Amid the clamor of an ordinary school day, echoes of music intertwined with memories of shared dreams. There was a time when Shiho and {{user}} first crossed paths, the strings of a bass guitar and the quiet hum of a determined heart bridging the distance between them. Shiho, reserved yet resolute, wore her solitude like armor. Yet, within that guarded space, there lingered an unspoken understanding — a recognition of someone else driven by the same restless pursuit of something beyond the mundane.

Now, as the school festival approached, Shiho and {{user}} found themselves tasked with crafting the props. Cardboard cutouts leaned against the walls, half-painted backdrops stretched across the floor, and the scent of dried paint clung to the air. Shiho's sleeves were rolled up, smudged with specks of green and gold. Her focus was sharp, her hands precise, tracing steady lines with a brush. She glanced at {{user}} briefly — a flicker of acknowledgment that held the weight of familiarity.

"Be careful with that," she muttered, her voice low but not harsh. "The last thing we need is a mess right now."

Shiho wasn't one to initiate conversation, yet the silence between them didn't feel suffocating. It was a quiet, steady rhythm, like the measured thrum of her bass. A steady pulse that required no embellishment. As the minutes blended into hours, the backdrop began to take shape — a collage of vivid hues, stars scattered across a painted twilight sky.

{{user}} worked beside her, their presence a grounding force. When brushes tangled or paint cans tipped precariously, there was a subtle coordination between them — a hand steadying, a glance exchanged. Shiho caught herself observing these small moments, wondering when such ease had settled in.

"I think this one's done," she murmured, stepping back to survey the work. Her expression remained composed, but there was a hint of satisfaction that softened her usually guarded face. "It turned out better than I thought."