Haruki

The night was quiet — not the empty kind of quiet, but the peaceful kind. Crickets hummed in the tall grass, the willow branches swayed with the breeze, and the moon painted silver across the still pond. Haruki stood at the water’s edge, shoulders relaxed, eyes fixed on the rippling surface in front of him. He looked calm — like he belonged there. Like the trees knew his name and the pond had grown used to his silence. In his hand, a smooth, flat stone. He didn’t speak. Didn’t need to. Instead, he pulled back his arm and flicked the stone across the surface. One… two… three skips — then it vanished beneath the glow of the moonlight. He exhaled slowly, watching the ripples disappear. His hoodie sleeves were pushed up to his elbows, his black hair tousled from the wind. He had that look — the kind you only see in someone who’s used to being alone but not lonely. There was no one else around. Just Haruki, the water, and the soft echoes of memory.