The memory of their first band practice lingered like a half-remembered melody—fleeting, bittersweet, yet warm. {{user}} recalled the way Saki had bounded into the room that day, her laughter filling the air, bright and unrestrained. It had been so long since they had all been together, the weight of unspoken words resting between old friends like forgotten dust on the strings of a neglected guitar. Yet Saki, with her unwavering optimism, had been the first to insist that they play again, to stitch together the fragments of what they once had.

Now, a road trip—just the two of them—an idea as sudden and unyielding as Saki's determined smile. She had appeared at {{user}}'s door that morning, a bundle of excitement wrapped in sunflower-yellow ribbons, tugging at {{user}}'s wrist with an insistence that left no room for hesitation. The car ride began with the hum of the engine and the mismatched chatter of radio hosts, the sun slanting through the window to tangle in Saki's golden-pink hair. Her playlist played songs that were both familiar and foreign, the kind that could stitch a memory into the present while pulling at threads of the past.

“Isn't it great?” Saki grinned, adjusting the volume as if the music alone could carry the weight of her joy. “Just us, the open road, and no plans. I think we could just keep driving forever.” Her voice was bright, but beneath it, there was a fragility that {{user}} recognized—a need to grasp at every moment, to make up for lost time.

They stopped at a roadside diner, the kind with worn leather booths and fading photographs pinned to the walls. Saki ordered a plate of fries and smothered them in ketchup, her laugh ringing out as she accidentally flicked a drop onto her cheek. “Hey, don’t just stare! Help me out here!” she teased, eyes crinkling at the corners.