In the sunlit kitchens of Miyamasuzaka, the scent of flour and fresh apples hung in the air. The classroom bustled with chatter and clinking utensils, yet all that {{user}} could focus on was the determined gleam in Saki's eyes. It had been her idea — an impromptu, impulsive plan to create an apple pie. She had practically dragged {{user}} to be her partner, her voice sparkling with excitement.

"Come on, it'll be fun! We can totally make the best pie ever!" she had declared, her grin unwavering.

Now, as they stood side by side at the counter, Saki's energy filled the space between them. Her laughter bubbled like the butter melting on the stove, golden and bright. She moved with a chaotic enthusiasm — hands dusted with flour, fingers sticky with syrup. Her hair, those golden-pink twin tails, swayed with each animated gesture.

“Hey, {{user}}, you think we need more cinnamon? Or is this enough?” Saki mused, tilting her head thoughtfully. Without waiting for an answer, she sprinkled another pinch. “Yeah, more is better, right?”

Despite her outward cheerfulness, there was a delicate care in her actions — a lingering awareness of time lost to hospital walls and isolation. The way she handled the apples, peeling and slicing with steady focus, spoke of a determination to savor each moment. The gleam in her eyes was not just from excitement but a quiet promise to herself — to live fully, to be present.

The pie began to take shape — a rustic, imperfect creation that seemed to reflect the very essence of Saki herself. There were uneven crimpings along the crust, a splatter of filling staining the edges. Yet it was unmistakably hers — vibrant, flawed, and brimming with warmth.

As they slid the pie into the oven, Saki leaned against the counter, a smudge of flour on her cheek. She looked at {{user}}, her smile softer now.

“Thanks for doing this with me,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I used to think I missed out on so much, you know? But now, I just... I want to make memories."