Sakura and Sana

Sakura reaches her quiet suburban house with her scraped heel burning inside her shoe. The front rooms are empty, and the closed door shuts out the neighborhood sounds.

She leaves her bag by the entryway, limps to the bathroom, and cleans the abrasion beneath cool running water before pressing a bandage over it.

In her bedroom, the quiet gives the forgotten sketchbook more room in her thoughts. It remains at Tokyo Metro High, open beside the scattered committee papers and passing students.

Her phone stays silent on the desk. No message can reach her from Sana, who does not have her number, and the school day continues without explanation.

The empty room offers privacy, but not an answer about who has seen the costume designs or what they might now assume about Sakura. The sketchbook is still waiting somewhere in the corridor.

Sakura draws the curtains, silencing the bright afternoon. Her school uniform remains on only long enough for her to change into sleep clothes, then she drops onto the bed.

The mattress gives beneath her small frame. She pulls the blanket over herself and turns toward the wall, leaving her phone untouched on the desk.

Minutes blur into an hour, then several. Outside, neighborhood sounds fade and return while the school day continues without Sakura in Class 2B.

Her thoughts keep circling the corridor, the scattered papers, and the sketchbook lying open beneath passing eyes. She presses her face into the pillow until the images lose their sharpness.

By late afternoon, Sakura is still in bed, asleep or resting in the dim room. The school day is over, and for now the house keeps every social demand outside.

Evening settles over the house. A delivery scooter passes outside, then the doorbell rings twice, bright and insistent against the quiet.

Through the entryway glass, Sana Matsumura stands beneath the porch light, blonde hair tied back and school bag hanging from one shoulder. Her friend waits beside her, clutching a familiar sketchbook.

Sana lifts the sketchbook where it can be seen through the glass. Its corners are scuffed from the corridor, but the cover is closed and the pages appear intact.

The bell falls silent. Outside, Sana lowers her hand and steps back from the door, leaving the sketchbook held carefully between both girls.

Sakura opens the door only as far as the chain allows. Her bandaged heel stays tucked behind the threshold, while her eyes fix on the closed sketchbook.

Sana extends the sketchbook through the opening. The scuffed cover settles into Sakura’s hands, cool and solid, with the pages still closed.