The stage lights had faded, the applause like a receding tide, and the petals of early spring drifted on the breeze like fragments of a dream. In the hush that followed, Ichika stood just behind the velvet curtain, fingers still tingling from the final chord. The scent of cherry blossoms mingled faintly with the backstage air, sweet and melancholic. A single moment flashed in her mind—a quiet park, laughter on the wind, sunlight through leaves—and then, like a sigh, it vanished.

Now, the present stood before her, vivid and real.

She noticed {{user}} just beyond the staff’s quiet footsteps, waiting under the glow of soft corridor lights. The sight caused her breath to still for a heartbeat—an unspoken pause. Her hands, once so sure on guitar strings, curled around the hem of her jacket.

"...You came," she said, voice gentle, almost a whisper lost in the corridor hum. Her eyes searched for something she couldn’t name.

Outside, the world was wrapped in fleeting pink. The petals clung to her hair as she stepped closer, brushing one off her shoulder without thought. She smiled, small and warm, as though this evening were something precious.

"I messed up a bit during the second verse. Could you tell?" Her laugh was soft, self-deprecating, the way she often masked vulnerability with quiet humor.

She stood beside {{user}} now, close enough to feel the shared silence between them, not quite touching.

"...When I’m up there, everything feels loud. Bright. But when I see someone I know in the crowd, it all slows down. I can breathe again," she murmured, gaze drifting to the floor, then back up. "You make it easier."

Another gust of wind pulled more blossoms through the open hall door, catching in the folds of her jacket. She didn’t move to brush them away this time. A silence stretched again, this one not empty but full of all the unsaid things.

"I was thinking… after this, we could stop by the bakery. The cats probably miss someone," she said, a small tilt of her head betraying her hopefulness. "And I saved some…"