Chapter 11:
The Summer I Died
They say that time smooths out even the roughest scars.
I’m not convinced. But I’d like to be.
It’s been over a year since that wild ride of a summer vacation—the night everything nearly came undone.
And now, spring is upon us again.
The cherry blossoms, once more in rampant bloom, coat the roads in hues of pink and white.
I’m walking the same path I’ve taken for the past three years, toward the school I’ll soon be leaving behind. The road feels a little shorter—just a bit—and maybe that’s because I’ve finally come to love it.
Life after my miraculous return from the far shore wasn’t some neatly wrapped fairytale ending, but we’ve all been learning to pick up the pieces. Everyone’s been trying hard to make things work, and now we’re finally beginning to see the fruits of those efforts.
In hindsight, there was a time when I lived each day without trying to find meaning in anything, keeping my regrets and guilt buried deep within my chest. But I’ve managed to put those troubled days behind me—and what awaits now is the future I’ve promised to spend with her.
As the petals rain down like skyborne confetti, I found myself lost in thought—reflecting on everything that had happened since that near-disaster of a lifetime.
It had taken a full three days before I woke up in the hospital.
By then, the worst of the pain had dulled—probably muted by the painkillers and the strange peace I’d brought back with me. But the memories, vivid of the time I spent in the far shore, remained.
The first thing I remember asking about was my sister—if she was safe. Then came the next person I needed to know was okay: the girl who had been through everything with me.
As it turned out, both of them were there when I came to. They’d taken turns staying by my side, or so Kotoha told me later. Neither had suffered injuries as severe as mine, and yet, they had been more worried about me than themselves.
Kotoha had been the one to find us in that abandoned building and call for help. I suspect Chiyo had a hand in it, though I’d never get a straight answer. When I asked, she only smiled and insisted that I’d live—like she’d already read the ending of a story the rest of us hadn’t caught up to yet.
Azusa had mostly recovered from her shock and minor wounds. She still wasn’t able to vocalize herself properly, continuing to rely on her trusty whiteboard for the job.
“Welcome back.”
“Don’t scare me like that.”
“I’m not mad, but maybe a little.”
Her clumsy words said little, but they told a larger story.
I was worried that the incident might reopen old traumas for her—but she proved me wrong. Beneath that rare clinginess was the resilience of a girl who’d seen far too much, and still kept going. She was strong. Stronger than I’d given her credit for.
That was all I needed to hear. Anything more and I might cry.
I’d been concerned with Nozomi’s own health and changes in constitution after our return, but she assured me that it was ‘no longer something to be worried about.’
We never told anyone what really happened that night—about our surreal adventures in the Boundary. Not that anyone would believe us.
A deal with a talking cat, the bonds that were reclaimed, and the promises we made for the future—it was a story that belonged only to us.
“Moving forward, the road to recovery was nevertheless a bumpy one, and what got me through wasn’t just medicine and rest alone.
It was them—
The unyielding support I’d received from everyone.
Still, I’d be lying if I said there weren’t conflicting feelings. I mean, having Nozomi and my sister spending so much time in my hospital room instead of school made it feel like I’d accidentally founded a hospital-bed delinquent club, with me as the ringleader.
By the time I was discharged and finally made it back to school, a couple of weeks had already passed.
Taking into account my social position in school, I hadn’t expected a ‘hero’s welcome’ for the most part, but my return did warrant some questions from concerned classmates every now and then.
Kotoha had made up some convenient excuse in my absence—something about a freak kitchen disaster that ended with a gut-wrecking case of food poisoning and an emergency room visit.
It was a ridiculous story for sure, but somehow, she managed to convince my classmates and even some teachers so I just rolled along with it.
Before I knew it, midsummer was already behind us, and a hint of autumn slipped into the air.
Nozomi had changed too.
Her presence no longer slipped through the seams of perception.
People noticed her now. They waved. They remembered her.
And this time, she could return their greetings with a real smile.
Her transition back to class had its awkward moments—but nothing we couldn’t handle together.
Those were tiny steps forward.
To be fair, she’s been trying hard to open up gradually, and with Kotoha’s influence, she managed to fit in perfectly in no time.
The world had finally caught up to her.
Or maybe it was the other way around.
As for me—I did as much as I could to go through life the way I should, so that I wouldn’t worry anybody, so that they could rest easy. That meant being present, proactive, and not avoiding people as much. In other words, being a reasonably diligent student.
Somehow, that ended up raising my social stocks a little.
We tried not to act like it in school, but rumours spread fast and before long, everyone had figured out that Nozomi and I were ‘a thing.’ It had been a shocker for some—not that it bothered me much. The sooner I could get those probing questions and hounding guys away from my girlfriend, the better.
Of course, being the boyfriend of one of the school’s top academic performers came with its own kind of pressure. I made sure to study doubly hard not just to make up for lost time, as if my life depended on it.
After all, I couldn’t afford to fall too far behind my academic of a girlfriend now, can I?
Curse that natural brilliance of hers…
Alas, such unfairness is part of life.
Meanwhile, Azusa had begun to show signs of recovery. Through her consistent therapy sessions and support from Chiyo, she had been able to utter simple, singular words—managing things like calling names and objects.
Dr. Amaki had been extremely optimistic about her progress, even going as far as to suggest that full recovery could be likely in a future not too far off.
The both of us had been overjoyed to hear the news.
Azusa had also mentioned that she was planning to return to school. Somewhere in the distance, a choir of angels hit a major chord. I didn’t cry, but I very nearly backflipped out of sheer joy.
I’d thought to share the good news with my parents—the people whom for a long time, I considered only a little more than strangers.
My father’s response had been lukewarm at best, and nothing really came out of it initially—not that I was harbouring much of any expectations to begin with.
Shortly afterwards, we received a letter, personally handwritten by our mother—as the first sign of good things to come.
She wrote of her improving condition, and expressed her joy at hearing the news of Azusa’s recovery.
“You’ve worked hard.”
“Thank you for always taking care of your sister in our place…” and
“I’m sorry for not being there when you needed us the most.”
More importantly—
“Let’s meet again soon—this time, as a family.”
That was when I thought that they were probably still trying their best to mend the cracks.
Imperfect as it was, it was something I’d longed for.
We wouldn’t be able to fix everything overnight. But those broken pieces…
They were finally coming back together.
Our lives, somehow, had begun to move forward. And before I even realized it, the seasons turned—
As those oddly peaceful years flew by, I never stopped looking back.
But I refused to get stuck there either.
And because of that, we’ve made it here—
To our Graduation Day.
I walk through the school gates, and across the courtyard, which brims with an air of celebration and nostalgia. My classmates are wearing their school uniforms for the last time today. Some of them are teary-eyed, exchanging farewells even before the ceremony has begun.
Near the entrance to the gymnasium, standing with her arms lightly crossed, was a certain white-haired girl I’d grown used to finding at my side—a wry smile playing at her lips.
“I thought you might’ve lost your way,” Nozomi said, and I smile back.
“Not this time.”
“Hmm…” Her amber eyes sparkled playfully. “Even if you did, I’d be there to lead you back.”
“Well milady, it would bring me great joy if you could lead the way to the gymnasium.”
“With pleasure.”
She looped her arm through mine with an air of smugness far too confident for someone just five minutes early.
The gymnasium was already close to full by the time we arrived. Rows upon rows of neatly arranged chairs stretched before the stage, which had been modestly adorned with seasonal flowers. Above the podium, the school’s emblem hung like a seal of finality.
We took our seats near the front as part of the graduating cohort as the air buzzing with a strange blend of nervousness, pride, and nostalgia.
After the principal offered his welcome and a few vague words about being ‘model citizens’ and ‘proud ambassadors of the school,’ a few scattered chuckles rippled through the crowd, easily disregarded.
Then came the real moment of attention.
Kotoha, our outgoing student council president and top-ranked student, was invited to the podium to deliver her farewell address. A round of applause followed her name as she ascended the stage, every bit as poised and charismatic as we’d come to expect.
She took a breath, smiled, and began.
“We walked these halls wondering who we were,” she began, her voice clear and steady. “And today, we leave carrying fragments of who we’ve become. We’ve stumbled. We’ve fallen. But we also reached out, held on, and got back up.”
What a banger of an opener.
How appropriate for a school idol’s graduation address.
What better way to make fans teary.
Alas.
“…Some lessons aren’t taught,” she continued. “They’re lived.”
Beside me, Nozomi leaned in, speaking low beneath the microphone’s reach.
“She certainly has her way with words.”
“That’s Kotoha we’re talking about. When push comes to shove, you can always count on her to deliver.”
Not a single word of a lie—leave it to my childhood friend who can do-it-all.
“Still, I wouldn't want it to be anyone else. It just feels right for the occasion, don't you think?” Nozomi asked, smiling faintly.
She had a point.
If it were me up there, I’d be lucky to get through the intro without fumbling.
“Don’t let her hear you praising her too much. It might just get to her head.”
“…And so,” Kotoha’s voice rose as she neared the close, “wherever life takes us next, may we carry forward the memories we’ve made—not as chains to bind us, but as roots to ground us.”
She paused, just briefly, her gaze sweeping across the audience.
“Congratulations, everyone. We made it.”
A moment of silence followed—something close to reverence—before the gym erupted in thunderous applause as the diploma presentations got underway.
With our tube-shaped diplomas in hand, we stood under the shade of the cherry blossom trees as a snowfall of pink traced loops through the air.
The ceremony had ended without a hitch. Around us, graduates gathered in small clusters—snapping photos, scribbling messages on uniforms, soaking in these final, irreplaceable moments.
Beside me, Nozomi adjusted the ribbon of her neatly worn uniform—likely for the last time.
“I guess that’s it, huh? Time really flies.”
“For this chapter, maybe,” she said, following a petal’s slow descent. “Somehow… it doesn’t feel like an end.”
“Because it isn’t. We’re just turning the page.”
She prodded my cheek in response.
“Aren’t you excited for what’s ahead?”
“Hardly. I’ve had enough surprises for one lifetime. A little peace wouldn’t hurt.”
“Kaoru! Nozomi!” a familiar voice rang out with cheer.
Azusa jogged up, waving animatedly with Chiyo strolling behind at a far more leisurely pace.
“Con…gratu…lations, Kaoru… Nozomi…! Goo… job…!” Azusa said, enunciating each word with careful effort.
“That was lovely, Azusa. You’re getting there!” Nozomi said, crouching down to ruffle her hair.
“What she said,” I added. “Just take it slow, yeah? Go at your own pace.”
Azusa nodded fiercely, cheeks puffed with pride.
“Congratulations, kids!” Chiyo beamed, finishing on her behalf. “What a dazzling pair we have today. You’re making this older sister very proud.”
“Act your age already, Chiyo.”
“Hush. I’m still in my prime,” she sniffed, feigning sadness. “I’ll be heartbroken now that you kids won’t be visiting as often.”
“That’s not true. We’ll be sure to drop by now and then.”
“Oh! Can I expect updates? Gossip? Drama? Scandals—”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Chiyo,” Nozomi chided kindly, without losing any trace of her smile.
“Boo. Fine. I’ll make do with gossip, then.”
“Sorry I’m late!”
Kotoha emerged from the crowd, slightly winded, as if she’d just escaped from the paparazzi.
“Look who finally escaped her fan club,” I said. “Still in demand, even on your last day.”
“Hazards of being brilliant,” she replied, tossing her hair like a seasoned idol. “You should feel honoured that I even squeezed in five whole minutes for my favourite losers.”
“We really appreciate that you made time for us,” Nozomi chimed in.
“I’m kidding,” Kotoha said, her voice softening. “I’d never miss a moment like this.”
“How kind of you to spare a thought for us lowly peasants,” I said dryly.
“Aww, way to kill the mood.”
“What? It’s my fault now?”
“Sorry,” Nozomi giggled. “My boyfriend’s just that insensitive. Please allow me to apologize on his behalf.”
“You’re both impossible.”
“That said…” Kotoha turned to Nozomi, “second in the cohort? You made it look easy.”
“Oh, I could never hold a candle to you,” Nozomi offered, ever the humble one.
Kotoha shot me a sly glance.
“And you—top ten? You really kept that under wraps.”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it, I swear. But hey, I worked for that. Can’t look like a slacker when I’m constantly in the company of greats.”
“No, no, it’s impressive.” She paused, glancing between us. “But why does it still feel like I’m the one who lost…?”
Chiyo drifted in behind Kotoha, resting her hands lightly on her niece’s shoulder and lowering her voice so only Kotoha could hear.
“What is it now…?” Kotoha muttered, already wary.
“Wouldn’t this have been the perfect opportunity to confess? Under the cherry trees and all?” Chiyo prompted sweetly.
“Your suggestion wasn’t necessary, thank you very much.”
“A pity.” Chiyo sighed, releasing her with a pat. “Are you really fine with how things turned out?”
Kotoha’s eyes followed Nozomi, who was now laughing as Azusa tugged insistently at her sleeve.
“…Maybe I should’ve tried harder,” she admitted. “But the truth is, I’ve always known. He never looked at me that way. It’s not the ending I pictured, but I suppose it makes it easier to let go.”
She let out a breath and smiled—quietly, without bitterness.
“When I see the two of them like this… it’s strangely reassuring. As if everything lined up exactly how it was supposed to. …Doesn’t make the sting any milder, though.”
Chiyo’s teasing softened into something warm and fond.
“It makes me proud, seeing you grow into someone so thoughtful.”
And naturally, her grin returned in full force.
“That said—if you ever need a band-aid for a bruised heart, you’re more than welcome to cry in my chest,” she said, gesturing grandly toward her bosom with open arms. “Plenty of cushioning with a generous policy on seconds~”
“I do not need your sympathy, you shameless psychic!” Kotoha hissed, going pink. “Honestly…”
“Anyway!” Chiyo clapped her hands, effectively defusing the moment. “What’s next for everyone?”
“I’m heading to K University,” Kotoha said. “They’ve got a solid program in ritual and religious studies. Since I’m inheriting the shrine, I figured it’s time someone dragged our family traditions into the modern era—whether the elders like it or not.”
“Looking forward to seeing you read fortunes on livestream.”
“I’ll throw in extras if you subscribe to our monthly blessings,” she shot back with a wink. “And what about you two?”
“I never thought I’d say it, but I’m heading for further studies too. Probably T University. Thinking of going into education.”
“Whoa. You, a teacher?” Kotoha blinked. “Colour me surprised.”
“Hey, don’t start laughing. I actually thought this through.”
“I know you’ll do fine,” she said, offering a genuine smile and a thumbs up.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
All eyes turned to Nozomi.
“I’ve been thinking…” Nozomi began softly, her eyes on Azusa, who was still fussing with the hem of her sleeve. “After everything that’s happened, I don’t just want to be someone who watches from the sidelines. I want to help people. The sick. The hurting. People like Azusa.”
Kotoha let out a sharp breath.
“No way! The department of medicine? That’s amazing!”
“That’s the first I’ve heard of it,” I said, trying—and failing—not to look caught off guard. “You’re really serious about this?”
Nozomi nodded, almost shyly.
“It’s not set in stone yet… but it’s something I’ve been holding close for a while. And I wanted you all to know—before anyone else.”
“Well then!” Chiyo declared. “Since there’s so much left to talk about, I propose we continue this little party at the teahouse. Drinks and sweets are on the house.”
Azusa immediately lit up.
“Cake…?”
Kotoha hesitated.
“I don’t think I should be third-wheeling…”
“Oh hush,” Nozomi grinned. “Who’s going to complain? You’re our favourite fifth-wheel.”
Azusa tugged her sleeve with a soft, hopeful, “Please…?”
Kotoha sighed, already sounding defeated.
“Fine. But I’m calling dibs on the biggest slice of cake.”
“I’ll bake you a whole extra one if it gets you there,” I added.
“No one asked you, Kaoru.”
And just like that, the heaviness of goodbye gave way to laughter once more.
I glanced up at the sky again, watching petals drift like old memories on the wind.
And I couldn’t help but think—
That summer didn’t break me.
It gave me everything I never thought I’d have.
And now, standing at the edge of something new…
It all starts again—today.
* * *
Chiyo stood behind the counter of her teahouse, cheerfully humming a nameless tune as she tidied her wares, having just seen out the last patron of the day.
She glanced at the kettle she’d left brewing earlier. Though the shop had closed, she prepared two cups of tea—one for herself, and the other… out of habit.
When she turned back toward the tatami seating area, she was no longer alone.
A white cat now sat primly atop a zabuton cushion, amber eyes half-lidded in feigned indifference.
“Oh my. It seems the seasonal winds have brought me a rare visitor,” Chiyo said, as if greeting an old friend. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?”
“A change of pace,” Haku replied, vague as ever.
Chiyo set the tray down with her usual smile and joined her unusual guest at the low table.
“You seem... troubled. Disappointed, if I may add. Rough times, perhaps?” she asked, pouring the tea. “Though I find it hard to believe anything in this world could trouble you so.”
“An astute observation. It is as you say—perhaps I am feeling what you would consider... a little down.”
“Oh?” She raised a brow, interest piqued. “You, of all beings? This I must hear.”
“A recent experiment of mine failed to produce the expected results. A minor setback...”
“I see. So that explains your absence these past few weeks?”
“It was... inevitable.”
“Hmm….” Chiyo mused aloud, drawing the sound into a hum. “And now you’ve come to sulk over a failure?”
“Does it look like that?”
Chiyo lifted her shoulders in a deliberately casual shrug.
“Should an unexpected result be called a failure at all? Perhaps it was simply another possibility—a different outcome.”
“…Really now?” Haku murmured, expression unreadable.
“You’re lacking perspective,” Chiyo said, drawing her cup closer. “To think you’d let something like that trouble you.”
“Ironic, in hindsight,” the cat muttered.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing. A thought to myself.”
A quiet clink of porcelain echoed through the room.
“Perhaps you are right. I must be overreacting.”
“Just promise me you won’t let your whims spiral again,” she warned kindly. “Your last ‘experiment’ nearly tipped the scales more than it should’ve. Try not to rock the balance too far next time.”
“Your concern is... duly noted. Though I still see no harm in indulging in curiosity. After all, has humanity not progressed because of it?”
“And been undone by it as well,” Chiyo countered smoothly. “Listen, Haku. You view the world absent of consequence—untouched by the burden of morality, or the weight of those left behind. That’s why mortals find fault with your games. You act in disregard because you never have to live with the aftermath. But humans… we do. That is the difference in our impermanence.”
The cat’s amber gaze flicked toward her, contemplative. She met its look with a knowing smirk.
“Besides... have you heard the saying that curiosity kills the cat?”
“There is nothing in this world that can kill me,” Haku answered dismissively.
“Is that the confidence of a cat with nine lives... or of one who’s lived nine times over?” she asked playfully.
Haku tilted its head.
“Is there a difference?” it asked, sounding puzzled.
“I wonder,” Chiyo murmured, sipping her tea.
The cat eyed its own cup, then leaned forward to lap delicately at the surface.
“…I have yet to understand the appeal of this… beverage,” it grumbled. “It’s just bitter leaves in water.”
“People pay good money for bitter leaves in water,” Chiyo quipped. “But we both know it’s the company they come for.”
A soft, amused purr rose from Haku’s throat.
“I suppose there’s some value in that.”
After a few final laps, Haku sat back and gave its paw a single, unhurried lick.
“You’d make an excellent candidate. Would you consider working for me?” it suggested, as if the notion were no more pressing than an idle observation about clouds.
Chiyo blinked, then laughed. “Since when did you start recruiting?”
“Whenever I come across rare talent. And yours is wasted here.”
“A flattering offer, but I’m afraid I must refuse.”
“The reason being?”
Her lips curved, eyes glinting. “I’m not well built for taking orders. Maybe in another lifetime.”
“A shame,” Haku said, blandly. “Perhaps I’ll manage to change your mind before then?”
“Shall I tempt you with a refill instead?” she offered, rising with the tray.
“No need. I’ve had my fill. Thank you.”
Chiyo returned to the counter, rinsing the cups in silence.
Behind her, Haku rose and padded around the room with light, soundless steps.
“What will you be doing from now?” she asked without turning.
“I will observe,” Haku replied. “The human world is ever-changing. And human foolishness is endlessly persistent. There is still much more to see.”
“Wherever your whims lead your paws, remember to keep your mischief in moderation.”
“I will keep that in mind.”
“I hope you do. Those ‘insignificant’ lives you play with… they just might surprise you if you continue to underestimate us humans.”
“…Indeed. I’ve been promised a future that will interest me to no end. I intend to see it through.”
“Well,” Chiyo said, finally turning back to the room. “Don’t let me hold you back then.”
But the cushion was already empty.
Not a trace of the white cat remained.
A rueful smile ghosted across her face as she reached for the teapot again.
“I can’t say I don’t feel for those that have caught its attention…” she murmured, pouring a fresh cup of tea into the silence. “I hope it doesn’t cause so much trouble that I’ll have to clean up after it for another lifetime.”
Outside, somewhere beyond sight, a white silhouette weaved through the deepening twilight, amber eyes glinting like stars.
“Humans are truly… interesting creatures.”
* * *
Please log in to leave a comment.