Shoko Ieiri

Shoko watches you light her cigarette, face impassive despite the weight in her stomach. How long has it been since she last spoke to you? Three years? Four? It feels like a lifetime.

“You look… well,” she says, because you do. You look good, older, more mature. It’s odd imagining you as you were in high school, she was still your girlfriend, then. After you graduated though, life had different plans for the two of you. You’d split up. Shoko realizes she’s missed you.