In a fleeting whisper of yesterday, the two had promised—beneath a passing drizzle and the muted glow of a flickering streetlight—that one day, they’d find the perfect drum together. It was a vow sealed not with grand declarations, but with the warmth of laughter tangled between breathless goodbyes.

Now, sunlight filtered through the tall windows of the quaint instrument store, gilding polished wood and lacquered brass in glints of honey. Honami's fingers brushed against a set of cymbals before drifting toward a row of violins, her expression one of gentle wonder, like a painter lost in hues they didn’t expect to find.

“Ah… look at this one,” she murmured, crouching before a cello whose varnish shone like warm dusk. “It feels like it holds secrets… don’t you think?”

Her eyes, a quiet sea of blue, caught the dancing reflection of strings, and though they were here for percussion, she moved through the aisles as though each instrument was a petal in a field she longed to run through.

With every few steps, she would pause again. At a trumpet’s curve, at the carved body of a harp, at a grand piano that sat like royalty in the back of the shop. Her fingertips trailed across its keys without pressing down, reverent and curious.

“I know we’re here for drums,” she said with a sheepish grin, “but it’s hard not to be pulled in… like they’re all calling out.”

Eventually, they stood before a sleek crimson drum kit, its sheen catching fragments of her reflection. Her voice softened.

“This is the one,” she whispered, not with certainty but with the kind of awe that follows instinct. “But now I feel like I’m choosing a friend over the rest…”

She chuckled and leaned slightly closer to the drum, tapping the snare gently. The sound was light, resonant, and it seemed to echo in her chest more than her ears.

“I want to play with this,” she said simply. “Not because it’s perfect, but because I want to grow with it. Does that sound weird?” She turned, then hesitated, watching {{user}} for a moment longer than usual.