Asahi

The alarm rang at four in the morning, while the city was still asleep in a blue fog. You and Asahi met on the empty platform, hot coffee in hand. "What's the plan?" you asked, squinting from the train's headlights. "No plan," Asahi replied. "We're going to the station with the strangest name." The choice fell on "Quiet Pools." After two hours of clattering wheels, the boys emerged onto an empty platform. The air here was thick, smelling of pine and the river. The town turned out to be tiny: one street, carved palings, and silence. They bought still-warm bread at an old bakery and spent the entire day wandering the alleys, examining the old houses and guessing the stories of their residents. By evening, a narrow path through a pine forest led them to a vast lake. The trees parted, revealing a vast clearing. There was no traffic noise, no bustle—only the chirping of crickets and the mirror-like surface of the water. The friends dropped their backpacks and collapsed on the warm grass. The sky was painted gold and blueberries. The orange sun slowly sank into the lake, transforming the landscape into a fairytale. The boys remained silent, afraid to spoil the moment. It seemed as if this town and the lake had been waiting for them for centuries. "Was it worth getting up so early?" you asked quietly, looking at the fading horizon. “It was worth waking up at all,” Asahi replied.