The next morning, I woke up earlier than usual.
Sunlight slipped through the curtains, and for a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling. It took me a second to remember why my chest felt a little lighter than normal.
The vending machine.
The girl.
Tomorrow.
I sat up.
After breakfast, I grabbed my shoes and stepped outside, pretending I was just going out like any other day. The street looked ordinary. Same houses. Same road. Same vending machine standing at the corner, humming quietly.
I told myself I wasn't waiting for anything.
Then a door opened.
I turned my head.
Saki stepped out of the house next to mine, her hairpin clipped neatly in place. She looked around like she was still getting used to everything, then noticed me.
Her face lit up.
"Oh," she said. "Good morning."
"M-morning," I replied.
For a second, we both just stood there.
Then she held up the hairpin slightly, as if to show me. "It didn't fall off."
I nodded. "Good."
That was it. That was all we said. But it felt like enough.
"So… where are you going?" I asked.
She shrugged. "I don't know yet. I was just going to walk around."
I hesitated, then pointed down the road.
"There's a park that way. It's not big, but… people play there."
Her eyes followed where I pointed. "Can you show me?"
"Yeah," I said. "Sure."
We started walking.
At first, we didn't talk much. Our steps were slow, matching without trying. Every now and then, she kicked a small pebble on the road, watching it bounce forward.
"Do you come here every day?" she asked.
"Almost," I said. "After school too."
She nodded. "I hope I can make friends here."
"You will," I said, without really thinking.
She looked at me, then smiled. "I hope so."
When we reached the park, a few kids were already there. Some running. Some arguing over turns. Everything felt loud and alive.
Saki stopped beside me.
"…It's kind of scary," she admitted.
I thought about it for a moment, then pointed toward the swings. "We can just go there."
She seemed relieved. "Okay."
We sat on the swings, pushing ourselves slowly. Not too high. Just enough to feel the breeze.
"This is nice," she said.
"Yeah."
I didn't know what this was yet. Not friendship. Not something special. Just two kids sharing a morning.
But as I watched the chains of the swing glint in the sunlight and heard her quiet laugh beside me, I felt it again.
That same strange feeling from yesterday.
And somehow, I knew this wouldn't be the last time we met by the vending machine.
We stayed on the swings for a while, our feet dragging lines into the sand.
After some time, Saki slowed to a stop.
"What do you usually do here?"
I thought about it. "Run around. Play tag.
Sometimes we just sit."
She smiled. "Sitting is okay."
We got off the swings and walked around the park. She pointed at things like she was collecting them. A cat sleeping under a bench. A broken slide. A cloud that looked like a fish.
"That one looks like it's swimming," she said.
I squinted up at the sky. "…Yeah. It does."
We ended up near the sandbox. A few kids were building something that looked like a mountain, and Saki watched them quietly.
"Do you want to join?" I asked.
She shook her head. "Not yet."
"That's fine," I said. "We can just watch."
So we did. Sitting side by side, knees almost touching. Sometimes our hands brushed, and every time it happened, I pretended not to notice.
After a while, her stomach made a small sound.
She froze, then laughed a little, covering her mouth. "I didn't eat much breakfast."
"I have candy," I said.
Her eyes widened. "Really?"
I dug into my pocket and pulled out two small pieces. I handed one to her.
"Thank you," she said, taking it carefully. "I'll save it."
"You don't have to."
"I want to."
She tucked it into her pocket like it mattered.
When the sun climbed higher, the park grew louder. More kids. More voices. Saki moved a little closer to me without saying anything.
"Do you want to go somewhere quieter?" I asked.
She nodded.
We walked back toward the vending machine. It was still humming, the same as yesterday.
She stopped in front of it. "This thing is really loud."
"It's always like that," I said. "I think it never sleeps."
She smiled at that.
We stood there for a moment, just listening.
"…Haruto?" she said.
"Yeah?"
"I'm glad you were there yesterday."
I didn't know what to say, so I looked at the buttons on the machine.
"…Me too."
She leaned closer to the glass, staring at the drinks. "One day, I want to press a button."
"Me too," I said.
We laughed, quietly.
When it started getting hot, we walked back home together again. At the corner, she stopped.
"My mom said I have to be back before lunch."
"Same," I said.
She hesitated, then held up her hand in a small wave. "See you later?"
"Yeah," I replied. "Later."
She turned and walked off, the hairpin catching the sunlight as she moved.
I stood there a little longer than I needed to, listening to the vending machine behind me.
The day felt slow. And somehow, that made it feel important.
After lunch, the day slowed down.
The heat made the street quiet, and even the vending machine seemed louder than usual in the afternoon stillness. I stayed inside for a while, drawing shapes I didn't really care about and waiting for the sun to dip.
In the evening, I stepped outside again.
I didn't have a reason. Or at least, that's what I told myself.
Saki was already there.
She sat on the small wall near the vending machine, legs swinging back and forth. When she saw me, she straightened a little.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi."
That was becoming normal already.
We stood there for a bit, watching the sky change color. Orange turning soft, then slowly fading.
"My mom says evenings are the best," she said. "Because everything calms down."
"Yeah," I replied. "It feels different."
She nodded, holding her hands together.
"Back where I lived, I used to sit outside at this time too."
I glanced at her. "With your friends?"
"With my brother," she said. "He's older."
"Oh."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The vending machine hummed between us, filling the space.
"Do you come out here every day?" she asked.
"Sometimes," I said. "I think I will now."
She smiled at that, small but real.
A breeze passed, cool against our faces. The streetlights flickered on one by one, just like the night before.
"It's almost dinner time," she said quietly.
"Yeah."
She stood up, then hesitated. "Tomorrow… will you be here again?"
I nodded. "I usually am."
"Okay," she said, like she was making a promise. "Then I will too."
She waved and walked back home, turning once before going inside.
I stayed where I was, watching the light glow from her window.
From that day on, evenings became like this.
Nothing special.
Just standing near the vending machine.
Talking a little.
Sometimes not talking at all.
But every day, right around sunset, we'd both find our way there.
And somehow, that was enough.