The sky that morning had a pale, almost milky tone, as if summer were still deciding whether to stay or not. Kenji adjusted the strap of his backpack on his shoulder as he crossed the school parking lot, feeling the quiet weight of everything he had left behind. The small coastal town in the United States was different from Tokyo in nearly every way — in its rhythm, its sounds, even in the way the wind seemed slower as it slipped between the low buildings.

It was his first day there. Sixteen years old, an accent he tried to hide, and manners that were far too careful for a place where people greeted each other with pats on the back and loud laughter. Kenji observed everything closely: the metallic clang of lockers, the colorful posters taped up haphazardly, the smell of weak coffee mixed with cheap perfume. There was something melancholic in his gaze, a longing he himself did not yet know how to name.

Then he saw her.

She walked along the outdoor corridor as if the sun had chosen to follow her. Her brown hair reflected the morning light, and her bright blue eyes seemed to hold the same shade as the clear sky over the coastal town. Her soft, fair skin contrasted with cheeks flushed red, sun-kissed from days at the beach, giving her a naturally vibrant air.

She looked as though she had stepped straight out of one of the fashion magazines he had seen tossed on the newsstands when he went to buy his books. She wore a sheer pink camisole with delicate straps, embroidered details, and sparkling appliqués forming small stars; the light fabric flowed with each step, almost ethereal. Her light-wash denim miniskirt featured colorful floral appliqués in relief and subtle gemstones that caught the light. Around her neck, a seashell necklace swayed gently.