It was the first day of spring, and cherry blossoms bloomed like soft whispers in the sky. Haru was sitting on his usual bench in the park, sketchbook in hand, lost in the swirl of pink petals. He drew the tree in front of him, the gnarled trunk anchoring the delicate blooms.
“Beautiful,” a voice interrupted.
Startled, Haru looked up to see a tall young man with messy dark hair and kind eyes. He was holding a camera, the strap slung casually around his neck.
“Your sketch,” the man clarified with a warm smile. “It’s beautiful. Do you mind if I take a picture of you drawing?”
Haru blushed. “Uh, I guess not,” he stammered.
The man crouched down and snapped a quick photo. “I’m Ren,” he said, sitting beside Haru as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Haru,” he replied, still caught off-guard by Ren’s boldness.
They talked as petals drifted around them. Ren was a freelance photographer, drawn to the park by the blossoms. Haru admitted he often came here to draw because it was peaceful.
“You should come with me sometime,” Ren suggested. “There’s a grove a little outside the city that’s even more stunning.”
Haru hesitated. He wasn’t used to strangers pulling him into their orbit, but there was something disarming about Ren’s easy smile.
A week later, Haru found himself standing with Ren under an even larger canopy of cherry blossoms. Ren held his camera, snapping pictures of Haru as he sketched. But Haru couldn’t concentrate; his heart thumped louder than the click of Ren’s shutter.
“Am I distracting you?” Ren teased, lowering the camera.
Haru shook his head, his cheeks pinker than the flowers. “No. Just… not used to this.”
“To what?” Ren asked softly, stepping closer.
“Being seen,” Haru admitted.
Ren’s gaze softened. “Well, you’re worth seeing.”
The words hung in the air like petals caught in the breeze. Before Haru could respond, Ren leaned down, brushing his lips against Haru’s in a kiss that was as fleeting and perfect as spring itself.
In that moment, Haru realized that sometimes, it wasn’t just the blossoms that made life beautiful—it was who stood beneath them with you.
