Even If Time's Run Out

Day 28

The mountains fell behind her like a memory she didn’t want to let go of—but did anyway. She shouldn’t stay too long in one place. There was still so much more to see in this world.

Sayo walked.

Down winding paths where snow turned to gravel. Past trees with blackened bark and grass that looked like it had forgotten how to grow. She wasn’t sure where she was going anymore. There was no map for the places left behind—only instinct. Only forward. But the air was warm and reached out to her with open arms.

Eventually, the path ended—not in a line, but in a slow disintegration. The earth cracked beneath her feet. Concrete mixed with roots. A broken overpass jutted out like the spine of a dead animal. The buildings nearby were skeletons: bent rebar, shattered windows, hollow towers split in half. Somewhere in the distance, the forest clawed toward the ruins, reclaiming what it could.

There was still so much more to see. And she planned to see all of it.

She paused at the edge, half-expecting the city to groan or breathe.

It didn’t.

Then, she saw him.

A figure hunched near the remains of a bus stop, back against a vending machine split open like a wound. Lean, worn-down, not quite full-grown but close, maybe seventeen, maybe just built like someone who never got to rest. His clothes were gray with ash and age, sleeves too long, shoulders too thin. His hair hung over his eyes in uneven strands.

He didn’t move when she approached.

“Hey,” Sayo said quietly. “Are you hurt?”

He didn’t respond, just stared past her—hollow but not helpless.

“I’m not here to take anything,” she added. “Not much on me, anyway.”

A pause.

“Water?”

She held out the bottle. His fingers didn’t move, but his gaze dropped toward it, then flicked back to her face.

Wariness. Not fear.

After a long moment, he took it. Not gently, not gratefully—just necessity.

She didn’t ask his name. Didn’t sit too close. A distance away, but close enough, leaning against the vending machine. Gave him space. Gave him shade. Gave him silence.

When he drank, she nodded to herself.

That night, when he hesitated before bedding down near the blankets she’d scavenged, she tossed him her jacket without a word. He didn’t thank her. He didn’t need to. She pointed out the tangles in his hair, but he didn’t move to do anything about it. She told him about the stars, even though they were hidden most nights. She started calling him Noa without asking if that was really his name.

He didn't stop her.

In the morning, he was still there.

He wasn’t much for talking. Sometimes, Sayo forgot he was there.

But he walked beside her now. And at the end of the week, they had a rhythm. A quiet understanding.
She spoke to fill the silence. He listened without interrupting.

That night at the end of the week, while Noa slept slouched in the corner of the ruins of a house, Sayo sat alone by the remains of the house’s porch. It had been a week here, in these ruins. And she truly was seeing all parts of the world—even the broken ones. The air smelled like moss and rust. Somewhere in the distance, waves crashed against a half-sunken pier.

She looked at her phone for a long time before dialing Rika’s number. It had almost been a month since she left.
Would Rika want her to reach out?

She didn’t think too hard before hitting record.

Her voice was tired, but gentle.

“Hey… how are you? I hope you’re doing okay. I am, if you’re wondering. I’ve visited three places this month. The beach, the mountains… and right now, I have no idea where I am. Maybe some long-abandoned town.”

She laughed softly.

“The waves sound like old lullabies. I think this is what I needed. To find beauty again. And this place really is—soft, still, and kind. The kind of beautiful that makes you ache. It reminded me of you, the coast.”

A pause.

“I wish I could explain everything better. I just... needed to breathe, Rika. And I really am sorry for leaving like that. Maybe you won’t forgive me—I know you won’t, because that’s just how you are—but I’ll wait for you anyway. Even if time’s already run out.”

The wind shifted. She closed her eyes.

“I found a place to stay. It’s not much, but… there’s something comforting about it. Maybe it’s a little less than a home, honestly. The place is in shambles, no roof, and the walls are incomplete. But that's okay, there’s no danger out here. I’ve also found a kid. Well, not exactly a kid—probably about five years younger than us. More of a teen. He’s… really like you when you were younger.”

She paused, feeling the wind push her bangs into her eyes.

“I miss you. But I wasn’t ready. I don’t know if I’m ready now, either. I just know I’m still here. And I think… I want to keep being here. I hope that’s enough. And I hope you know I see it—that you’re still trying.”

A breath.

“You’re Rika, after all. Rika Endou never stops until she gets what she wants, right? You said that so proudly at the start of university that I still remember it. Always will.”

A faint smile.

“But either way… I hope you’re eating. Sleeping. Resting. Though you’re probably not.”

A final pause.

“That’s it from me for now. I’ll check back again soon.”

She sent the message and put down her phone. She looked up at the stars, thinking of nothing in particular.

And beside her, the boy turned in his sleep.