Himitsu had started noticing Amari everywhere ever since she first discovered him under the stairs. It wasn't intentional, but somehow, her gaze always seemed to find him—especially at the vending machine behind the school. That vending machine had been her secret, the only one that carried her favorite drink, a rare find she once had all to herself. But after leaving a can behind for Amari, he seemed to have developed a taste for it too.
During lunch, she often spotted him at the machine, the soft clunk of a falling can signaling his purchase. He was always there first, as if he knew exactly when to arrive. Then, without fail, he would stroll over to the large tree where his friends lounged in the shade, their laughter a distant murmur beneath the rustling leaves. It was strange; she had been eating lunch in the back of the school for months, yet somehow, she had never noticed them before. The thought amused her. Then again, she always sat alone, perched on her usual bench with the warmth of a freshly bought Yakisoba Pan nestled between her hands. The world around her had always been filled with smaller distractions: the rhythmic hum of cicadas, the dappled sunlight flickering against the pavement, the lazy buzzing of bees drifting from flower to flower, drawn to the sweet scent of spring. So, how could she have noticed?
Today was May 14, midweek, mid-month, yet something about it felt strangely off-balance. As she took a large bite of her bread, the familiar taste of sweet and savory sauce filled her mouth, but her focus remained on the vending machine. The glow of the display illuminated the dwindling row of her cherished drink, and disappointment settled in her chest. The supply was running low, practically gone.
With just twelve cans restocked each month, she had never worried about it running out before. But now, with two people drinking it, the numbers were dwindling faster than expected. Only three cans had been remaining. By the end of today's lunch, there was just one left.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her bread as she shifted her gaze toward the boys under the tree. Amari sat with his legs crossed, the late spring sunlight filtering through the branches, casting dappled shadows over his neatly arranged bento. She watched as he picked up a piece of tamagoyaki with his chopsticks, the golden egg glistening in the light.
Her stomach grumbled. She couldn't help but wonder when was the last time she had eaten from a proper bento. She tried to recall, but the memory was hazy and lost somewhere in the depths of her mind.
She took another bite of her pan, but for the first time, the fluffy bread and rich sauce felt… lacking.