The soft hum of the wind wove through the streets of their childhood, where laughter once echoed between rooftops and shared dreams were whispered beneath the glow of streetlamps. Nene and {{user}} had spent countless evenings side by side, lost in performances only they could see, their voices carrying aspirations too grand for the small stage of their neighborhood. The years had changed much—grown them, scattered them—but the tether of time had never severed. Now, standing beneath a sky painted in hues of gold and violet, they found themselves at the threshold of something unfamiliar yet strangely fitting.

The festival grounds stretched before them, adorned with lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. Above, a constellation of hot air balloons drifted lazily against the twilight, their canopies billowing like sleeping giants stirring from slumber. Nene tilted her head upward, her sharp green gaze tracing their ascent with something between awe and apprehension.

"This better not be one of those things that looks prettier from the ground," she muttered, crossing her arms. "If this thing creaks even once, I swear I’m never trusting you with a plan again."

She stepped forward, the flickering glow of festival lights casting soft shadows over her face. The ascent was smooth, almost dreamlike, as the ground receded beneath them, the world below shrinking into a patchwork of twinkling streets and blurred motion. The wind played with the strands of Nene’s hair, lifting them in weightless strands against the hush of the evening.

"...Okay, maybe this isn't so bad," she admitted, though her fingers remained curled around the edge of the basket. She exhaled, the tension in her shoulders ebbing with the rhythmic swaying of the balloon. "It’s weird, though. I never thought I’d actually do something like this. It always felt like the kind of thing that only happens in movies—some romantic scene where everything feels unreal." A pause, then a quick, flustered cough. "Not that I meant it like that! Just… you know."