Chapter 2-"Where the Sky Opens Wide"

I woke up to the sound of cicadas humming just outside the window.

The morning sun poured through the thin curtains, lighting up the small room like a warm spotlight. My suitcase lay half-unpacked in the corner, and my phone still had no signal. It was strange, being cut off from the noise I had grown so used to. No buzzing notifications. No emails. Just the quiet creaking of the old wooden floor beneath my steps.

Gramps’ house hadn’t changed much. The same old wooden beams, the faint scent of tatami mats, and that stubborn faucet in the bathroom that always leaked no matter how many times he fixed it. I left a note in case he came back early, then slipped on my shoes and stepped outside.

The road into town curved gently along the hillside, surrounded by tall grass and wildflowers. The air was cleaner here—so clean it felt like it washed something out of me with every breath. I hadn’t felt that in a long time.

As I walked, I passed by a few locals tending to their small gardens. A few waved. One of them, an old woman hunched over with a straw hat too big for her head, paused to stare at me.

“You’re Kaito’s boy, aren’t you?”

I stopped. “Grandson, actually.”

“I thought so,” she said, squinting at me. “Same eyes.”

She chuckled and went back to pruning her roses, as if that explained everything.

Eventually, I came to a little general store by the road. The wooden sign above the door read Hoshikawa Market, its paint chipped by the sea breeze. A bell chimed as I stepped inside.

“Welcome—ah, now there’s a face I haven’t seen in years.”

The man behind the counter was tall and lanky, with a voice like gravel and a smile that reached his tired eyes. He leaned over the counter, squinting. “Kaito’s grandson, right?”

“Yeah. Just got in yesterday.”

“Well, welcome back to the end of the world,” he said, laughing. “I’m Genji. I knew your gramps. Great man. Never paid on time.”

I smiled. “Sounds like him.”

“Still, he always tipped in stories. Good ones, too.” He leaned forward. “Hey, have you gone down to the cliff fields yet?”

“Not yet. Why?”

Genji shrugged. “Just... If you see a girl out there, don’t be surprised. She shows up now and then. Real quiet type. Always staring up at the sky.”

I paused. “Red hair?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. You’ve seen her already?”

“At the airport.”

Genji gave a thoughtful hum. “Guess it’s that time of year again.”

I didn’t ask what he meant. I bought a bottle of iced tea and left with a polite wave.

The walk to the cliffs wasn’t long. The road turned to gravel, then to dirt, then finally opened up into a wide stretch of grassy field overlooking the sea. The waves rolled gently below, sparkling like shattered glass under the sun. And there she was.

She sat in the middle of the field, her back to me. Long red hair, white stockings, and a black skirt that fluttered gently in the breeze. Her cane lay on the grass beside her, forgotten. She looked small against the vast blue sky—like a single brushstroke on an endless canvas.

I hesitated for a moment. Then I walked over, careful not to startle her.

“You were at the airport yesterday, weren’t you?”

She didn’t turn around. Her gaze stayed fixed on the sky.

“I was,” she said softly. “You looked lost.”

“I probably was.”

Silence fell between us. Only the wind spoke, brushing gently through the tall grass.

“Do you think the sky ever gets tired of carrying all those dreams?” she asked.

I blinked. “I’ve never thought about it.”

She turned her head slightly. Her blue eyes met mine—sharp, but not unkind.

“Well,” she said, “maybe you should.”

She stood slowly, steadying herself with her cane. Up close, I could see the faintest tremble in her hand as she brushed a strand of hair from her face.

“I’m Himari,” she said. “Like the flowers.”

“I’m Akaru,” I replied.

She smiled faintly. “Then I hope you like walking. I’m not very fast.”

I nodded, falling into step beside her as we began to walk the cliff edge. The sun hung high above us, and though she said little more, something about the silence felt... different. Lighter.

As if the sky, even just for a moment, was willing to carry one more dream.