THE THIRD DAY, he wakes up to a promise broken.

Rain lays beside him as Kaede watches him sleep. Tears streak the resting boy's cheeks, only drying now. His body is still, with only his chest rising and falling in subtle strokes. The shadows of long lashes scratching flesh tainted by restlessness. A boy who'd sauntered in, all smiles before suddenly breaking down upon the first 'hey'.

Now he sleeps, without the glow of the sun in the rainy skies, shadows of raindrops falling on dried teardrops.

And Kaede remains awake, unsure whether to cry. Or even how to.

Rain's explanation hangs over his sleepless mind. Of his parents who'd once sent him to study here, only for him to wind up in a small town with his uncle and aunt. There isn't much light he'd shed on the reasons why the latter had happened, for he doesn't remember them either, but what he knows is that his parents are coming here to take him back home. After numerous times that'd failed, yet now the first where his voice no longer holds weight.

Why? Kaede had asked, voice small. Why do they so badly want you back this time?

Kaede had asked. And he didn't answer, already deep in a dream. His last words before that being, "Your grandmother's coming in two days. I'll be gone by then."

Those words had meant to soothe Kaede.

But the boy doesn't even know what exact comfort his soul craves. And from the sound of Rain's voice then, he didn't seem to know either.

Kaede turns to the ceiling, his hand moving to a book beside his bed. A diary, kept by Rain, given back to him.

And apparently, given by her.

The girl whose name he doesn't know, plaguing his dreams.

He stares at the book as he holds it up, above his face. He opens it and frowns, brows creasing.

Words once penned tidily had blurred and bled into the prune-like paper, now an incomprehensible, disordered mess of white and blue. There are few words that he can make out, but they hold no meaning without context, serving to confuse him rather than teach him.

Events once jotted down with great detail, now reduced to nothing more than images out of focus.

And not only that, as he realises while flipping through the erased entries, but some of the pages had also been torn out—and certainly not with care, the jagged edges in several in-betweens a harsh telling.

But there is one page untouched—the last one. He reads it.

It's a good day today.

The weather is good; a bright, blue sky with wisps of juvenile clouds. Not too hot or cold, not too humid or dry. The scent of after-showers mingles with that of freshly-cut grass, dancing outside the open windows.

The atmosphere is good; the natural scent of the cafe fills the air, of baked foods and quaint drinks. The low hum of chatters hangs over the customers.

The coffee is good; freshly-brewed, scented deeply and properly dark. Not too bitter. Not too sweet. It's warm, rich and soothes my tongue.

I sit alone in the corner, but I don't feel lonely. I don't smile, but I don't feel sad. I feel good, for so is the day.

Today is a good day & all is right with the world.

He slams the book close and shoves it under his pillow, shivers descending his spine.

It doesn't seem right.

From what he remembers, he'd been a cynical and troubled teenager. And yet, here he was, optimistic and pleasant-minded. Secluded in a coffee shop, unfazed by others. Talking about good weather, of all things, when he should be complaining about the bright sun. Not to mention, he hated atmospheres with people. The only thing right about the entry was—and still is—his like for dark medium coffee.

What could have infected his mind to have gotten him so...happy?

Wait, no...no, that's not happiness in his words.

It's a facade.

Kaede sits up and looks out the window, his eyes latching to a drop of water moving slowly down the window. Then at others, speeding past it, faster than it. He puts his finger to the slow droplet, watching it get sucked by larger others, while the faster ones barrel past them.

This is me, he thinks, finger now no longer obscuring a small droplet but is surrounded by a mass of water, I am you.

Left behind. To merge with everything else. Lost.

For a split second, his vision blurs.

Then he blinks, and he wonders if that'd been a tear.