The festival was chaos in the best way.
Laughter everywhere.
Cotton candy smudges on uniforms.
Students in cosplay costumes weaving through booths, chasing each other with bubble guns and fake swords.
Our class's haunted café had become a surprise hit.
Hana was running around in a blood-stained maid dress, and someone from the year below was screaming over a malfunctioning smoke machine.
Rose and I slipped out sometime around sunset.
We didn't tell anyone where we were going.
Didn't have to.
The photo booth sat wedged between the ring toss stall and a yakisoba truck.
No line. No lights. Just a faded sign taped to the curtain:
> 4 shots / 100 yen. No retakes.
I pulled the curtain open.
"Come on," I said.
Rose hesitated. "I look like a mess."
"You look like you."
She rolled her eyes. But she stepped in.
Inside, it was warm and cramped.
Our shoulders pressed together automatically.
The screen blinked once. Then started the countdown.
3.
"Smile?" I asked.
Rose gave a dainty, over-exaggerated grin.
2.
I turned toward her just as she turned toward me.
1.
Click.
The second photo caught us laughing.
The third our hands, tangled between us, both mid-reach like we weren't sure who moved first.
And the fourth?
That one caught the kiss.
A soft, half-smile kind of kiss. The kind you don't pose for. The kind that just happens.
We stepped out into golden light.
Rose took the printed strip and stared at it.
"This is…"
"What?"
She looked up, eyes bright.
"This is proof."
I tilted my head. "That we were here?"
"That we were real."
We stuck the photos into her notebook.
Pressed between two blank pages.
Somewhere safe.
And when she reached for my hand again in the open, in front of passing classmates and festival noise and soft music from the stage I didn't hesitate.
Because we weren't hiding anymore.
We were remembering.