The school hallway buzzed with low chatter as students moved between classes. Izumi Ichikawa, as usual, walked with his eyes low and his hands clutching his bag straps. He had mastered the art of blending in—like background music in a busy café: present, but unnoticed.
But today, something was different.
As he passed the student council's bulletin board, his eyes caught a flash of red and gold. A vibrant poster had been pinned up, the top emblazoned with bold, handwritten kanji:
"Tanabata Festival – This Weekend!"
Beneath it, colorful designs of paper lanterns, yukatas, and firework bursts painted a scene that felt almost magical.
Izumi paused.
Tanabata—the Star Festival. A day where people wrote their wishes on colorful slips of paper and tied them to bamboo branches, hoping they'd reach the stars. It was the kind of event that usually existed in the background of manga or anime. He'd never once gone to one in real life.
Just as he began to walk again, a familiar voice called out to him, gentle but unmistakable.
"Izumi-kun!"
He turned and saw Ayato Yamada, her white hair pulled into a loose ponytail, strands dancing near her cheeks. She was in her summer uniform, blouse sleeves neatly rolled up, a soft smile glowing on her face.
"You saw the poster too?" she asked, stepping beside him.
"Y-Yeah. I wasn't planning to go or anything," he muttered, eyes shifting away.
Ayato tilted her head. "But you were staring at it like it held the secret to the universe."
He blushed. "I was just… curious."
Ayato giggled. "I think it sounds fun. I've always liked Tanabata. The idea that two lovers separated by a river of stars can meet once a year—it's kind of romantic, don't you think?"
Izumi scratched his cheek, unsure how to respond. The word "romantic" made his brain fizzle like soda in a can.
"Are you going?" he asked finally.
"I'd like to," Ayato said. "But only if I had someone to go with." She glanced at him subtly, her eyes watching for even the smallest reaction.
Izumi looked away, heart thumping, but said nothing.
---
Later that day, during lunch, he sat at his usual corner of the rooftop with his bento. The sky above was clear, a summer blue that stretched endlessly. He opened his notebook, the one filled with unfinished manga ideas, and scribbled idly:
"What would a wish mean to someone who stopped believing in them?"
He frowned at the sentence.
"Izumi-kun."
Her voice again. Ayato had made it a habit to find him on the rooftop now, ever since the day she first joined him there. It had become their quiet, unspoken meeting spot.
She sat beside him, unwrapping a strawberry milk carton. "Can I ask you something?"
"Sure…"
"If you could wish for anything during Tanabata, anything at all, what would it be?"
Izumi blinked. No one had ever asked him that.
He considered giving a joke answer like "a limited edition figure" or "an extra hour of sleep," but when he looked at Ayato's expression—earnest, warm—he knew she wanted the real him, not the mask.
"…I think I'd wish to change," he said quietly. "To become someone who isn't scared of… everything."
Ayato looked at him softly. "That's a beautiful wish."
He gave a bitter laugh. "It's a pathetic one."
"No," she said firmly. "Not at all. I think… the most courageous thing is to wish for something you don't think you deserve yet."
Izumi stared at her. She had a way of saying things that made the world slow down, as if the moment itself wanted to last longer.
He looked down at his notebook, then closed it.
"…Do you want to go together?" he asked, so quietly he barely heard himself.
Ayato's eyes widened. "To the festival?"
He nodded, not looking at her.
A silence lingered. And then—
"I'd love to."
---
That night, Izumi lay in bed, staring at the ceiling fan spin lazily above. The hum of cicadas outside was constant, a background track to the summer night.
He reached for his phone and opened a blank message.
"Let's meet near the train station at 6 on Saturday."
He stared at it for a long moment, fingers trembling slightly, then hit send.
Seconds later, a reply lit up:
"Can't wait 😊"
Izumi rolled to the side, face buried in his pillow.
What was happening to him?
He wasn't used to this fluttery feeling in his chest. He wasn't used to someone waiting for him. Wanting to spend time with him. Wanting… him.
And for the first time, he wasn't afraid of it.
Saturday evening came quicker than Izumi expected. He stood near the train station, dressed in a clean, neatly ironed shirt and dark jeans, his hair carefully combed for once. He glanced at his reflection in a vending machine's glass, adjusting the strap of his shoulder bag. His heart beat a little too fast—just enough to make him question every second of waiting.
"She's late," he muttered to himself, checking the time on his phone for the fifth time in two minutes.
And then—
"Sorry! Did I make you wait?"
He turned toward the voice, and his breath caught.
Ayato stood there, radiant in a pale blue yukata decorated with white blossoms. Her hair was loosely tied with a ribbon, and a soft blush touched her cheeks.
"I-Is it too much?" she asked, her green eyes scanning his reaction.
Izumi stared, frozen for a moment before quickly looking away. "N-No! I mean… you look nice. I mean really nice. Like, um… festival princess level nice."
Ayato giggled. "Thank you, Izumi-kun. You look good too! I didn't expect you to dress up."
"I figured if I was going to a festival… with someone…" he mumbled, not finishing the sentence.
The corners of Ayato's lips curled. "Shall we go?"
They boarded the local train and rode together in comfortable silence. Occasionally, their hands brushed when the train shook, and each time, Izumi's heart jumped. Ayato noticed it but said nothing—just smiled to herself, like she was holding onto a secret.
When they reached the festival grounds, the world burst into life.
Paper lanterns lined the path like guiding stars, casting golden light over the sea of people. Food stalls sizzled with grilled yakitori and takoyaki. Children ran past with masks and cotton candy. The sky above held just enough twilight to create a dreamlike haze.
"It's beautiful," Ayato whispered.
Izumi nodded. "Yeah…"
They wandered through the stalls together. Ayato dragged him to a goldfish scooping game, where she giggled uncontrollably as he failed miserably. He bought her a candied apple, and she insisted they split it. They stood beneath the lanterns, the sweet scent of sugar and grilled food in the air, the laughter around them fading into a soft hum.
Then they reached a small bamboo tree, decorated with strips of colorful paper—tanzaku.
"Let's write our wishes," Ayato said, taking two from the table nearby along with pens.
Izumi hesitated. "I don't usually do things like this."
"It's okay. No one's watching but the stars."
She wrote quickly and tied hers onto the tree. Then she turned away to give him space.
Izumi stared at the blank paper. What was he supposed to write?
A thought came to him.
Not something shallow. Not something sarcastic. Just…
"I want to be someone worthy of being by her side."
He tied it to a branch, his fingers trembling slightly.
When Ayato came back, she glanced at it but didn't ask. She simply smiled and said, "Shall we find a place to watch the fireworks?"
They moved toward the riverside, where the crowd had gathered. Ayato tugged on his sleeve when she found a quiet patch of grass under a tree. They sat close, their knees just barely touching.
The air felt heavier now. Expectant. As if the world itself had paused, waiting for something.
"I'm glad you came," she said softly.
Izumi looked at her, caught in the glow of lanterns and starlight. "I'm… glad you invited me."
"I didn't," she teased. "You asked me."
He blushed. "Right…"
A silence stretched between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It was full of things unsaid, words waiting for the right moment.
And then—
BOOM.
The first firework exploded in the sky, brilliant red and gold, reflected in the river below. People gasped and clapped, but Izumi wasn't looking at the sky.
He was looking at her.
Ayato's eyes sparkled as she looked up, face lit by the bursts of light. In that moment, she looked like she belonged to a different world—a world of dreams and shooting stars.
He didn't realize he was staring until she turned to him.
"Izumi-kun," she said, barely audible over the fireworks.
"Y-Yeah?"
"I had another wish," she said, smiling softly.
"What is it?"
Her gaze didn't leave his. "That someday… you'll know how I feel."
His breath hitched. The fireworks dimmed in his mind. Only her voice lingered.
But before he could speak, she looked back to the sky.
So he stayed silent.
---
The train ride back was quiet, but not awkward. Ayato leaned slightly against him, her yukata sleeve brushing his. The night had cooled, but neither seemed to notice.
When they reached the station, Ayato turned to him at the gate.
"Thank you for today," she said. "It was… special."
Izumi nodded. "Yeah. It was."
She hesitated for a moment, then stood on her toes and gently fixed his hair. "You had one little strand out of place."
He froze, staring at her.
"Goodnight, Izumi-kun," she said, stepping away with a soft smile.
And just like that, she was gone—walking into the night, fireflies flickering around her like tiny wishes in the dark.
Izumi stood there for a long time, his heart louder than the fireworks had ever been.
The night air was cool and crisp when Izumi finally stepped back into his room. He stood silently near the window, his bag still on his shoulder, the sound of distant fireworks echoing in his mind like a fading heartbeat.
He didn't switch on the light. The dim city glow outside was enough.
Somewhere far below, the wind brushed past the trees, whispering softly—carrying with it the memory of Ayato's voice:
> "That someday… you'll know how I feel."
Izumi sat on the edge of his bed, the words playing over and over in his head. He hadn't replied. He didn't know how to. His heart had frozen, caught between disbelief and the rising tide of emotions he didn't know how to name.
He should've said something. Anything.
But…
"What does she feel?" he whispered aloud. "And what do I… feel?"
He pressed his hand to his chest, as if trying to feel the truth beat against his palm.
That day with her had felt like a dream—unreal, fleeting, and warm in a way that lingered in his bones. He had laughed more than he had in weeks, felt lighter, freer. She had pulled him into her world like it was the easiest thing in the world.
And he hadn't wanted to leave.
With a quiet sigh, he finally leaned back onto his bed, still dressed. The memory of Ayato's yukata, her smile under the firework-lit sky, her voice whispering wishes to the wind—everything hovered just beneath his eyelids.
---
The next morning came gently.
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, soft and golden. Izumi blinked awake, his mind already on the night before. He reached for his phone and stared at it for a moment before opening the messaging app.
Ayato: Morning! Did you sleep well? 😊
He smiled instinctively before typing back.
Izumi: Yeah. I kept dreaming of fireworks, though.
Ayato: Me too! 😄 Must be because we saw the best ones together.
He hesitated, fingers hovering above the keyboard.
Izumi: Hey, Ayato… about what you said last night—
He stopped.
Backspace.
Pause.
He sighed, put the phone down, and rolled over. Coward, he thought.
---
School resumed on Monday. The atmosphere was the same, but something had shifted for Izumi. Maybe not outside—but inside.
He found himself glancing at Ayato more often than usual, noticing how her green eyes glinted when she laughed, or how she tucked her hair behind her ear when reading. She didn't bring up the festival. She didn't need to. It lingered between them like a quiet, shared secret.
During lunch, they sat together under the usual sakura tree in the courtyard.
"Do you ever think," Ayato asked, "that moments can change us forever?"
Izumi looked at her. "Like… one moment, and suddenly we're not the same anymore?"
She nodded, poking at her bento. "Yeah. Like… even if nothing big happens, something inside just quietly shifts."
Izumi thought for a moment. "Yeah. I get that."
Ayato looked up at him. "I feel like… I'm not the same as I was before the festival."
He met her eyes. "Me neither."
And for a brief second, neither of them smiled. They just looked at each other, like something important was being exchanged without words.
Then she looked away, pretending to focus on her rice ball.
"By the way," she added casually, "there's a library exhibit next weekend. It's about classical love stories. Thought it might be interesting…"
Izumi raised an eyebrow. "You want to go?"
"Only if someone invites me."
He chuckled. "Alright. Want to go with me?"
Her eyes sparkled. "I'd love to."
---
Later that evening, Izumi stood once more at his window, his phone in hand, rereading their texts and smiling softly to himself.
Something inside him had changed. The quiet world he used to live in no longer felt the same. There was color now. Warmth. A little chaos. And all of it… had Ayato's name written all over it.
Maybe he wasn't ready to say how he felt just yet.
But he was walking toward it—one shared moment at a time.
As a soft breeze carried cherry blossom petals past his window, Izumi whispered to himself:
> "I think I'm falling for her…"