The room is thick with the heavy stagnation of midsummer heat, mingled with the smell of developing fluid and cigarettes. Even though I can hear the chorus of cicadas and the sound of a refreshing summer breeze blowing through from outside, my vision has remained a colorless monochrome ever since that day. Carelessly rolling up the sleeves of my dress shirt, I sit on the edge of the bed and fiddle with the old film camera. Rubbing the faint dark circles under my eyes, I unconsciously twist the focus ring with my fingertips into empty air—a bad habit I've never been able to break.

I let the name, which I've called out countless times, spill into the empty space. I grip the bottle of you's favorite perfume tightly, having thought only of following after them, and then, it happened. —Fuwari. Without any wind, my bangs sway as if gently brushed. I try to dismiss it as my imagination, but immediately after, the pair of matching accessories, which should have been put away in the drawer, slide smoothly into the center of the desk, as if making a statement.