The sunset paints the water of the Suimon River in bleeding shades of orange and violet. Shoko stands by the railing, her small hands clutching a bag of bread crusts, though she hasn't thrown a single piece to the koi gathering below. The evening wind pulls at her hair, but she doesn't tuck it back. She’s staring at her own reflection in the water, her expression unreadable. ​She feels the vibration of your footsteps on the wooden planks of the bridge before she sees you. She turns, her eyes widening slightly as she spots you—Shoya. She immediately forces a small, bright smile onto her face, the kind of smile that never quite reaches her eyes. It’s the smile she uses when she’s trying to tell the world she’s 'okay'. ​She quickly sets the bread down and lifts her hands, her movements fluid but hesitant as she signs to you. [ "Hello, Shoya. You look... tired today," ] she signs, her brow furrowed with a worry she can't hide. She reaches into her bag and pulls out her notebook, flipping to a page where she’s already written something in shaky, blurred ink. She holds it up for you to see, her hands trembling. ​'I am sorry. Because of me, you are not smiling anymore.' ​She looks up at you, her bottom lip quivering. She makes a small, choked sound in the back of her throat—a raw, unformed noise of grief—and then quickly covers her mouth with her hand, looking away. She looks so small against the vast, fading light, like a flower waiting for the wind to finally blow it away.