Midway through my summer vacation, I was heading back home after spending the whole day playing in the park with my friends. I was in kindergarten back then, so my entire world revolved around one thing. Playing. Still, I had to stop eventually, especially since the sky had already begun to darken.
After saying goodbye, I started walking home, quietly humming an anime song I really liked.
On the way, there was a vending machine I always stopped by. I never actually bought anything from it, but I liked watching other people do it. I used to wonder what it would feel like to press one of those buttons myself.
Lost in thought, I reached the machine and noticed a girl standing nearby.
She looked about my age.
When I paid closer attention, I saw she was searching the ground frantically, tears welling up in her eyes. She had short black hair and brown eyes, and she looked really upset.
I felt like I should help, so I slowly walked toward her.
"Hey," I said softly, not wanting to scare her. "Did you lose something?"
She looked up at me, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"Y-yes…" she replied in a shaky voice.
For some reason, my cheeks felt warm as I looked at her. It was a strange feeling, one I had never felt before.
"What did you lose?" I asked.
"My hairpin," she said, her voice trembling. "My mom gave it to me on my birthday… I think I dropped it somewhere around here."
Seeing how sad she was over something so important to her, I made up my mind.
"I'll help you find it," I said.
"R-really?" Her eyes lit up slightly. "You will? Please."
"Don't worry," I said confidently. "We'll find it."
She smiled weakly. "Thank you."
We started searching everywhere we could think of. Under the vending machine, near the bushes, along the sidewalk. Time passed, and the sky grew darker. Her crying only got worse.
Then—
"I found it!" I shouted.
"Really?" she asked, hope rushing into her voice.
"Yes!" I said, pulling it out from under a bush. "Here."
She took the hairpin carefully, holding it like a treasure. "Thank you… thank you so much."
"You're welcome."
"I don't know what I would've done without you."
"It's late," I said after a moment. "You should head home. Where do you live?"
"I live in Block 2-C, house number 14," she replied. "We just moved here today. I don't really know the way yet… Could you walk with me?"
I blinked in surprise. "That's the house next to mine."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Let's go home together."
"Thank you," she said softly.
As we walked, I asked, "What's your name?"
"Saki," she replied. "What about you?"
"I'm Haruto."
"Haruto," she repeated, as if trying to remember it.
I smiled.
"So… did your dad get transferred?" I asked.
She nodded. "Yeah. I had to leave all my friends behind."
"I get that," I said honestly. "Leaving friends is hard."
By the time we reached our houses, the streetlights had already come on. The quiet road looked different at night, almost like a place from a storybook. We stopped in front of two houses standing side by side.
"This is mine," Saki said, pointing softly.
"And this one's mine," I replied, feeling strangely proud of the coincidence.
She smiled, holding her hairpin tightly in her hand, as if afraid it might disappear again. For a moment, neither of us said anything.
"Thank you… again," she said. "For today."
"It's nothing," I replied, rubbing the back of my head. "See you tomorrow?"
Her eyes widened a little, then she nodded. "Yeah. Tomorrow."
She walked up to her door and turned back once, giving a small wave before going inside. I waved back until the door closed.
When I entered my own house, my mom asked why I was late. I answered simply that I helped someone on the way home. After dinner, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, my mind kept drifting back to the girl by the vending machine.
Her voice.
Her smile.
The way she said my name.
I didn't know why, but that ordinary summer day felt special somehow. Like something had quietly begun without me realizing it.
And with that thought, I slowly drifted off to sleep, the hum of the vending machine and the promise of "tomorrow" lingering in my heart.