All week, I couldn't concentrate. My notebooks were filled with doodles and scribbled lists: what should I wear? Should I bring a gift? Would she be wearing a yukata?
My mom noticed my fidgeting.
"Is it a girl?" she asked with a teasing smile.
I turned red. "Maybe."
She gave me her old camera. "Take a good picture. These memories only come once."
By Saturday evening, I'd changed outfits three times. I finally settled on my nicest shirt and combed my hair twice. The sun was low when I reached the station near the festival street.
And then I saw her.
Miyu wore a pale blue yukata with tiny white flowers, a matching ribbon in her hair. My breath caught in my throat.
"You look… amazing," I said.
She blushed. "You clean up nicely too."