The days blur together — laughter layered with silence, sunlight filtered through shadows.
It's not obvious. Not yet. But I see it.
The way Kane rubs her temples more often now. The slight hesitation before she stands. The way her smile stays a second too long, like she's trying to convince both of us she's okay.
I already know what's happening to her.We all do.
The word cancer still rings in my ears, even though it's been weeks since I heard it out loud.
The doctors say it's early — that there's still hope.That we have to wait.That it could go either way.
But even hope feels heavy.
And the waiting? It's unbearable.
We meet at our usual spot — the park by the river. Sayoko's already there, bouncing a pebble in her palm, and Haru's arguing with a pigeon for some reason I don't want to know.
Kane waves at them, a little out of breath from just jogging across the grass.
I pretend not to notice. But I do.
I always do.
She flops onto the bench beside me and grins like nothing's wrong. Like there's not a question mark hanging over her future, over ours.
"Hey," she says, bumping her shoulder into mine.
"Hey," I reply. My voice sounds normal. My heart does not.
Sayoko and Haru start some stupid contest — who can make a leaf float longest down the river or something — and Kane watches, amused.
She laughs.
And for a moment, it's like always.
Later, when the sun starts dipping low and the sky turns honey-gold, she grows quiet. Not sad. Just... distant.
"I wonder what the next test will say," she murmurs, still watching the water.
I don't answer right away.
Because I don't want to wonder. I want answers. Good ones.
"You're going to be okay," I say finally.
She doesn't look at me. "You can't promise that."
"I know."But I still want to believe it.
She leans into me just slightly — just enough that I feel her warmth through my hoodie. And I hate how small she feels. How fragile.
The wind rustles the trees. A bird calls out somewhere overhead.
And all I can think is:
Please.Please let me have more time.Please let this not be the beginning of the end.
We walk home together.
She holds onto my arm without saying a word.
And I let her.
Because I don't know how many more nights I'll get like this.