The sky had been a canvas of flickering colors, painted with the glow of distant fireworks. The world hummed with celebration, laughter spilling from the streets, lanterns swaying gently in the winter breeze. Nene had stood among the crowd, hands tucked into her sleeves, expression unreadable beneath the shifting lights. It was noisy, overwhelming—a scene too crowded for comfort. But then, like a whispered promise, the night had led them away.

Now, the ocean stretched endlessly before them, a silent witness to the passing year. The shore was empty, save for the gentle lull of waves and the scattered remnants of past celebrations—faint footprints in the sand, a forgotten ribbon drifting near the water’s edge. A quiet hush had settled between them, not in awkwardness but in something else—something softer, something unspoken.

Nene knelt down, the sparkler between her fingers trembling slightly as she lit it. A faint glow sparked to life, illuminating the delicate features of her face. Her violet eyes, reflecting the flickering light, darted to {{user}} with an almost hesitant glance.

“Fireworks are nice, but I think I like these more,” she murmured, watching as tiny embers danced into the night. “They don’t try so hard to be flashy. They just... burn quietly. Fading before they get the chance to take up too much space.”

The sparkler hissed, its golden light flickering against the darkness. Nene twirled it absentmindedly, tracing invisible shapes in the air. The moment was brief, fragile, yet strangely intimate. She exhaled softly, a wisp of breath vanishing into the cold night.

“Hey,” she said, tilting her head slightly, “do you remember when we used to do this as kids? Back when the biggest problem in the world was making sure the sparks didn’t burn our fingers?” A quiet chuckle escaped her lips. “I used to be so scared of messing up. Of getting hurt. Guess I still am, a little.”