"Sometimes, silence sounds louder than words."
It had been three days since her last message.
Three days of quiet footsteps. Three days of waiting under the cherry tree. Three days of pretending not to look at one another — and failing, every time.
Ren had come early again.
Earlier than usual.
Not because he expected something, but because the space beside the mailbox felt more alive when he sat near it. Like something might bloom there again if he waited long enough.
He reached into the wooden box.
Nothing.
No letter.
But as he turned away, he noticed something small folded inside the corner. Light blue. A crane.
He stared at it for a moment. His fingers hovered.
Then he took it out, and something inside him caught.
There were words written on the wing. Only five:
"Why don't you speak?"
Ren sat down slowly, crane in hand.
He read the question again.
And again.
The breeze played with the edge of the paper, but the words stayed still — sharp, honest, impossible to ignore.
She knew.
He wasn't sure how, but she knew it was him.
Or… she hoped it was. Maybe that was worse.
Ren folded the crane gently and placed it on the bench beside him. Then pulled out a small scrap of paper from his pocket, the kind he used for notes he never sent.
He hesitated. Then wrote:
"Because silence feels like magic."
That evening, he placed the reply inside the mailbox.
No envelope. No name.
Just the answer.
He didn't stay to see her find it.
But when he came back the next day, there was something different.
Nothing had changed — and yet, everything had.
She was already there. Sitting under the tree.
Their eyes met. Briefly.
Then she looked away, cheeks slightly pink.
She hadn't left a letter.
But she didn't need to.
Her presence was the message.