laughter came easier now, the water felt warmer, and the weight on his chest didn’t press quite so hard. But there was still one name that lingered in the back of his mind like the echo of a song he couldn’t forget.

He found himself thinking of her more often than he cared to admit—especially the time she made him promise, all bright eyes and naive certainty, that when he came back from Australia, he would marry her. A childish vow sealed in the summer heat, both of them thirteen, too young to understand the world, but old enough to dream. He hadn’t truly wanted a relationship back then—how could he? But even now, the guilt clung to him like sea salt on skin. He had vanished. Stopped writing. Never said goodbye.

No one knew where she’d gone. Rumors said she had transferred to another high school. Others whispered she didn’t hang out with anyone anymore. She had simply slipped through the cracks. Rin wasn’t sure what he expected, but he knew he had to try. So one day, guided only by memory and a quiet ache in his chest, he made his way to her old house, praying she hadn’t moved.

The house was just as he remembered—modest, familiar, suspended in a pocket of time untouched by change. He stood a few meters away, heart pounding like it had the first time he’d raced Haruka in the pool. He hadn’t dared to step closer when suddenly the front door creaked open.

There she was.

His breath caught. For a moment, he almost called out—but before he could, another voice cut through the quiet.

“You coming?! You’re slower than a turtle!” A guy across the street called out, perched lazily on a bike. He looked rough, the type Rin would’ve avoided back in middle school.

And her...

Her hair was dyed a bold color, a silver stud gleamed from her lip, and her clothes were nothing like the crisp uniforms he remembered. She looked older, untamed, like the city had pulled her into its current and never let go. And then—

She lit a cigarette. Laughed. Ran toward the boy on the bike, slipping the cigarette between her lips like she’d done it a thousand times.

Rin stood frozen. The quiet, shy girl he’d promised his future to—where had she gone? Was this really her?

He couldn’t walk away. Not like this.

He approached the door and knocked, a mix of hesitation and desperation building in his chest. After a pause, it opened—and the familiar face of her mother greeted him. Her eyes widened in recognition.

“Rin-kun? Is that really you? My goodness, you’ve grown up so much! Come in, come in!” she said warmly, stepping aside. He nodded silently, stepping into a home that smelled like memories.

He sat at the table, unsure what to say, watching her fill the kettle as if nothing had changed. But everything had.

“Just now... as she walked out of the house. That was really her?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

Her mother’s face softened, her back still turned to him as the kettle clicked into place.

“You saw her, then. Yes... that was her,” she said, a sad smile ghosting across her lips. “She’s changed a lot, hasn’t she?”

“She was... completely different from the girl I knew. What happened to her?” Rin asked, the shock not yet settled, a hollow ache pressing behind his ribs.

“She changed after you left. And... well—”

The front door burst open.

“Mom, where’s my—”

She stopped mid-sentence.

Their eyes met.

She stood frozen in the doorway, cigarette still smoldering between her fingers, the echo of the past colliding violently with the present.