The bench was colder than I expected. Wood worn smooth by years of weather, damp from the lake air. I pulled my jacket closer and leaned back, letting my eyes adjust to the night.

Lake Biwa spread out in front of us, dark and flat, swallowing the sky's faint reflection. A breeze rippled the surface, scattering the stars that clung to it. Above, the real ones held their places, though half of them were washed out by the haze of town lights behind us.

Merry sat beside me, quiet, her hands folded in her lap. She tilted her head back, gaze fixed higher than mine, like she was searching for something past the constellations.

For a while, neither of us said anything. Just the water lapping at the rocks below, the far-off hum of a motorbike across the lake, and the quiet tick of time slipping past.

Finally, she broke the silence. "You know... some of those stars are already gone."

I turned toward her. "Gone?"

"Mm." She pointed upward, though her finger only traced empty air. "Burned out. Collapsed. Whatever stars do when they end. Their light just hasn't finished reaching us yet."

I blinked, following where she gestured. "...So we're looking at ghosts."

She smiled faintly, still not looking at me. "Exactly."

I tried to laugh, but it caught somewhere in my chest. The thought sank in heavier than I wanted it to. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and stared at the water instead. Its black surface trembled with the sky's reflection — all those tiny ghosts breaking apart every time the wind touched them.

"So even the stars don't last," I muttered.

"Nothing does." Merry's voice was soft, not unkind. Just matter-of-fact, like she was stating the weather.

I pressed my hands together, feeling the chill in my fingers. "...That's a little depressing, don't you think?"

She tilted her head, finally glancing at me with that faraway look of hers. "I don't know. Maybe it makes them shine brighter. Because we know they can't keep shining forever."

Her words hung there, light but heavy all at once.

I leaned back against the bench, following her gaze again. The longer I looked, the more the stars seemed to flicker. Some sharp, some faint, some trembling at the edges of sight. Maybe some of them were already dead. Maybe the brightest ones, even.

Still, they filled the sky like they belonged there.

The bench creaked as I shifted, hands in my pockets. "Kind of strange, isn't it? We make wishes on things that might not even exist anymore."

"Not strange," Merry said. "Fitting. We're always wishing on things that aren't really there."

I glanced at her, but she'd gone back to watching the sky, her profile lit faintly by the glow from the town. Her expression was unreadable, somewhere between soft and sad.

The breeze pushed against us again, colder this time. I rubbed my arms and tried to keep my eyes on the stars, but they blurred the longer I stared. Each point of light carried centuries, maybe millennia, before it reached us. And yet, in another blink, a cloud drifted past and swallowed a whole patch of them.

The lake shifted too, restless under the night. Ripples erased the starlight, then stitched it back again in crooked patterns. I couldn't tell anymore which stars were real, which were reflections, and which were only memories arriving late.

For a long while, we just sat there. No need to talk. The universe was already saying enough.

I thought then, not for the first time, that maybe impermanence wasn't about loss. Maybe it was about the chance to see things while they're here. Even if they'd already ended, even if they'd vanish tomorrow.

I drew a slow breath, let it out with the night air. "Ghosts or not," I said, half to myself, "they still light the sky."

Merry's voice came soft beside me. "That's enough, isn't it?"

I didn't answer, but I nodded, watching the stars burn a little longer, knowing they wouldn't wait forever.