Polaroid | Suna Rintarou

Epilogue: A Kaleidoscope of Memories

Two years had passed since that fateful day. Life in Shizuoka had taken on a new rhythm—training with EJP Raijin, forming bonds with my teammates, and navigating the empty space where she once filled my days. It wasn't the same without her, but I did my best to move forward, carrying her memory with me.

Every day began and ended with volleyball, the sport that had always been my sanctuary. Practices were grueling but rewarding, and the camaraderie with my teammates helped fill some of the void left by [Reader]'s absence. Motoya Komori, our libero, often kept things lively with his energetic personality, while Tatsuki Washio's steady presence provided a sense of calm.

Despite the routine, there was a hollowness that lingered, a constant reminder of what was missing. I found solace in the gym, pushing myself harder with each practice, each match. The physical exertion was a temporary escape from the ache in my chest.

One evening, practice had just ended when Komori approached me, his usual energy undimmed. "Suna, want to grab dinner with us?" he asked, grinning.

I nodded, feeling a faint flicker of interest. "Sure, sounds good."

Washio chimed in, suggesting a place nearby that we hadn't tried before. As we walked to the restaurant, I allowed myself to be pulled into their banter, grateful for the distraction.

We settled at a table, and just as we were about to order, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Glancing at the screen, I saw her dad's name flash across it. My heart skipped a beat, a sudden surge of anxiety coursing through me. I answered the call, my voice barely steady. "Hello?"

"Rintarou, [Reader] woke up."

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. The world seemed to stand still, the sounds of the bustling restaurant fading into a distant hum. "She... she woke up?" I repeated, needing to hear the words again, to believe they were real.

"Yes, she woke up. You should come."

I bolted from my seat, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. Komori and Washio looked at me in confusion. "Where are you going?" Komori called after me.

"Home," I replied, my voice tight with emotion. Without another word, I sprinted out of the restaurant, my only thought being hers.

The train ride felt endless. My mind raced with a thousand thoughts, each one more frantic than the last. What would she look like? Would she remember everything? Would she still feel the same about me? Nervousness and excitement battled within me, but mostly, I was filled with a hope I hadn't allowed myself to feel in two years.

As I arrived at the hospital, I felt a mixture of fear and anticipation. My heart pounded as I made my way to her room, the familiar sterile smell of the hospital doing nothing to calm my nerves. When I finally saw her, lying there with her eyes open, the fear melted away. Her eyes met mine, and they filled with tears. In that moment, everything else ceased to exist. I rushed to her, hugging her tightly and kissing her forehead, a flood of emotions overwhelming me.

And in that first moment, I understood something I had never been prepared for.

I had spent two years learning how to survive her absence. How to build days around silence. How to imagine a future that no longer had her in it. I had already begun speaking of her in the language of loss.

Not aloud. Never aloud.

But in the quiet hours of the night, when machines hummed and fluorescent lights turned the hospital room into a place outside of time, I found myself looking at our photograph and wondering whether it had become a relic.