The world was slowly changing, and I wasn't sure how I felt about it.
The routine I had guarded so tightly—wake, walk, avoid—was starting to slip. All because of a girl who smiled too much and never seemed to run out of things to say. I didn't know if I should be annoyed or grateful.
But today, like the past two days, I stood by the school gate waiting.
Not for long—because I knew she'd show up.
"Good morning!" I said first, just as she came into view.
Her eyes widened, then lit up. "That's day three!" she squeaked, punching the air like she'd won a contest. "One more day and I'm gonna have to reward you."
"Reward me?" I asked, half amused.
"Yep. If you keep this up, I might treat you to something super special. Like—hmm… maybe I'll tell you a secret! Or give you something special. Or both."
" Something special and a secret?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Only if you earn it," she said, walking ahead with a victorious grin. "You've come this far. Don't stop now, Kazuki."
---
In class, she kept trying to get me to talk more.
While the teacher explained the lesson, she kept passing me little notes.
Some were doodles of random animals. Others were jokes that only barely made sense.
One just said: *"Do you like cats or dogs? This is a dealbreaker."*
I almost smiled.
And during lunch, instead of the noisy cafeteria, she dragged me out to the courtyard behind the gym. There was a large tree, leaves rustling softly, sunlight peeking through the branches.
"I always wanted to eat lunch like this," she said, laying out her bentō. "Feels like something out of a high school anime, doesn't it?"
"Is that what this is to you?" I asked.
"A little," she grinned. "But also... it's real. And I like that better."
I didn't say much. Just ate quietly beside her, but she didn't mind. She filled the silence with stories—about her favorite foods, her failed attempts at cooking, and how her mom once mistook sugar for salt.
Somewhere between bites of her tamagoyaki and her exaggerated impressions of teachers, I let out a small laugh.
Just once.
But she heard it.
Her face lit up like she'd been waiting for that moment all day.
---
After school, we walked home again. This time, side by side.
She didn't talk much at first. Maybe she was tired—or maybe, for once, she was waiting for me to speak.
"...Thank you," I said eventually.
"For the lunch. And… the company."
She blinked at me, surprised, before breaking into a warm smile.
"That's the nicest thing you've said to me so far."
I looked ahead, a little embarrassed. But her voice stayed with me—gentle, sincere, full of something I couldn't quite name yet.
When we reached the place where our paths split, she stopped.
She said, "Thanks Kazuki, I had fun today "
She turned and walked off, her hair catching the last glow of sunlight.
And I stood there a moment longer, wondering how someone so full of light could ever run out of time.
---
That night, I opened a blank notebook I hadn't touched in years.
And on the first page, I wrote:
*Day 3. I greeted her again.* and went ahead to write * 90 days left *