Seasons of Her

 When I first came to the village, I didn’t expect much—just a quiet place to breathe, to explore, and to hang out with my old friend Yenzo.

“Luza, you’ve got to see this tree,” Yenzo had said over the phone. “It’s deep in the forest, standing all alone. We call it the Lonely Tree. There’s a river nearby, too—perfect for fishing.”

So, on a bright spring morning, we made our way through the woods, past fresh green leaves and the sound of rustling wind. On the way, we passed a group of girls picking wild mushrooms and laughing. I remember thinking how alive the forest felt. But as soon as they left, everything turned quiet. Almost... peaceful.

The Lonely Tree stood in the heart of the forest—tall, ancient, and proud. Yenzo dropped his line into the river, chasing fish like always. I climbed up onto a thick, low branch and stretched out, letting the sunlight fall across my face. From up there, the view was perfect. That's when I saw her.

A girl sat nearby, alone, staring up at the sky. She looked calm… but distant, like her thoughts were somewhere else. Was she lonely, too? Like this tree?

Later, I found her again at a small pond filled with flowers. She placed one in her ponytail. That moment—I felt something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Are you lost?” she asked. “Or just someone who loves this season?”

“I like the season,” I said, smiling. “But maybe I wasn’t made for it.”

She smiled back. “I haven’t talked to someone like this in forever.”

“I’m Luza,” I said.

“Save it,” she replied. “Tell me during the summer fireworks.”

And just like that… spring began.

SPRING†…….

Spring had always been just a season to me. Flowers blooming, warmer days, the usual stuff. But that year… spring felt different. Maybe it was the air in this village, or maybe it was her.

After our first meeting by the pond, I couldn’t get her out of my head. That girl with the ponytail and soft voice. The way she tucked a flower behind her ear like she was part of the season itself. The way she asked if I was lonely—like she already knew the answer.

“Fireworks in summer,” I whispered, lying on the wide branch of the Lonely Tree again. “What a strange promise…”

Yenzo was nearby, trying to fish as usual. He claimed there were big ones in the river, but his bucket was still empty. Some things never change.

“Catch anything?” I called.

“Just my reflection,” he shouted back. “But it’s a good-looking one!”

I laughed. Yenzo was always like that—full of jokes and zero luck. It made the silence of the forest feel less empty.

That day, I decided to visit the pond again. Not because I was chasing anything. I just… hoped.

When I got there, she was sitting on the same stone near the water, staring at her reflection like it might say something back. She didn’t look surprised to see me.

“You came back,” she said.

“Well, you never told me your name. That’s bad manners, you know.”

She smiled a little. “And you didn’t tell me yours either.”

“Luza.”

She blinked, then nodded. “Mine’s Aoi.”

Aoi. Like the blue sky. It suited her.

We didn’t talk about big things. Not yet. Just small pieces. She liked quiet places. She said the forest sounded like a song when no one was talking. I told her about my boring city life, how this village already felt like another world.

“Why do you come here?” I asked.

Aoi tilted her head. “Because spring only comes once a year. And this place… it remembers.”

“What does that mean?”

She didn’t answer. She just tossed a pebble into the pond and watched the ripples.

Days passed. Somehow, we kept running into each other. At the river. Near the old bridge. Once, we both reached for the same sakura mochi at the little snack shop and laughed awkwardly like we were in a drama.

She felt familiar, like someone I’d known for a long time, even though we’d just met.

One afternoon, we sat under the Lonely Tree. Aoi leaned back against the bark, eyes closed, letting the wind play with her hair.

“I used to think this tree was sad,” I said. “But maybe it’s just waiting for someone to sit with it.”

She opened her eyes. “Maybe it’s not lonely. Maybe it’s patient.”

I liked that. I liked the way she saw the world.

At the end of the month, the village held the Spring Fireworks Festival. It wasn’t a huge event, but people wore yukata, and paper lanterns floated through the streets like stars that had forgotten how to fly.

I waited at the hill near the pond. The sky was turning orange, and for a second, I worried she wouldn’t come.

But she did.

Wearing a light pink yukata with little flower prints, Aoi walked up the path, her ponytail swaying gently.

“I almost thought you forgot,” I said.

“I didn’t,” she smiled. “Spring remembers, remember?”

The fireworks started, lighting up the sky with colors that didn’t even look real. We watched in silence for a while.

Then she spoke. “I don’t usually talk to people this much. But with you… it’s easy.”

“Same,” I said. “I think… this season’s the first time I’ve really felt something in a while.”

She looked at me. “I’m glad we met, Luza.”

I smiled. “Me too.”

As the final firework burst into gold and vanished into the night, I wondered if every spring before this had just been waiting to lead me here.

SUMMER †.......

Summer in the village felt like stepping into a warm dream.

The days were longer, the nights were louder with the sound of cicadas, and everything shimmered under the golden sun. It was the kind of season where time moved slowly—but your heart raced a little faster.

Aoi and I kept meeting after that spring fireworks night. It wasn’t planned. We just… found each other. By the riverbank, near the old bookstore, or walking opposite sides of the same dirt path, always smiling like the world knew we belonged in the same scenes.

“Luza,” she called one afternoon, waving from across the bridge. “You always look like you’re thinking too much.”

“And you always look like you’re hiding something,” I replied with a grin.

She laughed—not a loud laugh, but one of those small, honest ones that slips out before you can stop it.

We spent a lot of time at the river. Yenzo still tried to fish, still failed. Aoi watched us from the shade, her feet dipping into the cool water.

“Why do you come here every day?” I asked once.

She shrugged. “Because the days won’t last forever. And these memories... I want to remember them exactly as they are.”

Something about the way she said it made my chest feel heavy. Not in a bad way—just… deep.

One evening, Yenzo finally caught a fish. One. He held it up like he’d won the lottery. We all laughed so hard, I actually cried a little. That night, we sat by the Lonely Tree, lit small sparklers, and watched the fireflies dance.

“You ever think fireflies are just little lost stars?” Aoi whispered.

“Yeah,” I said. “And maybe you’re one too.”

She looked at me. Quiet. Then she smiled.

The summer festival arrived.

Lanterns lit up the streets. The smell of grilled food, shaved ice, and roasted corn filled the air. Kids ran around with paper fans, and everyone wore yukata, like stepping into a memory from someone else's childhood.

I met Aoi near the pond. Her yukata this time was soft blue, like the evening sky. She wore the same flower in her ponytail—from the pond where we first met.

“You remembered,” I said.

“I didn’t want to forget,” she replied.

We walked the festival together. She pulled me to try random food stalls and laughed when I nearly choked on spicy squid. I bought her a candy apple. She didn’t even like sweets, but she smiled anyway.

We played goldfish scooping. She won. I didn’t. Of course.

And then the fireworks began.

Boom. Crackle. Burst.

Colors filled the sky—red, gold, purple, silver—painting the night with dreams.

Aoi stood beside me, her eyes wide, face glowing in the flashes of light.

“Luza,” she said softly. “Do you ever wish moments like this could last forever?”

“Yeah,” I replied. “All the time.”

We didn’t speak for a while. Just stood there, shoulders close, as the sky bloomed and faded again and again.

Then she turned to me. “I want to tell you something. But I don’t want to ruin tonight.”

“Then don’t tell me now,” I said. “Tell me... in autumn. Under the Lonely Tree.”

She looked surprised, then slowly nodded. “Okay. But only if you promise to meet me there.”

“I promise.”

After that night, things felt different. Not worse, not better. Just deeper.

We still met almost every day. But sometimes Aoi would go quiet, staring at the sky like she was reading something written just for her.

“Are you okay?” I’d ask.

She’d smile. “Yeah. I’m just storing sunlight for the colder days.”

I didn’t fully understand. But I didn’t ask again.

Instead, I tried to make her laugh more. I took her to the sunflower fields just outside the village. We picked flowers and raced through the tall grass like kids. She said that day was her favorite part of summer.

Mine too.

Then one evening, I went to the pond. She wasn’t there.

I waited. The sun dipped low. The fireflies came out.

Still no Aoi.

For the first time in weeks, I walked home alone.

The next day, she came back. Said she had a fever. Said it was nothing.

But something told me… summer was already beginning to say goodbye.

As the days passed, the sun began to lose its heat. The shadows grew longer. The cicadas grew quiet.

But Aoi smiled through it all.

“We still have autumn,” she said.

And we did.

But deep down, I could already feel it—

That summer wasn’t just about sunshine or fireworks.

It was about the warmth she brought into my life.

And how I didn’t want to let it go.

AUTUMN †…….

Autumn came slowly to the village.

The green leaves began to turn shades of gold, red, and brown. The air got cooler, the skies more quiet, and the sunlight a little softer. Everything felt like it was getting ready to say goodbye—gently.

It reminded me of Aoi.

We hadn’t talked much since the end of summer. She still showed up sometimes—always with a smile—but something had changed. She seemed lighter… and further away at the same time.

I kept thinking about the promise.

"Tell me in autumn," I had said.

So I waited.

One morning, Yenzo and I visited the Lonely Tree again. The river beside it flowed more slowly now. The breeze carried fallen leaves in slow spirals. Yenzo, of course, tried to fish again.

“I feel lucky today,” he grinned.

“You say that every time,” I laughed.

He shrugged. “One day, it’ll be true.”

As he set up his rod, I climbed the tree, just like I used to. From the high branch, I looked out over the forest. It was changing—just like everything else. Just like me.

That’s when I heard footsteps.

I looked down and saw her.

Aoi, standing beneath the tree, her eyes looking up at me like she’d been searching.

“You came,” she said.

“You remembered,” I replied.

She smiled. But it was a soft smile. The kind you make when you’re trying not to cry.

We sat under the tree. The ground was scattered with leaves. Aoi pulled her knees close, hugging them lightly.

“This tree’s still the same,” she said. “But it feels different now.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Maybe it’s not the tree. Maybe it’s us.”

She nodded, then looked up at the falling leaves. “Luza, I have something to tell you.”

My heart beat faster.

“I don’t live here,” she began. “Not really. I only come during spring and summer. My family used to live in this village… before I got sick.”

I turned to her.

“My health got worse last year,” she continued. “So my parents brought me here to rest, to feel better. The air, the quiet—it helped. And then... I met you.”

My throat tightened. I didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t want to tell you in spring because I didn’t want it to be sad. And in summer, everything felt so warm... I didn’t want to lose it.”

“So you waited for autumn,” I whispered.

She looked at me. “Because autumn is honest. It doesn’t pretend. It knows everything ends eventually… and it still turns beautiful anyway.”

I looked down at the leaves. I wanted to be angry, or sad, or say something wise. But I just said, “I’m glad you told me.”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, pressed flower—the same kind she’d tucked in her hair that first day.

“I saved this,” she said. “For the day I’d have to say goodbye.”

I held it gently. My chest felt heavy. But somehow, I smiled.

“We’ll still meet again,” I said. “Next spring. Right here. Under this tree.”

She nodded. “Even if I’m not here, the tree will be. The river, the pond, the fireflies… They’ll remember.”

I leaned back against the trunk, eyes on the sky. “Then I’ll come every year. I’ll bring Yenzo, too. Even if he never catches a fish.”

Aoi laughed softly. That sound—I wanted to carry it with me forever.

As the sun began to set, we walked together one last time. The wind carried golden leaves around our feet. We didn’t hold hands. We didn’t need to.

When we reached the village path, she stopped.

“This is where I leave,” she said.

I nodded. “You’ll always be part of this season for me.”

She looked up at the sky, as if memorizing it.

“Me too.”

Then she smiled, turned, and walked down the path. Slowly. Gracefully. Like the season itself.

The next day, she was gone.

Yenzo didn’t ask. Maybe he knew.

Winter came not long after, and the village grew quiet again. But I still went to the Lonely Tree. I sat on the branch, looked at the pond, and listened to the wind. Sometimes, I thought I heard her voice in the leaves.

The flower she gave me stayed pressed inside my journal. Every time I saw it, I remembered her smile, her words, her laugh.

And when spring came again, I returned.

The tree was waiting.

And even if she wasn’t there...

The season remembered.

SPRING RETURNS†……….

Another year passed.

The snow had melted, and soft green returned to the village—just like always. The same breeze that once carried petals brushed my skin again.

I was back.

Same suitcase. Same path. Same forest sounds.

But I was different.

A full year had passed since that last walk with Aoi—the girl who changed everything. Like I promised, I returned.

Because she asked the seasons to remember.

And I didn’t want them to forget.

The Lonely Tree still stood tall.

Its branches stretched wide. The river hummed. Leaves whispered softly.

I climbed our branch again.

It felt the same. The view. The peace.

I looked down and smiled.

Yenzo was struggling with his fishing rod again. “This year I’ve got it!” he shouted.

“You say that every year,” I laughed.

He waved a new bait bag like treasure. We talked and laughed, then he left for food.

I stayed.

Alone, but not lonely.

The sun dipped low, painting everything gold. I opened my journal and found the pressed flower. Still hers.

I placed it on my palm.

“Hey,” I whispered, “spring’s here again.”

I looked at the tree. “I kept the promise.”

The leaves rustled. No voice. But it felt like enough.

Then—footsteps.

A girl stood at the clearing’s edge. Not Aoi. Younger. Holding wildflowers.

“Oh! Sorry,” she said. “Didn’t know someone came here.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “It’s a nice place.”

She nodded. “It feels… kind.”

“It is.”

She paused. “Did you name this tree?”

“We called it the Lonely Tree.”

She tilted her head. “That’s sad.”

“Maybe. But not anymore.”

She smiled, placed a flower at the trunk, and left.

I stayed longer, remembering how Aoi once said this place would remember.

She was right.

That night, I stayed at Yenzo’s. The window overlooked the forest.

I opened my notebook.

“To the girl who made spring brighter…”

I didn’t cry this time.

Because I understood something.

People leave. Seasons pass.

But real feelings stay.

Even short moments can last forever.

Aoi was spring. Laughter in quiet places. Fireflies. Falling leaves.

She was still here.

The next morning, I walked to the pond—where she once picked a flower for her ponytail.

The water sparkled.

I sat in the same spot.

“I hope you’re watching,” I whispered. “You helped me see beauty. Helped me listen.”

I smiled.

“And no matter how many springs pass… I’ll keep coming back.”

Years later, I still visited.

Sometimes with Yenzo. Sometimes alone.

Each time, I left a flower.

Some called it habit.

I called it a promise.

Because love doesn’t always stay.

Sometimes, goodbye makes it eternal.

And so, like spring, she returned.

Not in person—but in every breeze, every blossom.

And I, Luza, once just a visitor, found more than adventure.

I found her.

And the season never felt lonely again.