The spring breeze carried with it the scent of old memories—soft, bittersweet, and tinged with hope. Haruto felt it the moment he stepped off the train and made his way through the familiar streets of their hometown. It had been months since Aiko had left for Paris, but for him, each day felt like its own small eternity.
He walked the winding path toward the old park, past the stone bridge and the narrow stream that glistened in morning light. The cherry blossom tree stood ahead, just as it always had, its branches crowned in delicate pink petals. Underneath it, every season felt sacred. It was their place, where childhood promises, quiet confessions, and shy laughter had taken shape.
As Haruto approached, his heart raced with an anxious hope. He had replayed this moment countless times in his mind: Would she be there, waiting? Would she smile as she always did, with eyes that seemed to catch the light?
For a brief second, the path seemed empty, and doubt tightened around him like cold mist. But then, as if drawn by memory itself, Aiko stepped into view.
She stood beneath the blossoms, wearing a pale dress that fluttered with the breeze. A sketchbook, worn and familiar, rested against her chest. Her hair had grown a little longer, framing her face in soft waves. Haruto froze, the world narrowing to the space between them.
"Aiko," he whispered, but it came out cracked by emotion.
Her eyes lifted to meet his. The faintest tremor crossed her lips before her smile bloomed, gentle and bright. "Haruto," she breathed, and his name sounded like a wish spoken aloud.
For a few heartbeats, neither moved. Then, almost at the same moment, they stepped forward, closing the distance that months and thousands of miles had stretched thin. Haruto wanted to speak—about the nights he stayed awake imagining this, about the letters that carried his love across oceans—but words dissolved the moment she looked up at him.
"I thought… maybe you wouldn't come," she said softly, her voice carrying traces of nerves and hope.
"How could I not?" Haruto replied, the edges of his voice catching. "This is our tree, remember?"
Aiko laughed, quiet and breathless. "I missed you," she admitted, and the words seemed to spill from her heart. "Every sunrise in Paris felt a little less warm without you."
Haruto lifted a hand, hesitating for just an instant, then brushed a stray petal from her hair. His fingers trembled, but Aiko tilted her head into his touch as if to say, It's okay. I'm here.
"I missed you too," he said, voice low. "More than I could ever put into words."
The cherry blossoms danced around them, some catching in Aiko's hair, others falling between them like delicate snow. She opened her sketchbook, turning it toward him. On the page was a new painting: the cherry tree in full bloom, but in its shadow were two figures standing side by side—close, yet not quite touching.
"I painted this on my last night there," Aiko explained, her gaze dropping to the page. "It felt unfinished… because you weren't with me."
Haruto swallowed past the ache in his chest. "We can finish it now," he whispered.
She nodded, and for a long while, they just stood together under the tree, as if anchoring themselves in the quiet. Haruto listened to the soft rustle of petals, the faint hum of cicadas, and the uneven rhythm of his own heartbeat. Each sound felt sharper, fuller, because she was there to share it.
"You've changed," he said, almost shyly.
Aiko looked at him with curiosity. "Have I?"
"You look stronger," he replied. "Your eyes… they've seen more of the world. But they're still the same eyes I first met under these blossoms."
Her cheeks flushed pink, and she looked away, embarrassed and pleased all at once. "And you," she countered, "look a little older. A little braver."
Haruto laughed softly. "Maybe that's true," he said. "Or maybe I just learned to keep missing you every day without breaking."
The confession hung in the air, raw and tender. Aiko stepped closer, until their shoulders brushed. "Thank you," she murmured. "For waiting."
"I'd wait forever," he replied, the words coming so simply, so honestly, that even he was surprised by them.
They sat beneath the cherry tree, side by side, knees almost touching. Aiko sketched as Haruto watched the drifting petals, his heart easing with every minute that passed in her presence. The ache of months apart softened, replaced by the warmth of shared silence.
As the afternoon light grew softer, Aiko put down her pencil. "Haruto," she said quietly, "promise me something."
"Anything."
"No matter where we go next… let's always come back here. To this tree. Even if it's just once a year."
Haruto turned to her, their eyes meeting through the falling petals. "It's a promise," he said, sealing it with a smile that felt as steady as spring itself.
The cherry blossoms fell around them, gentle reminders that seasons change, distance stretches, but some roots—like love, like memories shared under a blooming tree—remain.
And in that moment, Haruto and Aiko knew: no matter how far apart they wandered, their hearts would always return to this place, beneath the quiet rain of blossoms.