Chapter 5.3: The First Step

The next day, after school, I found myself in the same park, walking along the same path where Haruka and I had spoken the week before.

I was early, and she wasn't there yet. I sat on the same bench, the cool breeze brushing past me as I waited. My heart was racing, the weight of what was coming settling on my shoulders. I wasn't even sure what I was going to say to her. What could I say?

But I couldn't run from it anymore.

The sound of footsteps broke my concentration. I looked up and saw Haruka walking toward me, her long hair trailing behind her in the wind. She wasn't wearing the usual smile that seemed to be on everyone else's face. Instead, her expression was calm, but there was something in her eyes that felt… different.

She sat down beside me without a word, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. We just sat there, side by side, in the silence.

Finally, Haruka broke it.

"You know," she said softly, her voice almost lost in the wind, "you don't have to have everything figured out right now. You don't have to be perfect."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. What could I say to that?

I wanted to tell her everything—the pressure, the facade, the emptiness I was feeling inside. But the words wouldn't come. It was like they were stuck in my throat, too heavy to be spoken.

Haruka seemed to understand. She didn't push. Instead, she just sat there, beside me, offering quiet company.

It wasn't until the sun started to dip below the horizon that I spoke, my voice barely above a whisper.

"I don't know who I am anymore," I said, the words coming out in a rush. "I don't know what I want. Or who I'm supposed to be. I feel… lost."

Haruka didn't say anything at first. She just let me speak, let the words spill out without interruption. When I finally looked up, she was staring at the ground, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

"I don't think anyone knows exactly who they are," she said quietly. "Not all the time. We just… keep trying to figure it out, day by day."

Her words were like a balm to my frayed nerves. It didn't fix everything—nothing could—but it made me feel less alone. For the first time in a long time, I wasn't worried about pretending to be something I wasn't. I wasn't trying to fit into a role I didn't belong in.

For a brief moment, I just let myself breathe.