Chapter 4 – The Feelings We’re Afraid to Name

The morning light spilled gently through her window, brushing across the sheets like the echo of a dream.

Aizuna stirred, blinking slowly.
For a moment, she lay still, her heart quietly remembering what she’d whispered to the darkness the night before.

“I like him.”

The words still lingered inside her—like a fragile secret folded neatly between the pages of her heart.

She pressed her hands over her chest and smiled, cheeks warming at the thought of Haruki’s face. His voice. The way he said her name, just a little softer than the rest. The memory of his warmth beside her on the hospital bench flickered like a candle behind her eyelids.

She didn't want to lose that feeling.

But life, as always, had other plans.

The quiet clink of chopsticks against porcelain echoed faintly from the kitchen downstairs. Aizuna sat at the edge of her bed, her school uniform crisp and neat, her hair brushed carefully into place.

She touched her chest again, just for a moment—fingertips grazing the faint rhythm beneath.

I really said it out loud…

“Good morning, sleepyhead.”
Hiyori peeked into the room, already dressed in casual university clothes, holding a mug of coffee like a trophy. “You’re glowing. Did something happen?”

Aizuna blinked. “N-no… nothing like that.”

Hiyori raised a brow, then smirked knowingly. “Uh-huh. Right.”

By the time she left the house, Aizuna’s heart felt unusually light—like she was walking on sunlight.

The streets of Tokyo were still damp from the early morning rain, the concrete shimmering faintly beneath her shoes. She pulled her scarf a little tighter, lips pressing together, eyes unfocused as she crossed the usual intersections.

Today, she thought, maybe she could say more to Haruki. Maybe they could have lunch together again… or just sit quietly. That was enough.

When she reached Sakura High’s gate, her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag.

Don’t overthink it. Just smile.

But she never got the chance.

The classroom was already lively when she stepped inside.

The first thing she noticed wasn’t the usual chatter or the squeak of desks being dragged—it was the atmosphere. Something was off. Not loud. Not obvious. Just… tilted.

Miku looked up from her seat, gave Aizuna a small wave. Ayame followed with a distracted “Good morning.”
Even Nico, usually all sunshine and teasing, only gave her a soft smile. Not sad. Not concerned. Just… gentle.

Why are they looking at me like that?

She sat down, suddenly aware of every whisper in the room—even the ones that didn’t involve her.

But then, she caught it.

“…wait, they were alone together?”

“Are you sure it wasn’t just pity? I heard she cried…”

“She’s always so quiet—kind of suspicious, right?”

“She probably took advantage of him—he’s too nice to say no.”

The words weren’t loud. Not direct. But they were sharp—edges of glass in a warm room.

Aizuna’s hand froze halfway through unzipping her pencil case.

“She probably took advantage of him…”

“He’s too nice to say no…”

Her throat tightened.

She didn’t turn around. Didn’t look to see who said it. Her fingers clenched beneath the desk as a hollow cold spread through her chest. Aizuna’s heart, which had been fluttering just hours earlier, began to sink.

Why…?

She risked a glance—Haruki was at his desk, headphones around his neck, looking down at his phone. Calm. Unbothered. He wasn’t even looking at her.

He wasn’t defending her. He wasn’t reacting at all.

Aizuna didn’t touch her lunch.

The bento her mother had carefully prepared sat unopened on her desk, the little folded note tucked beside the chopsticks reading: “Have a good day! ♥︎ – Mom.”

But the words felt too distant now. Too cheerful for the tightness curling in her chest.

She stayed seated when her friends invited her out for lunch under the plum tree.

“I’ll eat here today,” she said softly, forcing a smile.

They hesitated—Ayame especially—but eventually nodded, giving her space.

The classroom emptied, sunlight slipping through the windows like golden threads. Aizuna remained still, watching the shadows stretch across the wooden floor, the walls, her desk.

“She probably took advantage of him.”

“He’s too nice to say no.”

She’d never felt this kind of ache before.

It wasn’t loud, like a shout.
It wasn’t sharp, like a slap.
It was quiet—a slow collapse inside her chest.

She didn’t even know if it was true—if Haruki had heard it, or worse… believed it.

But he didn’t say anything.

He didn’t even look at her.

“Was it all just… pity?”

That night, she didn’t write in her journal.

That night, she went straight to her room after dinner, curled beneath her covers, and stared at the ceiling. The warmth she felt yesterday—the little light after saying “I like him”—had vanished into fog.

Haruki’s POV – Rooftop Scene

The bell had already rung. The hallways were nearly empty now, bathed in the fading light of afternoon.

Haruki stood alone on the rooftop, hands gripping the metal railing.

The wind swept gently through his hair, carrying faint echoes of the soccer team shouting down on the field. He could see the orange tint of the setting sun bleeding across the sky, but it did little to warm the ache in his chest.

Aizuna had gone home.

Without a word.

Without looking at him.

He’d tried to catch her eye during cleaning duty. Tried to walk behind her in the corridor. But she moved quickly, quietly—avoiding him like he wasn’t even there.

He knew why.

He’d heard it too.

“She probably forced herself on him…”
“I bet Haruki actually likes someone else, and she’s just clinging to him…”

The words rang in his ears, acidic and cruel. He clenched his jaw, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the cold railing tighter.

He wanted to scream. To turn back time. To defend her.

But he didn’t.

Because the moment he did—if he raised his voice, if he stood up and said anything—they would’ve seen it. The truth in his eyes. The weight in his silence.

And they’d go after her harder.

They’d twist it worse.

So Haruki—calm, kind, quiet Haruki—did what he always did.

He swallowed it.

He kept his head down.

He let them talk.

But it was killing him.

Especially when he saw the way she looked at him before she left—like she was hurt, confused, unsure if she had done something wrong. Her silence wasn’t shy anymore.

It was scared.

“I should’ve said something… shouldn’t I?”

His whisper vanished into the wind.

He closed his eyes, the sky blurring as the pressure behind them finally cracked. But no tears fell. Just a tightness in his chest that refused to go away.

“But if I speak now… what if it only makes it worse for her?”

He didn’t know what the right choice was anymore.

All he knew was—he hated this space between them.

The words they were too scared to say.

The golden tint of dusk poured in through the thin curtains, casting long, sleepy shadows across Aizuna’s room. The faint sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen echoed from downstairs—her mother humming some old tune she always did when cooking.

But here, in the quiet of her room, the world felt still.

Too still.

Aizuna sat at her desk, her pencil unmoving in her hand, eyes locked on the half-filled page of her workbook. The words blurred.

She hadn’t written anything in the last twenty minutes.

Instead, her mind kept replaying that moment—the whisper in the hallway, the sound of her name tangled with Haruki’s, laughter not far behind, a voice saying something she still didn’t fully grasp.

“…Did she really force herself on him?”

Her grip on the pencil tightened.

She couldn’t tell if she misheard it. Maybe she imagined it.

Maybe she was being too sensitive.

But still… it hurt.

The quiet kind of hurt. The one that settles deep in your chest like dust no one notices until the light hits just right.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the window. The sky was soft and warm—almost comforting.

“Maybe I just misread everything…” she thought. “Maybe I was just stupid for thinking he actually liked being around me.”

She remembered the way Haruki used to greet her in the morning.

The small wave.
That gentle voice.
How he always smiled like… like she wasn’t invisible.

But today…

No wave.
No smile.
Not even a glance.

Just silence.

And somehow, that silence was louder than anything she’d ever heard.

Her door opened with a soft knock.

“Zuu-chan,” came Hiyori’s voice, peeking in with her usual soft grin, “Mom made oyakodon. Come down soon, okay?”

Aizuna nodded without turning. “Mm. In a bit.”

“You sure?” Hiyori tilted her head, studying her. “You look pale.”

“I’m okay,” she said quietly.

Hiyori didn’t push. “Alright… I’ll save you the extra egg.”

She left with a wink and a laugh, closing the door behind her.

The room fell back into silence.

Aizuna stared at her notebook again. The light was starting to dim now, the golden warmth turning into evening gray.

She blinked.

Something warm hit the back of her hand.

She looked down.

…Another tear fell.

Then another.

And another.

Before she even realized it, her vision had blurred—her chest trembling ever so slightly as her breath came out shaky and uneven.

The pencil slipped from her fingers, rolling across the desk.

She hadn’t noticed she was crying.

She didn’t even feel it until her shoulders began to shake—until her arms folded over the desk and her forehead pressed against them, as a soft, broken sound escaped her lips.

There was no sobbing.
No gasping.
Just the kind of crying that felt like a quiet surrender.

Aizuna didn’t know what to believe anymore.

All she knew was… it hurt.

And the warmth she felt just the night before…
was starting to slip away.

The golden tint of dusk poured in through the thin curtains, casting long, sleepy shadows across Aizuna’s room. The faint sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen echoed from downstairs—her mother humming some old tune she always did when cooking.

But here, in the quiet of her room, the world felt still.

Too still.

Aizuna sat at her desk, her pencil unmoving in her hand, eyes locked on the half-filled page of her workbook. The words blurred.

She hadn’t written anything in the last twenty minutes.

Instead, her mind kept replaying that moment—the whisper in the hallway, the sound of her name tangled with Haruki’s, laughter not far behind, a voice saying something she still didn’t fully grasp.

“…Did she really force herself on him?”

Her grip on the pencil tightened.

She couldn’t tell if she misheard it. Maybe she imagined it.

Maybe she was being too sensitive.

But still… it hurt.

The quiet kind of hurt. The one that settles deep in your chest like dust no one notices until the light hits just right.

She leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the window. The sky was soft and warm—almost comforting.

“Maybe I just misread everything…” she thought. “Maybe I was just stupid for thinking he actually liked being around me.”

She remembered the way Haruki used to greet her in the morning.

The small wave.
That gentle voice.
How he always smiled like… like she wasn’t invisible.

But today…

No wave.
No smile.
Not even a glance.

Just silence.

And somehow, that silence was louder than anything she’d ever heard.

Her door opened with a soft knock.

“Zuu-chan,” came Hiyori’s voice, peeking in with her usual soft grin, “Mom made oyakodon. Come down soon, okay?”

Aizuna nodded without turning. “Mm. In a bit.”

“You sure?” Hiyori tilted her head, studying her. “You look pale.”

“I’m okay,” she said quietly.

Hiyori didn’t push. “Alright… I’ll save you the extra egg.”

She left with a wink and a laugh, closing the door behind her.

The room fell back into silence.

Aizuna stared at her notebook again. The light was starting to dim now, the golden warmth turning into evening gray.

She blinked.

Something warm hit the back of her hand.

She looked down.

…Another tear fell.

Then another.

And another.

Before she even realized it, her vision had blurred—her chest trembling ever so slightly as her breath came out shaky and uneven.

The pencil slipped from her fingers, rolling across the desk.

She hadn’t noticed she was crying.

She didn’t even feel it until her shoulders began to shake—until her arms folded over the desk and her forehead pressed against them, as a soft, broken sound escaped her lips.

There was no sobbing.
No gasping.
Just the kind of crying that felt like a quiet surrender.

Aizuna didn’t know what to believe anymore.

All she knew was… it hurt.

And the warmth she felt just the night before…
was starting to slip away.

Haruki’s POV — Later that Evening

Haruki stared out the window of his bedroom, the city lights blurring in the darkness. His phone lay on the desk — silent, untouched.

He had heard the rumors too.

She took advantage of me.
He’s interested in someone else.

None of it was true. None of it even close.

But if he spoke up, if he tried to clear things… the backlash wouldn’t be on him. It would fall on Aizuna.

She was quiet, fragile, already so vulnerable.

So he stayed silent.

Because sometimes, protecting someone means sacrificing your own voice.

His fingers tightened around the edge of his desk.

He just wanted to tell her how much she meant to him. But the words stayed trapped inside.

The sky outside her window was pale, soft with streaks of winter gray.

Tachibana Aizuna sat curled by her desk, a book open in her lap, but the words swam on the page—lines she had read three times already but couldn’t remember.

She turned a page anyway.

Outside, a faint breeze rattled the windowpane. Somewhere in the distance, the muffled sound of a neighborhood child’s laughter echoed—far away and unreachable.

She closed the book.

Her fingers tightened over the cover, then slowly loosened again.

All morning, she had tried to distract herself—cleaning her shelves, organizing her drawers, helping her mother with lunch, even watching a drama with Hiyori. But nothing stuck. Nothing stayed. Every time the house grew quiet, his face came back.

Haruki.

His gentle smile.
The warmth in his voice.
The way he looked at her—like she mattered.

...But yesterday, he hadn’t even looked her way.

Why...?

Aizuna pulled her knees up to her chest. Pressed her forehead to them.

“Did I… just imagine it all?”
Her voice was barely a whisper.

She sat there for a long time, curled in silence, until the soft knock on her door startled her.

“Aizuna?” It was her mother. “We’re heading out to do some shopping—want to come with us?”

“I’m okay,” she answered quickly, lifting her head just enough to sound normal.

“Alright, take it easy, okay?”

The door closed gently. Aizuna stayed frozen for a moment longer… then slowly stood.

Maybe… maybe some air would help.

Haruki sat at the kitchen table, his arms folded across it, gaze fixed on a glass of untouched water.

The house was quiet except for the hum of the heater. Saki moved around behind him, humming a soft tune as she put away some groceries.

He hadn't moved in ten minutes.

“You’ve been weird since yesterday,” Saki said suddenly, without looking at him. “Want to talk?”

Haruki blinked. “I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh.” She placed a carton of milk in the fridge. “And ‘fine’ means you’ve been sitting here like a ghost all day?”

“I’m just tired.”

Saki glanced over her shoulder at him. “Does this have anything to do with a certain girl?"

He looked up, startled.

Saki smiled faintly. “I notice things, Haru.”

He looked away again. “It’s… complicated.”

“Then un-complicate it.”

“I can’t.”

Saki tilted her head. “Why not?”

Because if I go to her... I might only hurt her more.
Because if I say something... they’ll twist it worse.
Because I’m scared she’ll believe what they said.

He didn’t answer.

Saki sighed softly. “Well… if you won’t fix it, the universe might do it for you.”

“Huh?”

She smiled as she walked away. “Just a feeling.”

The wind had a soft bite to it.

Aizuna wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck as she stepped out of a corner bookstore, a small paperback in her hands. She hadn’t planned to buy anything—but the quiet shelves and scent of paper had helped, even just a little.

Her footsteps echoed softly on the stone path as she walked through the nearby park.

The sun had already dipped below the rooftops. The sky was the color of washed ink, and the air shimmered faintly with cold.

She tucked the book into her bag. Her breath came out in white puffs.

Just as she reached the edge of the path—her heart stuttered.

He was there.

Standing near the park’s entrance, hands in his coat pockets, head tilted up slightly as if lost in thought.

Aizawa Haruki.

She froze.

He turned slowly—his eyes met hers.

Neither of them moved.

The silence that stretched between them was brittle, trembling with the weight of everything they hadn’t said.

“…Hey,” he said first.

His voice was quiet. Almost hesitant.

“…Hi.” Hers was softer.

They stood like that, awkward and uncertain, the air between them thick with unspoken things.

“I was just… walking,” she offered. “I needed air.”

“Me too.”

She lowered her gaze. Her hands tightened on the strap of her bag. “I thought… you might be mad.”

“I’m not.”

“...Then why...?”

He looked down. His jaw tensed slightly. “Because I’m a coward.”

She blinked. Her heart thudded painfully.

“I heard it,” he said. “All of it. And I should’ve said something. I wanted to. But if I did… I was scared they’d come after you more.”

Aizuna’s breath caught.

“I didn’t want them to hurt you.”

“But it still hurt,” she whispered, looking at him.

His gaze flickered up—eyes filled with guilt.

“I know.”

She nodded slowly.

For a moment, nothing more was said.

Then—

“Haruki-kun,” she said, voice shaking slightly, “next time… can you trust me to be strong, too?”

His eyes widened. The wind tousled her hair gently.

“I’m not as fragile as I look,” she said.

He stepped forward, just once.

“I know,” he said. “I just didn’t want to risk losing you.”

And that—those words—hung in the air between them.

Losing you.

She looked at him, her chest rising and falling.

Neither of them said “I like you.”
Neither of them said “I’m hurt.”
But they didn’t need to.

Just standing there—under the soft amber glow of the park light—was enough for now.

The classroom was filled with the low hum of idle conversation as the lunch break ended. Aizuna sat in her seat, eyes downcast, fingers gently tracing circles on her desk. Haruki’s seat—still empty. He had been called away earlier by one of the teachers to help carry something, and though she knew it was nothing serious, the growing silence between them made it feel heavier.

Just one smile. That’s all I want today…

A hushed giggle from the back.

"I heard she cornered him after school the other day."

Aizuna’s heart stilled.

"Seriously? She doesn’t even talk to anyone. That’s creepy."

"Bet she used the whole ‘he saved me’ thing to cling onto him. So desperate."

Aizuna’s fingers froze on the desk. Her ears rang.

Her name and Haruki’s. Again. Just like yesterday. But worse.

The air around her suddenly felt too thick. Her vision blurred as she hastily stood up, mumbling something to the teacher about not feeling well. They let her go, concerned but not asking questions.

She didn’t run. She walked.

Down the hallway. Past the gates. Through the soft drizzle that had just started to fall.

Her umbrella opened, but it didn’t protect her from the ache in her chest.

Haruki returned ten minutes later, slightly breathless from helping move supplies. He walked into the room with his usual ease—until he noticed the shift.

Aizuna’s seat was empty.

Again.

He turned to ask someone, but a voice stopped him.

"Guess the ghost girl finally got the message."

Laughter.

"Can’t believe she thought she had a chance with him."

Something snapped.

Haruki's footfalls halted.

He turned. His expression wasn’t the gentle, easygoing one everyone knew.

His eyes, sharp and cold, landed on the ones laughing.

They fell silent immediately.

Without a word, Haruki spun around and dashed out of the room.

Rain slicked the pavement, thin puddles catching the grey sky above.

Haruki ran.

Down the stairs. Through the gates. Past the corner store.

His heart pounded—not just from the running, but from fear.

Please let me find her. Please...

He spotted her finally—walking down the road, umbrella tilted low, her pace slow, shoulders hunched.

"Aizuna!"

She didn’t stop.

"Tachibana-san! Wait—please!"

She halted. Rain splashed around them as Haruki caught up.

Her voice was barely louder than the rain.

"Why did you come?"

"Because I heard—what they said. I wanted—"

She turned, her eyes glossy, tears mixing with raindrops.

"Why now, Haruki-kun? When I already feel like I don’t matter?"

He stepped forward. "That’s not true—"

"Then why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you stop them yesterday?!"

"Because I didn’t want to make it worse for you! If I said something, they’d keep going. I was trying to protect you!"

Her voice cracked.

"Maybe you didn’t care as much as I thought…"

Silence.

Haruki’s mouth parted—but no words came.

Thunder rolled in the distance.

Aizuna turned, her grip tightening on the umbrella.

She walked away, one step at a time, fading into the curtain of rain.

He didn’t follow.

The rain did nothing to hide the sting in his chest.

Haruki stood frozen under the relentless rain, his clothes soaked through, eyes fixed on Aizuna’s retreating figure. The cold drops mixed with the sting in his chest—heavy, raw, and unrelenting.

“This sucks…” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the rain.

Suddenly, footsteps approached. His friends appeared, each holding umbrellas that barely shielded them from the downpour.

“Haruki, come on, man,” one said gently, stepping closer.

He didn’t move.

“Hey—” another friend tried.

Before they could say more, a soft voice called out.

“Haru…”

Haruki turned slowly. Standing there, umbrella forgotten, was Saki—his big sister. Her eyes widened, and in an instant, memories flooded back: the little boy who used to call her “Onee-chan,” the face full of innocence and trust.

Tears welled up in her eyes, mingling with the rain.

Without a word, she dropped her umbrella and stepped forward, wrapping Haruki in a tight embrace.

His lips trembled. The walls around his heart cracked.

Around them, Haruki’s friends lifted their umbrellas higher, creating a small, protective shield—an island of warmth in the cold storm.

The warm glow of the kitchen light contrasted sharply with the cold, stormy night outside. Saki and Haruki sat side by side at the small table, slurping instant ramen in comfortable silence. The soft hum of the refrigerator and the occasional clink of chopsticks were the only sounds.

Their parents were already asleep upstairs, and Rin, their little sister, was curled up in her bed, breathing softly.

Saki nudged Haruki gently with her elbow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You know, Haru, women’s hearts are complicated.”

Haruki raised an eyebrow, swallowing a mouthful of noodles. “Is that so?”

Saki laughed and playfully bumped her chest. “Yeah! Girls are complicated, Haru.”

Haruki sighed, his gaze dropping to the steaming bowl in front of him. “I thought... staying silent would help her. Protect her. But... I was wrong.”

Saki’s smile softened, and she reached over to ruffle his hair gently. “Well, as a girl, Haru, sometimes silence only makes things harder. We need words—clear words, even if they’re scary.”

Haruki looked up at her, the weight in his chest still heavy but a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “I just didn’t want to hurt her more.”

“And that’s why you care,” Saki said softly. “But caring means being brave enough to face the hard parts, too.”

Haruki nodded slowly, the warmth of her words settling in like a quiet promise.

Saki smirked, crossing her arms as she leaned back in her chair. “You know, Haru, girls can be confusing, but one thing’s for sure—they notice everything. Every little thing you say, every look you give.”

Haruki scratched the back of his neck, cheeks flushing faintly. “I guess I’m still figuring it all out.”

Saki chuckled softly. “That’s okay. No one really knows what they’re doing at first. But here’s a tip—if you like someone, you gotta show it. Not just with words, but with... well, everything.”

Haruki’s eyes widened slightly, and he nearly choked on his noodles. Saki raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying his reaction.

“So, ,” she said, nudging him. “Do you like her?”

Haruki took a deep breath, slurping his noodles to buy time. When he finally looked up, his cheeks were bright red.

He nodded.

Saki grinned mischievously. “See? That wasn’t so hard. Now, how are you gonna fix this mess?”

Haruki shrugged, a small, uncertain smile tugging at his lips. “I don’t know yet. But I want to.”

Saki reached over and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “Good. That’s a start, little brother.”

She looked at him with a soft smile, her eyes twinkling in the dim light. “If you need help, onee-chan is here for you, okay?” she said, giggling lightly.

Haruki met her gaze, a small warmth spreading through his chest despite the heaviness of the day. “Thanks, onee-chan…” he whispered.

The room fell into a comfortable silence, the quiet bond between siblings stronger than ever.

The Next Day

The classroom buzzed softly as Haruki slipped inside, heart still fluttering from yesterday’s storm. With careful hands, he folded a small note and placed it gently on Aizuna’s desk while she chatted quietly with Nico, Ayame, and Miku.

He returned to his seat, stealing a glance at her.

Aizuna unfolded the note, her eyes scanning the neat handwriting:

“I want to talk. I’m sorry for what happened. Meet me after school at the cherry blossom tree near the entrance. Don’t forget what day it is today.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “What day is today, anyway?” she whispered.

Ayame grinned, nudging her. “March 14th—White Day! Duh!”

Heat rushed to Aizuna’s cheeks, her heart pounding. She looked toward Haruki, who caught her gaze and smirked playfully.

The final bell rang like a soft chime, signaling the end of the day. Aizuna stood slowly, clutching her bag as her friends’ eyes landed on her with sparkling mischief.

“Good luck, Aizuna!” Miku teased, her grin wide and knowing.

“S-Shut up! It’s just giri choco, anyway!” Aizuna blurted, heat flooding her cheeks as she tried to brush off their teasing. But deep inside, her heart hammered wildly—Is it really just giri? Or… honmei?

With a hesitant step, she made her way through the hallways, the chatter of students fading behind her. Outside, the cherry blossom tree by the school entrance stood serene and glowing softly under the warm hues of the setting sun.

And there he was.

Haruki leaned casually against the tree trunk, hands tucked behind his back, eyes fixed on her with a playful smirk.

Aizuna approached the cherry blossom tree slowly, hands tucked behind her back, her heart thudding so loudly she could barely hear her own footsteps.

Haruki stood there, waiting beneath the fluttering petals, a small box in his hands. When he saw her, his eyes softened.

“I’m here…” Aizuna said quietly, stopping a few steps in front of him.

Haruki looked down, then offered the box. “This is for you… a return gift. For Valentine’s.”

She blinked, cheeks already burning as she took the neatly wrapped box with trembling fingers. “T-Thank you… Is this… giri choco or… honmei?”

Haruki chuckled, ruffling her hair gently. “Want me to answer that?”

But then his smile faded slightly. His voice lowered.

“…I’m sorry, Aizuna.”

She looked up at him in surprise.

“I should’ve said something… when people were talking behind your back. I heard it all. And I hated it. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t step up.”
He clenched his fists slightly. “I was scared of making it worse… but I know that’s not an excuse.”

Aizuna’s chest tightened. She lowered her gaze, the chocolate box held tightly to her chest.

“…I’m sorry, too,” she said softly. “I said you didn’t care about me. But… you did. You just didn’t know how to show it.”

She looked up, her voice barely above a whisper.
“You came for me when I needed someone most… You stayed. You did care, Haruki-kun…”

Haruki’s eyes widened slightly at the way she said his name. His lips tugged into a smile.

“Haruki-kun, huh? Finally. Not ‘Aizawa-kun’ anymore.”

Aizuna’s face turned bright red. “S-Shut up…! Y-You still call me ‘Tachibana-san’ anyway!”

Haruki raised an eyebrow, the teasing in his voice gentle. “Is that… you giving me permission to call you by your first name?”

Aizuna hesitated for a moment, then turned her face away, nodding just once. “Mhm…”

The silence between them grew warmer, softer. The air was still, as if even the wind didn’t want to interrupt.

She took a step back, then turned around slowly. Before walking off, she waved shyly over her shoulder, the chocolate box still cradled close.

“Thank you for your choco, Haruki-kun!” she called out, her voice ringing gently through the spring air.

Haruki’s eyes widened in surprise—then a slow, brilliant smile spread across his face. He waved back.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, voice quiet but full of meaning.

Aizuna’s steps carried her away, the petals swirling gently around her. Her fingers tightened ever so slightly on the box.

And softly—so softly even the breeze barely caught it—she whispered,

“…I love you.”

The wind stirred the blossoms like a promise.

Tomorrow, it seemed to say.
Tomorrow, everything might change.

And deep within her quietly trembling heart, Aizuna knew—

This was only the beginning.

Chapter 4 – End 🍫💞