Three Days of Happiness

My original plan was to only take my letter and put it back right
away. But after all that effort, I wanted to look through all the
letters. A guy who’s going to die in a few months should be allowed
at least that much.
I picked one at random and opened it up. I skimmed through the
“message to your future self” and the “best friend” part.
Once I was done reading, I opened up a notebook, wrote the letterwriter’s
name, and drew an arrow pointing to their best friend.
After repeating this with a few more letters, the number of names
and arrows increased, gradually creating a relationship chart. Who
likes who, who’s liked by who. Which are requited, and which ones
aren’t.
Just as expected, by the time I’d read all the letters, the lonely
name on the chart was me. Not a single person had chosen me as
their “best friend.”
And... while I searched the time capsule thoroughly for Himeno’s
letter, I couldn’t find it. Maybe it just happened that she wasn’t
there the day we buried it.
If she had been, surely she’d have written my name, I thought. I
mean, she’d secretly drawn an ai-ai-gasa with our names in our
secret base. She’d definitely write my name. Maybe added a heart
or two.
If only Himeno’s letter were there.
Stuffing my own letter, which I’d found earlier, into my jeans
pocket, I reburied the time capsule. I returned the shovel to the
shed, washed my hands and face with the nearby faucet, and left
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