Sora watched, feeling doors in her chest swing. She knew that swing; she had spent years building tiny doors from midnight and thrift-store fabric, stitching them into stories she gave away for free. The blue check beside Iori’s name gleamed like a lighthouse. People commented beneath the video: heart emojis, paragraphs about destiny, a spammy invitation to another site. One comment stood out — simple and direct: "Do you ever miss being small?"