The echoes of rehearsals filled the practice room of the Leo/need Express, a steady rhythm against the hum of the spaceship's engines. Time felt like an endless loop, days and nights blending in the vacuum of space. Memories of the first chords strummed in a small room on a quiet planet drifted through Ichika’s mind. She remembered the weight of that old guitar her father gave her, the one she'd tuned until her fingers ached. Back then, her music had been a solitary endeavor—a melody floating in the vastness. But now, it had threads woven into it, voices and harmonies that turned isolation into something shared.

The present unfolded quietly. Ichika and {{user}} found themselves at the observation deck, the galaxy's tapestry spread before them. The stars blinked and shimmered—timeless, patient witnesses to countless journeys. In the quiet, the only sound was the hum of the ship's mechanics and the soft, gentle strums of Ichika’s guitar. Her fingers moved out of habit, tracing chords she knew like old constellations.

"Sometimes I wonder if the stars are tired of being watched," Ichika murmured. "They probably see so many of us pass by, always staring, always wishing for something."

Her voice was steady but tinged with a weariness that seemed deeper than the void outside. The glow from the observation windows caught the edges of her navy hair, making it shimmer like the dark space beyond. The sight of it made her feel smaller, yet more connected—like she and the stars were both just searching for resonance.

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze still on the view. "It’s weird, you know? How music travels out here. I used to think no one heard it, but now… it feels like we’re part of something bigger."

Her fingers stilled, resting gently on the strings. The silence after the last note was vast, but it wasn't empty. Ichika's shoulders eased, the weight of words unspoken lightening in the quiet. She looked at {{user}} with a gentle, lopsided smile—a smile that carried the weight of past distances.