Kurume
The rooftop.
Our old place.
Where we laughed, shared candy, talked about nothing.
Now — it's just the two of us.
And between us, a wall.
Invisible. Cold.
Miyako stands by the railing, leaning slightly forward.
I walk toward her.
Not too close. Not too fast.
— "Thanks for coming…"
— "I'm not here for a thank you," she replies quietly.
A pause.
The wind moves strands of her hair.
— "The photo…" I start.
— "I saw it."
— "It wasn't what it looked like."
— "Really?"
I fall silent.
— "You know, Kurume…" she says, still not facing me.
"I kept waiting. For you to come. To message me. To knock on my window. To do something more than just talk."
— "I tried."
— "I know."
She finally turns to me.
There's no anger in her eyes. Only exhaustion.
— "But I don't want you to just 'try'. I want you to fight. If I matter to you — fight. And if I don't… say it. Be honest."
— "You do matter."
— "Then prove it. Not to me. To yourself."
I lower my gaze. Then take a step closer.
— "I'm not perfect. I'm slow. I don't always understand what I feel. But when you're gone… everything inside me tightens."
She looks into my eyes.
I whisper:
— "I still want to hear you. Every day. Always."
Miyako steps forward.
Stops right in front of me.
— "Then listen."
— "To what?"
— "It hurts."
— "I know."
— "But I still… want you to stay."
Silence. Then…
— "This isn't forgiveness," she says.
"It's… just a chance. One."
I nod.
And then — she gives the faintest nod back.
One chance.
But it's enough.