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ₛᵢᵣₑₙ ｡✧∘˚˳°
As you rested on the bed, Kikoru gently embraced you, and just before pulling away, she pressed a soft kiss on your cheek. "Get well soon, (Y/N)-nee," she whispered, her breath brushing against your ear. Her warm smile lingered, filling your heart with joy. Despite everything, it made you happy to hear her still calling you "big sister."
"Thank you, lil' sis," you whispered back, your voice barely audible, but enough to make both of you share a soft giggle. As Kikoru rejoined the group, each of your friends took their turn saying goodbye.
"See ya, Umiha-san!" Hakua called, waving her hand high as she stood in the doorway, with the others heading out.
"Get well soon, Umiha-san, I'll miss ya!" Akari added with her usual warmness.
"We'll see ya again after you recover Umiha-chan," Kafka said, following them with a determined nod.
"I'll be back tomorrow, my disciple~. See ya!" Soshiro teased with a mischievous grin as he trailed behind the others returning to their duties.
"Thank you, everyone! Take care!" you called out as the door closed, your heart lifted by the warmth of their presence, cherishing the lightness of the day's casual gathering. You sighed as your eyes gazed through the natural light coming from the other side of your room.
The afternoon sun filtered softly through the window, signaling the start of a quiet stretch of time after the bustling visit of your peers. Lunch had ended, and now the room, once filled with conversation and laughter, sat empty. A quiet sadness settled in your chest as you glanced around, the stillness amplifying the loneliness. With no one to talk to, your thoughts drifted, eventually landing on the digital camera that rested on the table beside your bed, still connected to its charger.
A wave of nostalgia washed over you. That camera—more than just a device—had been your most cherished gift from your mother. It was the only thing you had taken with you when you fled from a past that had broken you in ways no one could understand. It represented a connection to a life you had tried to leave behind, a life filled with memories both beautiful and painful.
You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet touching the cool floor. Standing up, you walked to the camera, carefully unplugging the charger before holding the familiar weight of it in your hands. Sitting back down, you retrieved the memory card from its small pouch, slid it into the camera, and powered it on.
The screen flickered to life, and as you clicked through to the gallery, a sudden rush of emotion hit you. Tears welled up, unbidden, as the first image appeared: a picture of your sixteen years old self, caught in a candid moment with your family. It was a group selfie, taken in the warm, happy chaos of an amusement park. Your mother’s smile beamed like the sun itself, radiating joy. Beside her, your father, strong and broad-shouldered, effortlessly carried a ten years old Kikoru in his left arm, her small frame resting against him, exhausted from a day of fun but still able to smile widely and peace sign on her hands. And there, standing tall with that unmistakable smile, was the version of your father who had once loved you so fully, who cherished you as his eldest daughter. He faced the camera, a smile that mirrored your own joy frozen in time.
