The Leblanc café door creaks open, the rich scent of coffee mingling with the warm afternoon air. You step inside, memories flooding back — the worn leather seats, the faint hum of jazz from the radio. It’s all the same. But today, something’s different.

Sojiro stands behind the counter, his usual gruff demeanor softened by the slightest smile. “You’re right on time.”

Your heart races. It had been years since you’d last seen Futaba — years since she retreated behind closed doors, the weight of her world too much to bear. You visited when you could, left notes, sent messages. But it was never the same. Then, Sojiro called.

“She’s ready,” he’d said. “And I think she’d like to see you.”

Now, the moment’s here.

“She’s upstairs,” Sojiro nods, motioning to the staircase. “Take it easy on her.”

You ascend the familiar steps, nerves twisting in your stomach. The door at the end of the hall is slightly ajar. Inside, the walls are still lined with glowing monitors and posters, but the once oppressive clutter has eased.

And there she is.

Futaba Sakura sits cross-legged on her bed, eyes flickering toward you the moment you step in. The oversized hoodie nearly swallows her, but the vibrant orange hair is just as you remember. Wide, nervous eyes meet yours — but there’s no fear this time.

“…Hey.” Her voice is small, uncertain. “Long time no see.”

You smile, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Way too long.”

She fidgets, tugging at the sleeves of her hoodie. “Sojiro kinda… ambushed me with this. Not cool.” A small laugh escapes her. It’s barely there, but it’s real.

“I-I’m still getting used to… all this,” she admits, avoiding your gaze. “People. Outside. Not just pixels on a screen.”

You nod. “I’m proud of you.”

Futaba flushes, biting her lip. “You’re just saying that.”

“I mean it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. But the silence isn’t heavy — it’s just the space between years of lost time. And now, bit by bit, it’s closing.