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As the last rays of the sun begin to fade behind the mountains and lights start to turn on, the night brings about a silence as vast as the boundless sky. In the neighborhood, people in their various households all turn to gaze outside the window at the twinkling stars above, eyes sparkling with wonder.
There’s something about the night sky that captivates everyone; unites them under a single scene and renders them speechless. In this moment, time and space become irrelevant— the world halts on its axis, all movement and passage suspended in the air by the collective souls that dare to dream.
The silence of the neighborhood is gradually interrupted by children’s laughter, a pure and unadulterated sound befitting of their youth. With them comes the rapid slap-slap-slap of sneakers against pavement as the children scramble to reach their destination.
“Look, I think it’s starting! Come on, hurry up!”
“Wait for me, I can’t run any faster!”
Surely enough, as the children round the corner to the local playground, the first pinpricks of light begin to streak across the sky. In their little hearts is a desire to be as close to the stars as possible, and the four children shriek and squeal in joy, unable to tear their eyes from the sight while frantically trying to clamber onto the jungle gym at the same time.
“Help me, I can’t climb onto this thing!”
“Here, Saki, give me your hand, I’ll help you up…”
It’s as if the entire world itself falls silent to pay its respects to such a beautiful phenomenon. Their voices quickly fade to hushed ooh s and ahh s of awe as if they, too, cannot bear to disturb the delicacy of this captivating moment. The meteors that shoot across the sky begin to increase in frequency and speed, transporting them to a wholly different realm as the whole neighborhood is lit aglow.
“Hey, Hona-chan,” one of the children whispers, breath still stolen by sheer amazement. “What’s the name of this me-te-or shower again?” The term “meteor shower” is pronounced slowly and carefully, like it’s new, unfamiliar, but nonetheless important to the child.
“The Perseids,” comes the reply. Though the word is spoken smoothly— clearly a result of it having been read in countless books and articles— it’s barely loud enough for all of them to hear. “It’s a very special meteor shower, because it’s always here around the time of Ichika-chan’s birthday.” She turns to the girl sitting at the top of the jungle gym. “Ichika-chan, you’re so lucky! The meteors are so pretty— and you get to watch them every year!”
Ichika, lost in thought, almost doesn’t hear her. As if entranced, she reaches an arm out, slowly, towards the stars. Her heart seems to swell with the millions of lights that zip in and out of view, as if trying its best to house the overflowing warmth that she suddenly feels.
“Nah,” she says, smiling. “I’m lucky because I get to watch it with you guys.”
Saki turns, pigtails swinging with the movement. “Awww, Icchan! That’s so sweet of you.”
“They say that whenever there’s a shooting star, you can make a wish and it’ll become true,” muses Shiho, mouth upturned slightly. “Ichika, anything in particular you want? There’s plenty of wishes tonight.”
Ichika pauses. She feels so full of an emotion that she can’t even begin to describe that she takes a moment to take everything in— the metal bars underneath her palms, the glittering asphalt, her friends, the sky, her friends—
“I wish—” she begins, eyes closed— “that for every single one of my birthdays in the future, all four of us will be able to meet under this starry sky and watch this beautiful meteor shower again.” She breaks into a wide grin. "Let’s stay together forever, everyone.”
“Promise?” asks Saki hopefully.
“Promise,” they all chorus.
She opens her eyes to find her friends smiling at her, and she’s never felt more at peace.
Ichika sits alone atop the jungle gym, swinging her legs, and frowns at the clouds that obscure the night sky like a thick, blanketing fog.
It’s been a while since she was last here. She remembers having to stretch out her feet so that her toes would just barely reach the nearest rod below her. Now, the backs of her heels hit the rod with a solid clang every swing of her legs.
The night is silent, as always, but it doesn’t bring comfort— it’s suffocating and heavy like the sorrow that weighs on her, and suddenly, inexorably, she feels unbearably alone.
I wanted to watch the meteor shower together with everyone, but Saki isn’t here… and neither of us can even see the shower from where we are…
Honami joins her soon enough, wishes her a happy birthday, and climbs onto the gym with ease. “It’s so cloudy,” she sighs once she sits down.
I don’t think we’ll be seeing anything tonight goes unsaid.
“Maybe they’ll clear up later?” Ichika offers, and it sounds hesitant even to her own ears. Saki would’ve made it sound believable, she thinks bitterly.
“I hope so,” says Honami, ever the polite one, and they both let out a sigh.
When Shiho comes running up to them some minutes later, panting, with a “Sorry, bass practice ran late”, the sky still hasn’t changed: the clouds hang low over the neighborhood and there’s not a single star to be seen. At one point, Honami sees a flash among the clouds and points excitedly to it, only to find that it’s an airplane.
All three of them have grown. But sitting on the same jungle gym that they had years ago, something just feels… off. Like they’re missing something— the rods smaller in their palms, but the space between them far, far too wide.
Who am I kidding, she scoffs internally. We all know exactly what it is.
Their friendship just isn’t the same without Saki, and they all know it. Her cheerfulness balances out their dynamic just perfectly, and without that, they’re being dragged under by pessimism, unease, and regret.
The night’s inching closer to their usual bedtime when Ichika decides to stop waiting. “It’s fine,” she says, defeated. “Let’s just eat the cake.”
There may be no shooting stars, but at least she has a birthday wish. The flame that bursts to life on the candle temporarily becomes the brightest light in their vicinity, but that, too, is extinguished when Ichika blows it out.
Please, she begs, please let Saki recover soon so that we can all be happy together again.
None of them mention it when she accidentally cuts the cake into four pieces instead of three.
It’s her birthday, and she’s alone again, on a train full of people who have no idea about the significance of this day, where she’s going, or what she’s left behind.
(Her mom asks her where she’s going out to on her birthday.
“Hospital,” she says and leaves it at that. She debates explaining further and opens her mouth, then closes it, not knowing what to say.
She doesn’t need to. Her mom nods in understanding.
“Don’t come home too late,” she says, shutting the door. “There’ll be a cake waiting for you when you get home.”)
Now, Ichika stares at the flowers in her hands. She’d gone with yellow daisies this time, which— according to the shopkeeper— were perfect for a celebration.
“Friendship and prosperity,” the shopkeeper had said. “Perfect for a happy birthday spent with friends, young lady.”
She’s not sure she agrees. Her friendships? They’d certainly gone well — Honami runs away at the sight of her, and Shiho acts like she doesn’t even exist. Prosperity? Hell, she doesn’t even know what she wants in life anymore. There are too many regrets to dwell on.
Ichika wonders where she’d gone wrong, then shakes her mind of the negative thoughts as she enters the hospital. When she gets to Saki’s room, she takes a deep breath, pats her cheeks twice, and steps in.
The smile she’d mustered up almost crumbles when she sees Saki’s crushed expression.
“Icchan,” she says, voice trembling, “it’s your birthday. Why are you here…?”
“I promised you, didn’t I?” Ichika grins weakly. “All those years ago.”
Saki looks like she’s about to cry. “What about Hona-chan and Shiho-chan?”
She swallows. “They’re busy,” she lies.
Saki’s face falls, but she says nothing. “Come sit here.” She pats the space next to her on the bed. “The meteor shower’s about to start— look, there are already a few.”
The meteors dwindle in number after the first five minutes, and Ichika picks up the apple next to her, cutting it into rabbit-shaped slices.
She offers the plate to Saki and almost drops it when she sees the tears sliding silently down her face.
When she tosses the whole thing aside— apple slices be damned— and throws her arms around the girl beside her, Saki buries her head into Ichika’s jacket and sobs.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Icchan…”
Ichika’s almost hit by a sense of deja vu when the other members of Leo/need drag her through the hallways of the Classroom Sekai, giggling and whispering with barely-contained excitement.
“Guys?” she asks confusedly, Honami’s hand firmly covering her eyes. “Are we not going to the rooftop…?”
“Nope,” replies Saki, voice gleeful. “We’re going somewhere you’ve never been before!”
“In the Sekai?” Ichika questions disbelievingly.
But sure enough, Ichika doesn’t recognize where they’re going. They make a left (one of them shrieks; they’d nearly walked Ichika into a wall), go up a flight of stairs, then what she thinks was probably two rights (she’s not sure, Saki insisted they “spin her around a few times, it’s more fun this way”); then finally, there’s the telltale creak of a door opening, and she’s hit with a blast of warm air.
She takes a few cautious steps forward, the wind carrying a familiar scent towards her. “Flowers? Are we outside?”
“You’ll see,” Shiho tells her, at the same time as Saki shouts, “Three, two, one—”
The blindfold covering her eyes is ripped off, and she prepares herself for…
Oh, wow.
In front of her is a scene that looks like it’s been taken straight out of a movie set. There’s a seemingly infinite amount of flowers— swaying gently in the breeze— stretching out in all directions as far as her eye can see, and after a while of gawking, she realizes it’s in the shape of the Leo/need logo: the tail of the comet is a beautiful gradient of blue, and she’s standing in the middle of the star itself, which is a vibrant burst of colors. The flowers are well taken care of, petals shimmering, and even the soil seems to sparkle. Upon closer inspection, she finds the reason for this: there are tiny lights installed everywhere, blinking periodically like stars.
Her face must’ve said it all, because Honami chuckles lightly. “I’m so glad the surprise worked out! Saki-chan was so excited that she almost spilled the beans twice…”
“Hey!” protests Saki immediately, pretending to be mad at Honami for ratting her out. “I didn’t spill anything in the end, so it’s fine!”
“Uh, guys?” Shiho gestures to Ichika. “I think we broke her.”
Her mind still reeling, Ichika draws her attention away from the flowers and shifts on her feet. She feels like she’s about to keel over, or maybe she’s about to wake up.
She could be dreaming. She feels so light-headed that it’s possible.
“How—?” she manages.
“Well, you know that Sekai are born from the feelings of people struggling to understand themselves,” comes a familiar voice from behind her.
She whirls around, mouth open, to find Miku and Luka standing a short distance away from them. Wait, since when did they get here?
“But when those feelings are realized, they can manifest in the Sekai through a song, or through a lesser known option… which is a new area,” continues Miku. “Since Saki, Honami, and Shiho really wanted to show their appreciation for you, they created this place with their determination for your birthday!”
Ichika’s astonished— awestruck, even. She glances back at her friends, who all nod vigorously, confirming what Miku just said.
They did all this… for me?
“Even though the powers of a Sekai helped a great amount with the creation of this place, that isn’t to say that your friends haven’t put in the effort,” adds Luka.
“We picked out the flowers ourselves!” Saki points to a few sections of the flowerbeds. “There are four kinds of flowers in total, and each of them represents one of us. Mine are yellow tulips, Hona-chan’s are pink lilies, Shiho-chan’s are purple gladioluses, and yours are blue peonies!”
She runs the flowers through her mind and blinks, surprised.
Cheerfulness, compassion, grace, loyalty— they’d been thoughtful while choosing.
“On the first week, we had to come up and water the flowers every day to keep the soil moist enough,” says Honami. “Afterward, we didn’t have to water them as frequently, but our efforts definitely took a while!”
Shiho nods. “We would come here hours before practice to water all of them.”
Her vision starts to blur with tears.
“Everyone…”
Right then and there, the night opens up in front of them— and just as it had all those years ago, streaks of light paint the sky, a beautiful canvas of blue and purple and golden. Honami lets out a delighted gasp, Saki gives an ecstatic “whoop!”, and even Shiho grins widely.
Ichika swallows thickly. Years and years of pent-up emotion, nights spent crying herself to sleep and words left unsaid flash before her eyes and disappear, replaced by such a bright, intense bout of hope, a pinprick of light that grows and grows, until it surges through her veins with the force of a supernova as everything that’s happening finally hits her.
The wind flows gently through her hair, flowers brushing at her shins, the floral scent tickling her nose— there’s the stars and the meteors that fall like celestial rain and of course, her friends are there, they’re smiling and laughing with her, and— she just feels so much love rush through her entire body in that moment.
Ichika falls to her knees and weeps, burying her face in her hands.
Her friends are at her side in an instant.
“Oh my god, Icchan!?”
“Ichika-chan? Are you alright?”
“I-Ichika? What is it?!”
Their words ground her, remind her that she’s really there, with them, and everything’s set into motion again.
“This— this is real,” she breathes, through the gaps between her fingers. “I’m not dreaming. We’re all actually here, together.”
Shiho blinks— she’d still been holding her breath— then exhales in relief. Saki wraps her arm around Ichika and Honami follows suit, bringing Shiho into the group hug with her other arm.
“Of course,” says Honami, also sniffling. “We’re Leo/need. We’re always going to stay together, forever and ever.”
“You scared me there, Ichika,” laughs Shiho. “But yeah, we’re never leaving again. That’s all in the past now.”
“ Waaaaah !!” Saki contributes, already crying harder than Ichika had been.
They stay in the hug until their feet start to go numb and they’re forced to stand, but still refuse to let go of one another.
What a miracle, she thinks, still staring up at the sky in wonder.
“Ichika.” Miku walks over to her, gesturing to the celestial rainfall. “The sky is all yours. Do you have a particular wish that you would like to make?”
A wish…
She thinks long and hard, reaching inside herself, searching for something that just feels right. But nothing seems to come up: all that needs to be said has been said, and she has everything she’s ever wanted right in front of her.
Then, she figures out exactly what it is that she wants to wish for.
“Today may be my birthday, but this place— this Sekai, these feelings, these hopes and dreams we share— they’re all ours.”
Everyone’s attention is on her now, waiting, with bated breath, for her next words.
“So my wish… would be for everyone else’s wishes to come true.”
Saki and Honami let out hushed gasps, while Shiho tilts her head. “Ichika—”
“It doesn’t sound like a personal wish, I know,” she says, grinning. “But I’m exactly where I want to be, doing exactly what I love, and it’s all I’ve ever wanted. So I really don’t need anything else, except for all of you to be happy, so we can keep enjoying what we love together.”
Silence.
Then, Shiho breaks out into a grin. “There’s no use talking you out of it, is there.”
She flushes. “Gah, that was really sappy, wasn’t it?”
“No, Ichika-chan, it wasn’t!” Honami wipes a tear from her eye. “I’m so moved by what you said…”
Saki flings herself at her once more and cries, “You’re the best, Icchan!”
With some difficulty (“Agh, Hona-chan, you do it, my hands are too shaky,”) they cut the cake into six slices. A full-on cake fight nearly breaks out when Saki smears a dab of cream on Shiho’s nose, and the sheer incredulity on Shiho’s face nearly has Ichika falling out of her chair while Honami wisely grabs both of Shiho’s arms, stopping her from lunging across the table at a cackling Saki.
Shiho doesn’t mess with the food (“This cake is really good, it’s like I’ve ascended to the astral realm,”) but she does jump at Saki later, smothering her with her jacket.
“That’s what you get for smearing cream on me!” she yells playfully, as Saki goes down with a “Nooo! Icchan!! Save me!”
Ichika exchanges a wry glance with Honami, who shrugs, before both of them break out into laughter and charge into the fray.
Later, as they lay in the grass, surrounded by flowers and panting from the exhilaration, she gazes up at the few meteors still streaking across the sky and grins from ear to ear.
God, I’m so lucky.
Surrounded by her friends— people who love her, and whom she loves in return— Ichika’s never felt more at peace.