The rooftop had always been the quietest pce in Seiran High.

  For Rai Takahiro, that quiet used to feel like oxygen.

  Today, it felt heavier.

  He pushed open the metal door just as the lunch bell echoed faintly through the building. The wind greeted him immediately, tugging at his uniform bzer like an impatient hand.

  For a moment, he wondered if she wouldn’t be there.

  A strange, cold possibility slipped through his mind.

  But then he saw the familiar spsh of color.

  Hikari Sato was sitting on the bench, exactly where she always sat.

  Her yellow umbrel leaned against the rusted railing beside her. The bright color looked strangely defiant against the gray concrete, like a small sun that had decided to fall from the sky and rest on the rooftop.

  “You’re te again, Rai-kun,” she said without looking up.

  Her voice carried through the wind easily, as if it had already memorized the shape of this rooftop.

  Rai walked over slowly.

  “I’m on time.”

  “Four minutes te.”

  “You counted?”

  “Of course,” she replied, finally gncing up at him. “Anchors have to keep track of time.”

  Rai frowned slightly.

  “I’m not an anchor.”

  Hikari tilted her head.

  “You keep showing up here, don’t you?”

  Rai didn’t answer.

  Instead, he sat down at the opposite side of the bench, pcing his Nikon camera carefully beside him.

  For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

  The wind moved through the wire fence with a faint metallic hum.

  Hikari opened her lunch box.

  Today it was different again.

  Small rice balls arranged like tiny snowmen.

  A strip of tamagoyaki.

  Bright red strawberries.

  Rai noticed something else too.

  Her hands trembled slightly when she lifted the chopsticks.

  Just slightly.

  Almost invisible.

  “You’re staring,” Hikari said.

  “I’m observing.”

  “That’s worse.”

  Rai didn’t react.

  “You always watch people like they’re experiments,” she continued. “Like you're waiting for us to malfunction.”

  “Everything malfunctions eventually.”

  Hikari ughed softly.

  “You’re such a dark philosopher for someone who takes pictures of sunlight.”

  Rai picked up his camera.

  “Light only exists because of darkness.”

  “That sounds lonely.”

  “It’s accurate.”

  Hikari studied him quietly for a moment.

  Then she reached into her bag and pulled something out.

  A small pstic packet.

  Strawberry candy.

  “I brought these,” she said. “Peace offering.”

  Rai looked at it.

  “You decred war?”

  “Against your personality.”

  She tossed one piece toward him.

  He caught it automatically.

  The pink wrapper reflected the sunlight.

  For some reason, the color felt louder than usual.

  “You should smile more,” Hikari said.

  “Smiling wastes energy.”

  “You say that like you're a dying battery.”

  Rai almost replied.

  But something stopped him.

  Because Hikari suddenly leaned forward.

  Just slightly.

  Her breathing had changed.

  Rai noticed immediately.

  The rhythm wasn’t steady anymore.

  Small pauses.

  Tiny deys between breaths.

  Almost like a machine that had started skipping cycles.

  “Hikari.”

  “Hm?”

  “You’re leaning.”

  She blinked.

  “Oh.”

  She sat up straight again quickly.

  “Gravity is strong today.”

  “That’s not how gravity works.”

  “Sure it is,” she said with a grin. “Some days the Earth just pulls harder.”

  Rai didn’t smile.

  Instead, he lifted his camera.

  Click.

  The shutter snapped softly.

  Hikari blinked.

  “Did you just take my picture?”

  “Yes.”

  “Without permission?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s illegal.”

  “Probably.”

  “Let me see.”

  Rai turned the screen toward her.

  The image appeared.

  Hikari sitting on the bench.

  The wind pushing strands of hair across her face.

  The sunlight forming a pale halo behind her.

  But something was wrong again.

  The photo wasn’t sharp.

  Hikari’s outline blurred slightly.

  Like light leaking across the sensor.

  “That’s strange,” Rai murmured.

  “What is?”

  “You’re out of focus again.”

  Hikari leaned closer to the screen.

  Her shoulder brushed against his.

  “Maybe your camera just doesn’t like me.”

  “Cameras don’t have preferences.”

  “Maybe yours does.”

  Rai adjusted the focus ring.

  The lens whirred softly.

  Still blurry.

  He frowned.

  “This camera has never had this problem.”

  “Maybe it’s trying to protect you.”

  “From what?”

  Hikari didn’t answer immediately.

  She leaned back on the bench, looking up at the sky.

  The clouds were moving slowly across the blue like zy ships.

  “From remembering,” she said finally.

  Rai looked at her.

  “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “Memories are heavy, Rai-kun.”

  “So is gravity.”

  “Exactly.”

  For a few seconds, the rooftop returned to silence.

  Then Hikari suddenly stood up.

  Too quickly.

  The world tilted.

  Rai saw it instantly.

  Her bance shifted.

  Her body swayed.

  For one terrifying second, it looked like she might fall.

  Rai grabbed her wrist.

  His grip tightened automatically.

  “Hikari.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You almost colpsed.”

  “I said I’m fine.”

  Her voice was sharper now.

  Too sharp.

  She pulled her wrist away gently.

  The smile returned.

  But it looked fragile.

  Like thin gss.

  “See?” she said, taking a step backward. “Still alive.”

  Rai didn’t move.

  His heart was beating faster than usual.

  Something inside his chest felt… wrong.

  He didn’t understand it.

  It wasn’t logical.

  “You should go to the nurse’s office,” he said.

  “And tell them what?”

  “That gravity is bullying me?”

  “That you’re dizzy.”

  “Everyone gets dizzy sometimes.”

  “Hikari.”

  She looked at him.

  Really looked this time.

  For a brief moment, the brightness disappeared from her eyes.

  And Rai saw something else behind it.

  Fear.

  Deep.

  Quiet.

  Terrifying.

  But then it vanished.

  The smile came back.

  “Rai-kun,” she said softly.

  “If I ever disappear…”

  He stiffened.

  “…will you take a picture of the sky for me?”

  “That’s a strange request.”

  “I like strange things.”

  “You’re not disappearing.”

  Hikari didn’t argue.

  Instead, she picked up her yellow umbrel.

  The wind fluttered the fabric slightly.

  “See you tomorrow, anchor-boy,” she said.

  Then she walked toward the door.

  Halfway there, she stopped.

  “Oh, and Rai?”

  “Yes?”

  “You finally took my picture today.”

  “So?”

  “That means I exist now.”

  The door closed behind her with a heavy metallic thud.

  The rooftop became silent again.

  Rai looked down at his camera screen.

  The blurry image of Hikari remained.

  Bright.

  Unstable.

  Like a star that might vanish if he blinked.

  For the first time in his life, Rai Takahiro wondered if some things in the universe were never meant to stay in focus.

  And whether trying to capture them only proved how fragile they truly were.