Summer break came with sunlight that poured through every window, and a kind of stillness that made the days blur together.
The heat shimmered off the pavement as Haruto walked to the station, notebook in hand, earbuds in, thoughts wandering.
He wasn't really going anywhere far — just the small café near the library, the one Aoi had mentioned once when they'd been talking about her favorite sketching spots.
He told himself he came because it was quiet.
Maybe that was true.
But when he caught sight of her already sitting by the window, pencil in hand and a drink sweating on the table, he had to admit — part of him had hoped she'd be there.
---
"Haruto?" Aoi looked up, surprised but smiling. "You came here too?"
"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Didn't think I'd find the art club president off duty."
She laughed. "Ex-president. I'm just another regular who likes drawing people when they forget to notice."
He glanced at the small sketchpad in front of her — soft pencil lines, gentle shading. It wasn't anyone specific, just the shape of the world through her eyes.
"It's good," he said honestly.
"Thanks," she replied, then tilted her head. "Are you sketching too?"
He hesitated. "Trying to."
"Let me see?"
He shook his head, embarrassed. "Not yet. It's... still just lines."
"Lines turn into stories," she said, sipping her drink. "You just have to keep drawing them."
---
The café buzzed softly — clinking cups, low chatter, the whir of a fan.
For a while, they didn't talk. They just worked. Aoi sketching quietly, Haruto scribbling in his notebook, both caught in the small orbit of each other's calm.
It wasn't silence that hung between them, but comfort — the kind that made time feel slower and fuller at once.
> Maybe this is what staying means, Haruto thought.
Not chasing moments — just sharing them until they start to matter.
---
When they finally stepped outside, the late afternoon sun painted everything gold.
They walked side by side toward the riverbank, where the air smelled faintly of rain that hadn't fallen yet.
Aoi tugged her hair into a loose ponytail, glancing at him. "You've been different lately," she said softly.
"Different?"
"Not quieter," she said, thinking. "Just... steadier. Like you've stopped running from yourself."
He looked at her, the corners of his lips lifting. "Maybe I just found better company."
Aoi's eyes lingered on him for a second too long before she looked away, smiling to herself.
> He says those things so easily now, she thought.
Like he's finally learned how to speak the way he feels.
---
They stopped by the river, the sky turning to soft lavender.
A few kids were throwing pebbles at the water, laughter echoing across the bank.
"Do you ever wonder," Haruto asked quietly, "what people will remember about us?"
Aoi looked at him, curious. "What do you mean?"
"I don't know," he said after a pause. "I used to think memories had to be big. Loud. Important.
But now I think... maybe the quiet ones last longer."
Aoi smiled faintly, her eyes reflecting the rippling light. "Then I hope people remember us like that — quietly."
They stood there for a moment, neither saying anything more. Just watching the river move, slow and certain.
---
Aoi's Thought (Short POV)
That night, as Aoi organized her sketches, she found one from the café — an unfinished outline of a boy sitting by the window, lost in thought.
She traced the faint lines of his hair with her pencil, her expression soft.
> He's changed, she thought. But maybe the change isn't the point.
Maybe it's that he's learning to stay — in moments, in places, with people.
And maybe... I'm learning too.
She closed the sketchbook and smiled. The quiet felt full again.