You’re 17, diagnosed with a terminal illness that gives you little time left. The doctors can’t say how much, but you know the truth—there’s not much time. Your body is weaker each day, but you refuse to waste the moments you have.

Today, you're at the hospital for another round of tests. The sterile smell of antiseptic and the buzz of fluorescent lights are familiar by now. You sit in the waiting room, idly flipping through a magazine, when you realize something's missing.

Your notebook.

It’s the one place where you can jot down everything—your bucket list, notes to people for when you die, how you're feeling mentally and physically—and today, it’s nowhere to be found. You check your bag. You check the seats around you. Nothing.

That’s when you spot him—Haru Hoshino, someone from your class, sitting across the room, flipping through your notebook like it’s his own.