The rooftop was quiet at lunch, the spring breeze tousling the tarpaulin sheets that covered unused gardening tools. A pair of crows perched on the far edge of the fence, cawing softly to one another. Satoru Kojima leaned back against the concrete wall, chewing slowly through a sandwich from the hospital vending machine.
His left leg still wore a bandage. A line of tape peeked out beneath his sleeve from a healing gash.
The pain wasn't bad today. The silence helped.
Then he heard it—quiet footsteps.
He looked up and saw Miyako standing in the doorway, half-hidden behind the steel door. She clutched a small lunch box with both hands, wrapped in a pale cloth with blue flowers.
"Oh," he said, blinking. "Hey."
She hesitated before stepping out onto the rooftop. "Sorry. I… didn't know if someone was up here."
"You can stay," he offered, moving his bag aside. "It's quiet. That's the best part."
Miyako nodded. She sat two meters away, legs crossed neatly, the bento box balanced in her lap.
They ate in silence for a while. The crows flew off. A wind chime somewhere below sang once, faintly.
Then—without a word—Miyako slid the bento box toward him.
He blinked. "Huh?"
"I made extra," she said, looking down. "It's just tamagoyaki and rice balls. Nothing special."
Satoru paused. He gently removed the wrap and opened the lid.
Inside were three rice balls—one shaped like a tiny bear—and a pair of slightly uneven tamagoyaki slices. In the corner, a single cherry tomato sat like a splash of color.
"It looks great," he said softly.
Miyako pulled her sleeves over her hands and stared at her shoes. "I didn't know if you liked sour things, so I didn't put pickled plum."
"I like it like this," Satoru said.
He picked up one rice ball and took a bite. It was a little crumbly, but warm, soft, handmade.
The kind of food people only make when they're thinking of someone else.
He didn't know what to say.
So he smiled.
Miyako glanced up. Their eyes met for half a second.
Then she turned beet red and stood up too fast. "I—um—I have to get to cleaning duty! Sorry! I—I hope it was okay!"
Before he could reply, she hurried off, her footsteps retreating down the stairwell.
Satoru blinked.
Then chuckled to himself.
He took another bite.
---
Later, after class, he found a small folded note tucked in his locker.
It was plain white paper, no name, no signature.
Just a drawing.
A helmet. A bike. A small paper flower in the basket.
And the words:
> "I think you're someone worth cheering for."