The Day You Shined

When I opened my eyes, the classroom windows were glowing gold. The sunlight spilled through the thin curtains, painting everything in that faint, nostalgic warmth that only existed in memories. The air was filled with laughter — my classmates talking, someone calling my name, desks scraping lightly against the floor.

And then there was her.

She was by the window, tying her hair with that blue ribbon she always wore, smiling at something the teacher said. The sunlight caught in her hair, and for a second, it looked like time itself had stopped just to watch her smile. I remember thinking — how could someone look so bright in a world that felt so ordinary?

I wanted to say something to her. Anything.

But before I could take a step, the sound of a bell rang.

Not the school bell.

My alarm.

The light faded, the laughter vanished, and I woke up in a room that was far too quiet for a dream like that.

My ceiling greeted me in dull white. A single plant by the window had wilted slightly — I kept forgetting to water it. The city light outside painted thin blue stripes across the floor through the blinds.

For a moment, I just lay there, staring.

It had been years since I’d dreamed about high school. Years since I’d seen her face that clearly, smiling like that.

When I finally sat up, the alarm still buzzed. I reached out, turned it off, and rubbed my face. My hand brushed against the faint stubble on my chin — I’d overslept again.

“…It’s been a while,” I muttered to no one in particular.

The quietness of the room answered back.

After a few seconds, my phone started vibrating. My manager’s name flashed on the screen — Yamashita. I sighed, picking up.

“Morning,” I said, still half-asleep.

“Morning? You mean afternoon. You’re up late again, Kaito.” His voice was brisk as always, a mix of sarcasm and concern. “Listen, I’ve got something new for you.”

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me. “Another commercial?”

“No. A story. A short one. But it’s gone viral — both the novel and the manga adaptation are exploding online. The studio just bought the rights for a live-action film, and…” He paused for effect. “…they want you as the male lead.”

I blinked. “Already?”

“Yeah. The director personally requested you. Apparently, the character’s personality matches yours.”

“Which probably means he’s a quiet, socially awkward idiot.”

“Exactly,” he said dryly. “So perfect match.”

I sighed. “Pass.”

“Read it first,” he insisted. “It’s not long. I’ll send the script draft they sent us. If you still hate it after reading, I’ll drop the offer myself.”

I knew he was serious — Yamashita didn’t push me often, only when he believed something was worth my time.

“…Fine.”

“Good. Check your inbox. And Kaito,” he added, “you might like this one.”

The call ended with a soft click.

I looked at my phone for a few seconds before opening the email. A PDF file sat there with a simple title:

“The Day You Shined.”

I stared at it for a moment, not sure why the title felt strangely familiar. Maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe not.

After showering and grabbing a black cap and sunglasses, I drove out of the apartment. Tokyo’s midday traffic was loud — horns, engines, endless chatter from people crossing the streets. The kind of noise that used to overwhelm me when I first started acting.

But now, it was just part of the background — something my mind filtered out as I drove toward a small park near the river.

That park had a lake, a line of benches beneath old cherry trees. The trees had long lost their blossoms, their empty branches reaching toward a pale sky.

 Autumn had taken the color from them, leaving only quiet rustling leaves and the faint scent of passing time. A gentle quietness you could never find anywhere else in the city.

It was my place to think. To read.

The engine died down, and I stepped out of the car, the cool breeze brushing against my jacket. I walked to the same bench I always used — second from the right, facing the lake. A pair of ducks glided across the surface, ripples spreading behind them like small echoes of time.

I sat down, took off my cap, and opened the script.

The world faded away.

I always did that when I read — tuning out everything. Maybe it was habit, or maybe it was the only way I could really feel a story.

At first, it was just another school setting — two students, a boy and a girl, both awkward, both chasing their dreams while pretending not to look at each other.

But the more I read, the more I felt something twist inside me.

The small details — the summer festival scene, the way the girl laughed when she dropped her ice cream, the bench by the lake they always sat on after school — everything felt… familiar.

Too familiar.

Each line was like opening an old photograph I’d forgotten I had. Each piece of dialogue — something she might’ve said.

My hands tightened around the paper as a wave of unease washed through me.

By the time I reached the last page, my throat was dry.

The script ended with a line that made my pulse stop for a second:

> “Even if the world forgets us, I’ll keep waiting — because the day we met is the day I began to live.”

It was something I once said to her. Exactly those words.

I remember it because it was the last thing I said before…

I shut the script.

For a long while, I didn’t move. The breeze shifted, rustling the pages slightly, as if the story itself was breathing.

Finally, I took out my phone and called Yamashita. He picked up on the second ring.

“You finished?”

“…Who wrote this?” I asked quietly.

He paused. “You mean the original author? That’s the thing — no one knows. They’ve never gone public. Even their pen name, Sayo K., doesn’t have a face attached to it. The editor says the author prefers privacy.”

“…I see.”

“Apparently, the author will meet the cast after finalizing production. They insisted on it.”

I looked at the lake — sunlight glimmered across its surface, reflecting like fragments of old memories.

“I’ll take the role,” I said finally.

“…What? You just said—”

“I’ll do it.”

“Kaito, are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

A long silence followed, then a quiet sigh. “Alright. I’ll let the studio know. You’re a strange guy sometimes.”

“I’ve been told.”

He chuckled softly before hanging up.

I slipped the phone back into my pocket and leaned back against the bench, closing my eyes.

The sounds of the city faded behind the distant murmur of the wind. Somewhere nearby, children were laughing, the sound of water rippling, and the faint scent of grass carried through the air.

I remembered the first time I saw her — not as an actress, not in a story, but as herself.

It was after school, years ago.

I was walking back from cram school, and the sun was already setting. Near the old park on the hill, I saw a girl crouching beside an elderly woman, helping her pick up the groceries that had spilled from a bag.

She was laughing softly, brushing her hair behind her ear as she offered the woman a hand.

Her smile — bright, sincere, without a trace of hesitation — caught me completely off guard.

It wasn’t love at first sight. It was something slower, deeper — the kind of feeling that quietly takes root before you even realize it.

I remember thinking she seemed like someone who belonged in a story — not because she was perfect, but because she made the world around her feel alive.

And for some reason, I kept watching her from afar, day after day.

Until one day, I found the courage to talk to her.

But before that memory could return — before I could see her face again — my phone started buzzing once more.

The sound jolted me back to the present.

I sighed and picked it up, but this time it wasn’t Yamashita. It was a random unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Ah, sorry, wrong number!” a cheerful voice said before hanging up.

I stared at the phone screen for a second longer, then laughed quietly to myself.

The moment was gone, just like that.

Still, something about that script — about those words — wouldn’t leave me.

It wasn’t just a story.

It was our story.

And whoever wrote it… knew everything. Or did she—