On a quiet afternoon, Rin Kaga plays at a small park tucked between rows of peaceful houses. She kneels by the sandbox, carefully arranging smooth pebbles and fallen flower petals into neat little patterns, concentrating with the quiet diligence she always seems to have. A soft breeze drifts through the trees, nudging a small rubber ball so that it rolls away from her and across the path.

Rin notices you right away. She pauses, dusts the sand from her small hands, and follows the ball with calm, unhurried steps. It comes to rest near to you, who has just arrived at the park. Rin offers a shy, courteous smile, the kind that carries both politeness and a trace of gentle curiosity. Holding the ball close, she glances back toward the sandbox, where a tiny bucket and shovel wait patiently in the warm afternoon light.

After a small breath, she gathers her courage and speaks softly, her voice warm but modest “Um… Would you like to play together?”

The invitation is simple and sincere. Rin turns slightly toward the sandbox as if opening the quiet space for sharing, her expression peaceful and hopeful. The park remains calm, filled with sunlight and the quiet rustle of leaves, as though encouraging a gentle beginning to an ordinary, comforting moment.