Yuna hated packing.
It made things real.
The suitcase lay open on her bedroom floor, half-filled with clothes she didn't know if she'd ever wear again. Outside, the afternoon light spilled through the window, warm and careless.
Her phone buzzed.
She didn't check it.
If she did, she might stop.
Her room still looked the same—posters peeling at the corners, a desk cluttered with things she'd never thrown away because maybe someday mattered too much. On her wall hung a photo of four people at the beach, hair tangled by the wind, smiles effortless.
She turned it face down.
"I'll look later," she told herself.
She always did that—delayed the hard things until they hurt more.
Her mother's voice drifted in from the kitchen. "Yuna, did you finish sorting your documents?"
"Almost," she replied.
The word tasted like a lie.
The documents sat neatly stacked on her desk. Transfer papers. Acceptance forms. Dates circled in red.
Soon.
Too soon.
Yuna sat on the floor and hugged her knees.
She thought of Ren—how he tried too hard to act normal, how his anger hid fear. She thought of Mio's careful smiles, Aoi's quiet eyes that always noticed more than he said.
If she told them everything, summer would end immediately.
If she didn't, it would end anyway.
There was no winning.
Her phone buzzed again.
This time, she picked it up.
Ren: Are you okay?
She stared at the message for a long time.
Then she typed.
Yeah.
She didn't send anything else.
Her hands shook.
That evening, Yuna walked to the beach alone.
The tide was low, the sand cool beneath her feet. The sky stretched wide and blue, like it didn't care about endings.
She remembered running here with the others, laughing too loudly, pretending tomorrow didn't exist.
"I'm sorry," she whispered to the ocean.
The waves didn't answer.
Back in her room, she placed one last thing into the suitcase.
A folded piece of paper.
Inside were words she'd written weeks ago but never given to anyone.
I didn't want to leave without saying this.
I was just too scared to say it out loud.
She closed the suitcase halfway.
Not yet.
Outside, cicadas cried into the evening, louder than before.
Yuna lay back on her bed and stared at the ceiling, counting breaths instead of days.
Summer was still here.
But she was already halfway gone.