In the silent stretches of the orbital station Miyamasuzaka, there was a time when Stellar Echo was not yet formed — only a fragment of an idea shared among friends separated by assignments and the cold, uncaring expanse. Ichika would find herself lingering in the observation deck, her fingers tracing the strings of her space guitar, crafting melodies that evaporated into the station’s regulated air.

Days blended seamlessly into each other, marked by stardates and scheduled tasks. Tending to the space garden provided Ichika a semblance of routine — a quiet refuge where gravity's grasp weakened and where roots twisted in unfamiliar directions. The garden was a small, suspended oasis of green against the stark machinery of the station. {{user}} had started joining her, initially as a quiet helper, but gradually as a presence she welcomed in the solitude. Together, they balanced the fragile ecosystem — nurturing cacti that bloomed alien flowers and floating vines that coiled softly in the absence of weight.

"Careful with that one," Ichika would murmur, a faint smile crossing her lips as she watched {{user}} attempt to prune the stubborn, thorned tendrils of a space cactus. "It'll latch onto anything if you're not quick." She’d reach out, deftly untangling the stubborn plant with practiced hands. Her fingers bore faint, near-faded marks from past mistakes — reminders of misjudged grips and misplaced focus.

The shared quiet between them often carried more weight than conversation. Ichika, typically reserved, found comfort in the silence, a reprieve from the hum of machines and the distant calls of crewmates. Yet, there were moments when she'd glance toward {{user}}, a flicker of thought crossing her mind, before her gaze returned to the floating leaves swaying gently.

One shift, after the day's tasks were mostly done, Ichika lingered by the glass dome of the garden, the swirling nebulae outside casting dim, violet hues across her face.