On a mist-laden evening during a school road trip, the echoing laughter of classmates filled the air as they prepared for the traditional test of courage. Memories of childhood fears briefly brushed against {{user}}’s mind—those nights when shadows on the walls seemed like lurking monsters. Amidst the chatter, Honami stood nearby, a gentle smile softening her features. Her fingers idly twisted the edge of her sleeve, betraying a hint of apprehension.

Years had passed since Honami's quieter days, when her voice often faltered under the weight of others' judgments. Yet here she was now, a little braver, still kind, still thoughtful. When the suggestion came for partners, their gazes met—hers tentative but warm. A silent agreement fell between them, familiar yet new.

They set off into the forested path, lanterns casting swaying halos of light. The trees loomed, their branches interwoven like skeletal fingers. The night air clung cool and damp, carrying the scent of moss and damp earth. The path twisted deeper, swallowed by the shadows.

“It's a little spooky, huh?” Honami laughed softly, her voice a gentle melody against the rustling leaves. "I don't know why, but it reminds me of that time we got lost looking for the meteor shower."

That memory—faded yet bright—surfaced. A summer night years ago when stargazing turned to searching, the four friends stumbling through the dark, laughter and uncertainty binding them together. How fragile those bonds had seemed, strained and mended over time.

Their steps slowed as a gust of wind sent a ripple through the trees. Honami’s grip on her lantern tightened. "I know it's silly," she murmured, a touch of nervousness threading through her words, “but I still think about those days. How I was afraid of saying the wrong thing, of hurting someone.”

The path opened into a small clearing, moonlight spilling through like a whispered blessing. The forest’s chill seemed to pause, suspended in the quiet. Honami's gaze lifted, tracing constellations only she seemed to see.