A Summer Alone

The days stretched on, endless and sweltering under the heavy heat of summer. The school had let out for break, but for Kaito, it felt as though time had stopped. Hana's absence had left a void that no summer fun, no friends, and no distractions could fill. He spent his days the way he had when she was here: alone.

But it wasn't the same anymore. The park benches where they had shared jokes now felt empty. The streets where they'd wandered, aimlessly passing time together, now seemed quieter. Each place he visited—each familiar spot where they had once laughed or sat in comfortable silence—felt hollow without her.

That morning, he found himself walking to the park, the air thick with the scent of blooming flowers. The sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows on the grass. It was the same park where Hana had spent hours sketching, where they had argued playfully over silly things, and where they had shared one of their most honest conversations.

Kaito walked down the familiar path to the small stone bench they had sat on so many times. He sat down slowly, his fingers brushing against the cold stone. He could almost hear her voice, teasing him, or telling him to shut up when he'd gone too far with one of his jokes. A half-hearted smile tugged at his lips, but it quickly faded, replaced by the heaviness he'd been carrying for weeks.

He leaned back against the bench, staring up at the sky. The clouds moved lazily across the blue expanse, and the breeze was gentle on his skin. It should have been peaceful. But to Kaito, it felt like he was waiting for something that would never come. He closed his eyes, letting the sounds of the park fill his ears—children laughing, birds chirping, leaves rustling in the wind—but none of it felt real. None of it felt whole without Hana there.

The next day, he found himself on his bike, riding through the city without a destination in mind. The streets were quieter than usual, the sun overhead beating down, but Kaito hardly noticed the heat. He passed by the ice cream shop where they'd once stopped for their favorite flavors, laughing as they debated which one was the best. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

Kaito parked his bike and walked up to the counter. The bell above the door jingled, and the shopkeeper smiled at him.

"Back for your usual?" she asked, her tone friendly, but there was a glint of recognition in her eyes. She knew him well from the many trips he'd made with Hana.

Kaito hesitated, glancing down at the counter. The same flavors he had picked out with Hana were staring back at him. He could almost hear her voice, arguing that his choice was too boring or that he should try something new.

"Uh… I'll take the usual," he said, his voice quieter than normal.

The shopkeeper nodded, serving him the ice cream with a smile. Kaito paid for it, though he didn't really taste it as he walked out of the shop. He didn't feel like celebrating with a cone. He felt like a ghost passing through a place that no longer held the same joy.

He ate the ice cream in silence, not even bothering to finish it all. When he was done, he tossed the cone into the trash, feeling strangely empty. As he mounted his bike to leave, something caught his eye across the street—a small art supply shop that he had once visited with Hana. He used to mock her for buying all the supplies she didn't need, but it was also where they had spent hours talking about her future in art. Hana's passion had always been so infectious, and at that moment, it felt like something he wanted to hold onto.

The shop was still open. Without thinking, Kaito walked inside, greeted by the familiar scent of paint, paper, and the faint musk of wood. He wandered through the aisles, picking up brushes and sketchpads, each one reminding him of her. It felt like he was holding onto fragments of a life he couldn't quite let go of.

He paused in front of a section filled with sketchbooks, each one more beautiful than the last. Hana had once told him she loved buying a new sketchbook when she was feeling uninspired, as if the blank pages gave her permission to dream again. Kaito ran his fingers along the covers, wondering if she had found her next one. Maybe she was already filling the pages with new adventures.

He picked up a sketchbook, its cover a deep shade of purple with intricate gold designs on the edges. It reminded him of something Hana might choose. Without thinking, he paid for it and tucked it under his arm.

The days bled into one another, each one a mirror of the last. Kaito spent his time in familiar places, walking the streets they had walked together, visiting the spots that had been meaningful to both of them. He found solace in the memories, but it didn't stop the ache.

One evening, as he sat on the same bench in the park, watching the sky change colors with the setting sun, he realized something. He would never stop missing Hana, and he would never stop carrying the weight of her absence. But the memories, the laughter, the love they had shared—it was all part of who he was now. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

The pain wasn't gone, but it was softer, more manageable. He had learned, in a way, to live with it, to keep going. Because that's what Hana would have wanted him to do. She had always pushed him to be better, to do more, to laugh even when things seemed hard. And even though she was far away, Kaito knew that he still had her lessons to carry with him.

That night, Kaito opened the new sketchbook. He stared at the blank page, unsure of where to begin. But then he smiled, the memory of Hana's quiet encouragement whispering in his ear. He picked up a pen and began to draw.

It was a simple thing—a tree in the park, with a small bench under its shade. But at the center of it was a figure—a figure that, in Kaito's mind, was always there beside him.

For the first time in weeks, Kaito felt a sense of peace, knowing that even though Hana was far away, she would always be with him in the memories, in the sketches, and in his heart.