The scent of spring hung heavy in the air.

Aiko stood alone beneath the great cherry tree on the hill, her sketchbook cradled in her arms like a secret. The tree was in full bloom, each petal a delicate whisper of pink against the pale blue sky. Below, Hanamura’s Sakura Festival pulsed with life — music, laughter, lanterns swinging in the breeze — but none of it reached her.

This was their tree.

She closed her eyes.

Six years.

Six years since Ren had promised to return.
Six years since she watched him vanish into Tokyo’s night lights, chasing dreams too big for a small-town heart like hers.
Six years since the phone call that ended everything — without explanation, without goodbye.

No body. No funeral. Just... silence.

She opened her sketchbook. Her pencil moved automatically, carving out a familiar face — the shape of his jaw, the gentle eyes, the crooked smile that still haunted her sleep. She never drew anything else anymore. Only him.

“That’s a beautiful drawing.”

The voice was smooth, deep, unexpected.

Aiko’s head snapped up. A man stood just a few paces away, half-hidden in the dappled light beneath the tree. He wore a long, ash-gray coat, a worn leather-bound book tucked under one arm. His hair was dark and slightly tousled, like it didn’t care where the wind took it. But it was his eyes — storm-colored and oddly familiar — that held her.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, raising his hands in peace. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I just... wasn’t expecting company up here.”

She blinked, still gripping her pencil. “…No one comes here during the festival.”

He smiled, a lopsided grin. “I guess I’m not ‘no one,’ then.”

What kind of answer is that?

She studied him for a second longer, then turned her gaze back to her sketchbook.

“Do you always draw people you miss?” he asked, softer now.

Her pencil stilled.

“…What makes you think I’m—?”

“I’ve seen that look before,” he said gently, tapping his temple. “I’ve worn it.”

His tone wasn't teasing. It was quiet. Real.

Aiko looked down, suddenly aware of how much of herself she'd just revealed without meaning to.

“I’m Sora,” he said, holding out a hand. “Traveler. Poet. Professional cherry blossom chaser.”

She hesitated, then shook it. “Aiko.”

The moment stretched between them, delicate as the petals around their feet.

A breeze stirred, rustling the branches. Petals danced through the air, swirling like soft ghosts of memory. And in that second — just a flicker — she thought she saw Ren’s smile reflected in the stranger’s eyes.

No, she told herself. It’s just the light. Just the wind. Just... coincidence.

But something deep in her chest whispered otherwise.

Chapter 1: Petals and Ghosts

Join the Discussion