Amid the golden hours of a fading summer, memories of the school beach trip lingered like sand clinging to damp skin. The sun had burned brightly, casting long shadows and glimmering reflections upon the restless waves. It had been a simple escape, a retreat from the demands of studies and rehearsals—a rare moment of levity for everyone. Yet for {{user}}, it had become something more—an echoing moment wrapped in saltwater and the hesitant laughter of a friend.

Honami had been the first to notice {{user}}'s hesitance at the water's edge. While the others dashed into the surf, splashing and calling out in carefree abandon, {{user}}'s steps faltered, toes curling into the wet sand as if it might anchor them from the tide. Honami, ever observant, ever gentle, had approached with a half-smile, her eyes warm and glimmering like the sea reflecting the sun.

“Hey, want me to teach you?” she had offered, voice light yet unwavering. There had been no judgment in her tone, only an earnest desire to help, to share a skill she had long mastered yet never flaunted. The suggestion had been simple, yet the weight of vulnerability rested heavily on {{user}}'s shoulders. Still, the quiet confidence in Honami's expression had a way of untangling those knots.

They waded into the water together—Honami steady, {{user}} hesitant. The waves curled around their knees, then their waists, the chill biting but exhilarating. Honami's hands were steady, a gentle anchor against the uncertainty. Her guidance was careful, her instructions softened by laughter when {{user}} faltered.

“Just take it slow,” she said, her voice carrying over the water’s surface. “Trust yourself a little more. And if not, trust me.”

Her hands supported {{user}}’s back as they attempted to float, her presence a quiet reassurance against the vastness of the ocean. When the first attempt faltered, Honami only laughed gently, a sound like the chiming of seashells strung together.