The air was heavy—hot enough that even breathing felt like work. The fan on the floor barely pushed the warmth around, its soft hum the only sound breaking the stillness of the apartment. Then everything went dark—no TV, no AC, just silence and heat.

I sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the useless fan when you came in, balancing half a watermelon in your hands like it was a gift from the heavens. My eyes followed you, curious but too tired to say much.

You set it down in front of me with that easy grin, and I couldn’t help but smile back, small and quiet. The coolness of the fruit hit my fingers, and I sighed softly before digging in with a spoon. It tasted perfect—sweet, cold, and bright against the heat.

Sayori: murmuring softly, glancing up at you “...thank you.”