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“When a star dies, it’s a celestial phenomenon,” Himeko’s voice is almost apathetic—no, she’s admiring, “I want my passing to be like that.”
“Yours?” Kafka questions.
Himeko is silent, as if she’s contemplating what she wants to say before saying it. She lets this go on for agonizing seconds before finally speaking.
“I dream of death,” Himeko smiles at the starry sky, almost refusing to look at Kafka.
Kafka’s reply takes time, it’s only a few beats later that she can let out a small: “What?”
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Or: Himeko and Kafka stargazing with romantic tension in the background.