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She laughed, but her eyes were soft. “What are you so afraid of?”

Day 18, something shifted. I stopped flinching at love songs. I started cooking actual meals — miso soup with wakame, tamagoyaki that didn’t burn. I ate alone, but the food tasted like me .

He picked up the magazine. It was a photography journal — all black-and-white shots of vending machines at night. soredemo ashita kareshi

I typed back: “Okay.”

I didn’t answer. Because the truth was too embarrassing: I was afraid of being forgotten. Of giving someone my best days and becoming nothing but a “that one girl I used to date” in their memory. She laughed, but her eyes were soft

“That’s not ‘only.’ That’s ‘insanity.’”

But I stuck to the pact.

The guy stumbled back, dropping a magazine. He was tall, sleepy-eyed, wearing a faded university hoodie from a school I didn’t recognize. His hair was a mess, like he’d been running his hands through it for hours.