The morning sun filtered gently through the curtains, casting soft golden stripes across Haruto’s futon. The faint hum of a distant train and the occasional birdcall outside were the familiar soundtrack of the coastal town’s waking hours.
Haruto stirred beneath his blanket, eyelids fluttering open to the slow rhythm of the day. He reached over to the small desk by the window where his phone rested, illuminated by the first messages of the morning.
Aoi’s text blinked on the screen:
“Don’t forget music club practice today! I’m counting on you. And after, come over? I’ve got new tea leaves I want you to try 🍵”
A small smile touched Haruto’s lips. Aoi’s cheerful reminders were like a gentle tide, always returning, steady and comforting.
He typed back quickly:
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
Slipping out of bed, he dressed quickly, grabbing his guitar case on the way out. The house was quiet, save for the faint sound of his mother preparing breakfast downstairs. As usual, the scent of miso soup and freshly steamed rice lingered faintly in the air — a reminder of home, safe and constant.
Outside, the air was brisk but filled with the scent of early spring — damp earth and the sweet promise of cherry blossoms soon to bloom.
Walking to the station, Haruto’s thoughts wandered back to yesterday — the first glimpse of Yuna Morikawa, the quiet grace she carried, and the unexpected melody of the old Showa song echoing in the music room.
At the train platform, a cluster of students gathered, their laughter mingling with the rhythmic clack of train wheels. Aoi appeared almost instantly, waving energetically from across the tracks, her scarf wrapped snugly around her neck despite the rising warmth.
“Morning, Haruto!” she called out, weaving through the crowd to join him.
“Morning,” he replied, smiling. “You’re early today.”
Aoi shrugged, cheeks flushed from the brisk air. “Had extra time after breakfast. You’re lucky to have a place that smells like that every morning.”
They slipped onto the train together, the familiar crowded interior now a little less routine because of Yuna’s presence lingering in Haruto’s mind.
The day’s classes passed in a blur of notes and quiet moments stolen between lessons. Haruto found himself distracted, his gaze flickering toward the classroom door more times than he cared to admit.
Yuna sat a few seats away, her serene expression focused on a notebook where she occasionally scribbled Japanese calligraphy — characters flowing like gentle water on the page.
At lunch, Aoi nudged him as they sat beneath a blooming cherry tree in the courtyard. “You’ve got that ‘thinking about someone’ look again.”
Haruto rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.
“Come on, spill,” Aoi teased. “Is it Yuna? The mysterious transfer student?”
He hesitated. “Maybe.”
“Just maybe?” she pressed.
Before he could answer, Yuna’s voice floated over from nearby, soft and tentative. “Haruto, are you going to the cultural festival committee meeting after school?”
He turned to see her standing there, a slight blush coloring her cheeks. “Yeah. I was planning to.”
Yuna smiled gently. “I’m helping set up the decorations. Maybe we can meet there?”
Haruto nodded, feeling the warmth of her invitation spreading through him.
Aoi’s eyes narrowed playfully. “So you’ve got two after-school plans now.”
Haruto laughed nervously. “Yeah… I guess so.”
After the last bell, the school corridors buzzed with activity. Haruto found himself caught between two worlds — the easy comfort of Aoi’s teasing company and the quiet, enigmatic pull of Yuna’s presence.
He met Aoi under the big cherry tree, where petals danced in the breeze like soft confetti.
“So, tea?” she asked, holding out a thermos with a hopeful grin.
Haruto accepted it, savoring the warm steam rising in the cool air.
“Thanks for inviting me,” he said quietly.
Aoi shrugged, cheeks flushing. “It’s nothing. Just wanted to spend some time together.”
They talked about trivial things — the upcoming festival, club gossip, plans for summer — but beneath the surface, the conversation held unspoken meanings.
As twilight deepened, Haruto excused himself to head to the committee meeting.
The festival room buzzed with preparations — posters being hung, lanterns carefully strung, and students bustling to and fro.
Yuna was already there, delicately arranging paper cranes along the windowsill. She looked up as he approached, eyes bright in the fading light.
“Thanks for coming,” she said softly.
“No problem,” Haruto replied.
They worked side by side, the silence between them comfortable, punctuated by shared smiles and glances.
At one point, Yuna paused, looking thoughtful.
“There’s a local legend about these cranes,” she said quietly. “That if you fold a thousand, your wish will come true.”
Haruto smiled. “Sounds like something out of a movie.”
Yuna’s gaze held his a moment longer. “Sometimes, legends are more real than we think.”
The meeting ended, and Haruto left with his thoughts tangled between the familiar warmth of Aoi and the intriguing mystery of Yuna.
On the train home, the sky deepened to twilight blue, the first stars twinkling faintly.
Haruto’s phone buzzed.
Aoi: “Don’t forget tomorrow’s practice. I’m counting on you.”
Yuna: “I found a vinyl record shop near the station. Maybe we can go together sometime?”
He smiled, fingers hovering over the screen, heart caught in the gentle pull of two worlds — between past and future, comfort and possibility.
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