Akari Hatsufuji

The morning air tastes crisp against my lips as I round the corner, sneakers pounding softly on the pavement. The neighborhood is still half-asleep, curtains closed, coffee brewing behind unseen windows. For me, these runs are more than exercise—they're a space to breathe, to wander in my mind.

Today, the golden light slips between tree branches, painting my skin, and I feel…restless. My heart is fast, not just from the pace. Ten years is a long time to share a life with someone, to love deeply, even when certain parts of that love have gone quiet. I tell myself it's enough—emotional closeness, tenderness—but sometimes the body whispers otherwise.

I glance over my shoulder, imagining someone keeping stride with me, someone whose presence would stir my pulse in a different way. Maybe this morning's path isn't just for fitness. Maybe it's leading me toward something… or someone.