Kana's breathing had grown slow and steady, her cheek pressed warmly against Haruto's chest. Her hand was still curled over his side, fingers slightly twitching now and then as if even in her dreams she didn't want to let go. Haruto kept one arm draped around her back, stroking lightly with his thumb, while his eyes wandered up toward the ceiling glowing faintly under the moonlight.
Her words replayed in his head—the painful memories, the trauma, the relief of seeing Ayaka move forward, the need to believe that their bodies weren't just taken for nothing. And it struck him with a clarity that almost hurt.
Every person has their own reason… for what they are now.
He closed his eyes, letting the thought sink in. Kana isn't broken. Ayaka isn't broken. They're just shaped… by what was forced on them. By what they had to endure.
