The morning air felt lighter than the night before, carrying the faint scent of sun-warmed pavement and the distant hum of cicadas. I hadn't slept well, but I felt a strange sort of resolve. Grandma Yoshie had asked me to help with the groceries, and for once, I didn't argue. Maybe it was because Ami had been around yesterday. Or maybe I was finally starting to care.
I slid on my worn sneakers and grabbed a shopping basket from the small convenience store nearby. The store was quiet, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the soft chime of the doorbell whenever someone entered. I moved down the aisles, picking up miso, rice, and a few vegetables, trying to make sure nothing was forgotten.
"Kenji?"
I froze mid-step and turned. Ami stood there, basket in hand, her hair falling loose around her face. The sunlight caught the strands just right, making them glimmer like copper in motion.
"Ah… Ami." I cleared my throat. "I didn't expect to see you here."
She smiled, the kind of smile that made my chest feel warm and strange. "I was picking up a few things for Grandma Yoshie. Looks like we're shopping at the same time."
I scratched the back of my neck, feeling awkward. "Guess great minds think alike?"
Ami laughed softly, and for some reason, it made me feel like the world had paused. Together, we moved down the aisles, picking up the things Grandma had asked for. She handed me a carton of eggs. "Careful," she said, tilting her head slightly. "Remember how fragile these are?"
I nodded, gripping it like it was made of glass. "Don't worry. I've got it."
"You say that, but last time you burned the rice," she teased.
I couldn't help laughing. It wasn't embarrassed laughter, but light, shared with someone who understood me or at least pretended to. "It was one time," I said. "Maybe two."
She gave me that small, knowing smile again and didn't argue. We finished the groceries quickly, and then Ami suggested, "Do you want to walk back together? It's nicer than carrying everything alone."
I blinked. "Uh… sure."
We stepped out into the mid-afternoon sun, the streets shimmering faintly from the heat. The cicadas buzzed louder, the distant voices of children playing somewhere added to the soft soundtrack of the day. I carried the heavier bags, trying not to stumble over the uneven pavement. Ami walked beside me, her basket lighter than mine, and somehow, it felt like we'd always walked together, even if we hadn't.
We passed a small park on the way, and she pointed toward a bench under a tree. "Want to rest for a bit?" she asked.
I hesitated. Sitting down with her like this, just the two of us... it felt strange. But comfortable. And maybe, just maybe, a little dangerous for my thoughts. I nodded.
We settled on the bench, the city's faint noises muted by the rustle of leaves and the occasional birdcall. Ami peeled an orange she had bought, offering me a segment. "Here," she said.
I took it, smiling. "Thanks."
We ate in silence for a while. There was no need to talk constantly, the quiet itself felt like a conversation. But eventually, Ami broke it.
"You've changed," she said softly.
I laughed a little, unsure how to respond. "How so?"
"You're… quieter," she said, eyes tracing the veins in the leaves above. "More thoughtful. And not just because of the countryside."
I didn't know what to say. The truth was, I had been thinking a lot these past few days about Grandma, about being useful, about how small things could matter. I didn't know how to put it into words.
"It's peaceful here," I finally said, keeping my eyes on the horizon. "Not in a boring way… just slower. Easier to notice things."
Ami nodded. "Yeah. You get used to noticing things you'd miss in the city. Like how the sun hits the water differently in the afternoon. Or how the cicadas have their own rhythm."
I laughed softly, thinking about how precise that sounded. "I never would've noticed that on my own."
She looked at me, her gaze lingering just long enough for me to feel my face heat. "I like noticing things with someone else sometimes," she said.
For a moment, I felt something I couldn't name. A warmth that didn't belong to the sun or the breeze. My chest tightened. I couldn't help thinking... "Is this a date? Or just a walk that feels like one?"
The question hovered in my mind, unspoken. Ami didn't seem to notice my inner turmoil, or maybe she chose not to. She laughed at a joke I made about how terrible I was at peeling oranges, and I realized I couldn't stop smiling.
Eventually, we started walking again, the groceries slung over our arms. The path back to Grandma's house wound through narrow streets, past small gardens and rows of houses with wind chimes hanging on their porches. I felt light, almost like I could forget everything else in the world... until the voices hit.
"Hey! Look who it is!"
My stomach dropped. The laughter, sharp and mocking, came from behind. I turned slowly.
Three boys from my old school were walking toward us, their steps deliberate, voices loud.
One of them pointed, grinning. "Look, it's Kenji the freak."
Another laughed. "No way… he's with a gorgeous girl?"
I froze completely. The weight of all those years of shame and teasing settled on my shoulders like a heavy blanket. My palms itched. The grocery bag felt suddenly too heavy. Ami looked at me, confused and concerned, her eyes darting between me and the boys.
"Kenji," she whispered, touching my arm lightly. "Don't let them--"
But one of them stepped closer, smirking. "Guess even freaks get lucky sometimes."
My chest tightened. Words lodged in my throat. I wanted to say something, defend myself, tell them off, but nothing came out. My old insecurities, the ones I thought I'd left behind in the city, clawed their way back to life.