After Story: The Golden Flower That Blooms Forever

The engine purred as I pulled up in front of the museum.

I spotted her the moment she walked out—Akari-san, now a full-grown artist of national reputation, straddling towards me with clacking heels. Her hair was tied in a neat low bun, and dressed in her usual long coat that screamed “Only Itsuki-kun can talk to me and ask about my day.”

Honestly, she looked breathtaking. That never changed from the years we’ve been together.

But when there's a beauty, there’s a beast. Because now—she's very, very annoyed.

The passenger door clicked open, and before I could say anything, she slumped into the seat with a heavy sigh.

“God. That was hell.” she said, head thrown back against the headrest, her voice slightly hoarse. “They kept asking the same questions over and over. How long have you been painting? What was your childhood like? Did your late mother Amélie Fontaine inspire your style? What’s your opinion on Japan’s contemporary shift to Western minimalism? I came there to talk about brushwork, not about biography and social commentary.”

I blinked and started driving. “That sounds...exhausting.”

“Oh, and this one guy—get this—he asked if I considered painting something more ‘domestic’ to reach ‘a wider audience.’ Like, what? You want me to draw salads now?”

“It's easy since we always had salad for breakfast.”

“Are you trying to rile me up?”

As if she was nearing her limit, I lowered my speed and reached out for hand. I held it tight, and even though painting could stress out your hands, hers never really had that. It’s still soft and warm to the touch.

“Sorry, Itsuki-kun.” she sighed. “It’s just my soul feels wrung out. You know I hate interviews, right?”

“You handled it though, which is good, because I have something planned to fix your soul.”

“Please don’t say another aquarium exploration because I'll drown you in it.”

I grinned. “We’re going to a summer festival.”

She blinked and turned to me, frowning slightly. “Wait, really?”

“Kaori’s helping too.”

“Kaori-chan?” Her voice softened. “As in...your Kaori-chan? But I thought she was in the States with Aino-san?”

“Mom decided they’ll move back for good,” I said, glancing at her briefly. “She wanted Kaori to start middle school here. They probably missed the quiet neighborhood and lots of convenient stores.”

“That’s huge,” she murmured, staring out the window. “Kaori-chan’s really back...”

I nodded. “She's a bit taller now. But you know, that's still the girl who tries to act cool but laughs at dumb puns.”

“How many years have been since her last visit?”

“Seven,” I said. “Or eight. Depends on who’s counting.”

Akari-san went quiet after that. For a while, the only sounds were the soft hum of traffic and the radio I turned on and played on low volume.

***

Back at the apartment, the kitchen lights spilled across the polished wood floor as I stepped out from changing into my yukata. I was just tying the sash when I noticed Akari-san’s figure by the sink.

She was wearing her yukata too—light blue with tiny sunflower prints—but she stood still, back turned, her shoulders trembling slightly.

“Akari-san?” I said gently, stepping closer. “You okay?”

She didn’t turn. Her head dipped.

I moved behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist, letting my chin rest lightly on her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” I whispered.

The first thing that came to mind was about the interview, and I wanted to ask her if they really went off script and asked questions too personal. By that, I would’ve hit my limit and pressed the call button to our family lawyer.

But…

“…She was so small,” she mumbled. “Kaori-chan, I mean. She used to run around with pigtails and call me ‘onee-chama.’ Now that you said that she’s already taller and mature, I'm missing all of it.”

I felt her hands grasp my forearm lightly.

“I wish I had more time to just…be part of that youth. I don’t know, I guess I’m realizing how fast time flies.”

Realizing the reason behind her tears, I sighed.

“She's still Kaori, Akari-san.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She sniffled and turned slightly to face me. Her eyes were glassy, cheeks flushed.

“I want something small again,” she said, like a child demanding a toy. “Something with little puffy cheeks, upturned eyes, and speaks with a tiny voice. I want something as adorable as her.”

I blinked. “You want me to buy you a puppy?”

She didn’t laugh.

Instead, she raised a fist at me. “Don’t joke!”

“Okay, okay—rabbit?”

She still wasn’t amused. Instead, she pressed her palm against my face and said, “Don’t look at me right now.”

As I snuck in a portion of the opening between her fingers, that's when it hit me.

Her face turned a shade redder, and she muttered something so quietly I almost didn’t catch it.

“…I want a kid.”

My heart skipped. “A…what?”

She was looking away. “I’m serious, Itsuki-kun. You’re always so careful every time we do it. You never let anything happen. And I appreciate that, really, I do. But I want to try something different now.”

I stared at her, my brain slowly frying.

She continued, her voice lower now, lips brushing close to my neck. “I want us to be a little reckless for once. I want to try to pour everything into that one moment and see where it goes.”

I think I forgot how to exist for a second.

“You—uh—what? I mean, just to clarify, you mean, like…pour where, exactly?”

She looked me dead in the eye and whispered, “Inside.”

And that’s when all my remaining brain cells collapsed.

***

It's been several years since I have managed a dango stall yet my limbs remember the fluid and nostalgic set of movements they performed before.

Turn, baste, turn again, serve warm, smile and say thanks, receive payment and calculate for change.

It simply screamed ‘I’m still here!’ and ‘I never left!’

And just like at other summer festivals I've been to before, it was war.

Dango is the street food every ongoers look for when craving for a quick bite. The combination of flavorful ingredients that comes with a cheap price, the overall appeal is simply irresistible.

"One mitarashi, two kinako—no, three kinako!" yelled an auntie with the urgency of a hostage negotiator.

“Got it!” I said, filling her plate.

Then another.

“Four skewers of hanami please!”

And another.

Until the orders turned into complaints.

Not about the taste or quality of what I was selling, but who was selling.

"The red-haired girl! Where's the red-haired girl?! The young one with the face of an idol and the voice of an angel?!"

"She called me ‘classy kind man’ earlier and now I can’t go back to my wife!" cried one man dramatically, clutching the counter like he was having a personal crisis.

Seriously, should I bring the police for you?

“We want the cute girl! Where the hell is she?”

"Why was she replaced with a second-grade delinquent?"

Delinquent? Rude.

I admit that my hair had grown longer and I had this miniscule tattoo on my neck, but I’m no delinquent.

For your information, I’m Shimizu Itsuki, a professor at Tokyo Geidai and not another rat in downtown slums.

“I’m right here, you vultures,” I said, passing skewers like throwing shurikens. “Kaori’s busy talking to another cute girl.”

“Cute?! You mean there’s another one?!”

“No. I mean my girl.” I glanced over my shoulder. “That one.”

I nodded to the rest area behind me, where Akari-san was crouched beside Kaori on a lounge, her yukata sleeves fluttering as she whispered conspiratorially. The two of them were huddled like witches over a bubbling cauldron of dangerous life advice.

“…Ignore the first boy who gives you love letters,” Akari-san whispered. “He’s trying to lure you to his emotional immaturity.”

Kaori nodded, actively taking down notes. “Should I hex him?”

“If necessary, yes. But remember, no eye contact, do not let emotions slip and choose violence when they push beyond limits.”

Oh no.

I squinted. Was she teaching my sister to become an Akari-level tsundere?

“And this,” Akari-san continued, leaning in closer, “is what you say to boys who follow you around. ‘Marcher pieds nus sur le sel’.”

Kaori blinked. “What does that mean?”

“Go walk on salt barefoot’.”

I dropped a skewer.

"And when somebody hits up on you, say 'Va baiser ta mère'."

"And that means?"

"Go **** your mom."

I rushed into the rest area after slapping three dango skewers on a paper plate.

“Don't listen to her, Kaori!”

“Too late, she already ingrained my wisdom.”

“Stop teaching my sister nonsense. She'll make grown men cry!”

Akari-san didn’t even flinch. “It’s for her protection.”

“She’s twelve!”

Kaori looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “But she got you as a boyfriend after doing all this, nii-san.”

I opened my mouth. I can’t deny the fact that it best described what happened between me and Akari-san, but I don’t trust that there’s another man in this world that can persevere and endure being with someone like her.

So, I rubbed my face with both hands.

“…Okay, first of all, that was dumb luck on her part. Second—”

“Excuse you?” Akari-san interjected.

“SECOND,” I continued loudly, “Kaori, you’re too young to be learning about relationships and reverse psychology. In establishing relationships, communication is key. You have to be transparent to avoid misunderstandings—”

“You're already teaching me about relationships, nii-san.”

“Uh—oh, I mean, you should be learning how to sketch or how to make dango properly.”

“Or how to interrogate men,” Akari-san added.

“NOT that either!”

Just then, a gentle voice chimed in from behind.

“My, my. What’s with all the shouting?”

We all turned.

There stood my mother, Shimizu Aino—looking a little too pleased as she adjusted her sunhat. Her yukata was pastel and floral and far too serene for the absolute circus unfolding in front of her.

“Mama,” I said, half-exhausted. “Please tell your future daughter-in-law to stop turning my little sister into a dictator.”

“Oh, I think she’s doing a fabulous job,” my mother smiled, resting a hand on Kaori’s head. “She’s always had great instincts.”

Kaori beamed. Akari-san smirked triumphantly.

“Traitor,” I whispered under my breath.

Then, just like that, as if we were sixteen again, Akari-san and I started arguing loudly.

“Excuse me, I’m the one ensuring she doesn’t end up as a social outcast!”

“And I’m the one teaching her survival skills in this country with a low bar of morality!”

“You talk about morality but ironically, you’re teaching her French swear words!”

“YOU wanted her to become a cooking housewife!”

“She’s twelve! I repeat, she’s TWELVE!”

My mother giggled.

“You two,” she said, brushing her hair from her cheek, “look nothing like the sweet high schoolers you once were.”

And, as if some unholy synchronization kicked in, Akari-san and I both muttered under our breath: “It’s adulting!”

That made my mom laugh even more. “Alright, alright. You’ve both worked hard. Why don’t you take a walk around the festival? There’s a lovely lantern path by the river this year. Good way to cool your heads.”

I was about to agree when suddenly—

Akari-san jolted.

She turned red, as red as the third stripe on the French flag.

“I—uh—I can’t,” she blurted.

My mother blinked. “Can’t?”

Akari-san shot a death glare at me. I didn’t even know why her anger was always on me, but I didn’t dare question it.

She muttered quickly, “I just—my legs are sore—and—shut up, Itsuki, I swear to God—!”

I raised my hands in surrender, trying not to smirk. I’m finally getting her point of view.

“Why?” Mama asked.

I coughed into my fist. “She’s, uh, recovering from…a yoga injury.”

Kaori tilted her head. “Akari-nee don’t do yoga.”

“MeTube said that it's good for creativity and flexibility,” Akari-san murmured, hiding behind a festival fan.

But seeing my mother shift glances between the two of us, it made me realize that she’s already gone through those walls of lies.

***

We had walked up the steep trail to the shrine, and despite everything—the laughter, the teasing, the “can’t walk” glare she threw me earlier—I knew Akari-san was unusually quiet beside me. Her fingers brushed mine every so often, like she was thinking of holding hands but unsure if she should.

So, naturally, I broke the silence like the emotionally illiterate clown I sometimes am.

“You’re walking better now.”

“…Shut up.”

“I mean, I was thinking of calling for emergency services on the way up.”

“If you value your life, Itsuki…”

She glared at me—but then broke into a chuckle. She hated that I could make her laugh when she didn’t want to.

We passed under the torii gate, and the view widened: the town below shimmered with soft lights, and fireworks already started their soft ascent behind the clouds. Somewhere in the wind, I heard a wind chime—delicate, like glass being kissed.

We stopped at the edge of the overlook. She had her hands on the railing and looked at the sky above. Her image back at the balcony seven years ago flashed in my mind, and I can’t help but tear up to the realization.

“…This doesn’t feel real sometimes.”

“The view?” she asked.

“The years,” I said. “I finally understand your melancholy about time passing quickly earlier. Before, we’re just building shapes of the Eiffel Tower. Now, we’re building our life. It feels too delicate, like it could vanish the second I blink.”

She walked closer and hugged me tightly. “I get that.”

“I used to think I’d end up alone in that rotting apartment, living off instant ramen and sidelining my true talent permanently…but, you changed it all.”

“Mhm.”

“I wanted to build more, and be better. I wanna build a future where Kaori will never experience the same way I did before.”

“We’re taking great care of her, right? Why are you so worried?”

She pulled away and gave me that reverent look every time she saw my face, and slowly reached out and wiped the tear that streaked from my left cheek.

“I’m taking her to Shonan Middle School,” I said, “and after that, she'll be aiming for Sakuranomiya Achievement School.”

Akari-san turned to me, blinking. “Wait, Sakuranomiya? That’s like...for gifted children, right?”

“Exactly. That way, her future is more secure after graduation.”

“But can she even make it? Do we have the funds for that grade of tuition?”

I smiled. “I think she can surpass it. Scholarships are available, right?”

She raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed. “Oh?”

“Kaori’s actually smarter than me by a mile. You haven’t seen the way she dissects logic puzzles, or how she rewrote my dango recipe to optimize cooking time and temperature. I mean, jokes aside, but she’s really good at academics.”

Akari-san kept listening.

“Mama said America practically wanted to adopt Kaori as some kind of genius mascot. They had scouts and summer camps and...interviews.”

“That sounds a bit terrifying.”

“I know. But I think…raising her here, in this life, with you...it’s a way to give her peace. It’s a win-win actually, she’s kinda like our training for later.”

Akari-san tilted her head. “Later?”

I swallowed. Of course I planned for the conversation to lead this way beforehand. Kaori actually taught me that kind of instigation.

“For when we eventually raise a blessing of our own.”

She stared. “…A blessing.”

I nodded.

“Like—a puppy?”

“No.”

“A rabbit?”

“Definitely not.”

“…A kid?!”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Well. Yeah. I mean, we talked about it, and you—uh—requested it earlier very… graphically.”

Her cheeks flared red. “Shut. Up.”

And I did.

For a beat.

My stomach did a flip. This was it. I reached into the pocket of my yukata, my fingers fumbling for the small box I'd been carrying all day. She watched me, her usually sharp blue eyes now filled with a gentle worry that made my heart ache.

"Do you remember," I began, my voice a little steadier now, "that time you took care of me when I lent you that umbrella?"

A soft smile bloomed on her face. "Of course Why would I forget that?"

"And do you remember when I got sick with that terrible cold, and you tried to make me that porridge, but you put in too much salt?"

She laughed, a bright, clear sound that filled the room. "Are you trying to narrate our whole story, Itsuki-kun?"

I took a deep breath. “We've been through so much. From stolen sketchbooks to rain-soaked confessions, from dango fights to barely surviving your mood swings—”

“EXCUSE YOU?!”

“—and through it all, I never stopped wanting more. More years. More days. More mornings waking up beside you—because you're in it. You’ve been my porcupine with golden spikes, my headache, my dear tsundere yet you’re my everything. You make me a better person, you make my life brighter, and I can't imagine a single day without you."

I pulled the box from my pocket and knelt on one knee, the cobblestone pathway feeling cool against my yukata hem. Her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening as they filled with tears.

"Akari," I said, opening the box to reveal a luxury ring with a single, shimmering blue diamond like her very eyes. "Would you do me the greatest honor and spend the rest of your life with me?”

Her lip quivered.

“Itsuki—”

“Will you marry me?"

That’s when the first firework exploded—right on cue.

A massive bloom of white and gold cracked the night sky open.

And at the same time—

Her tears fell.

(Illustration here. Check the comment section for the link.)

“…I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Maybe I picked the wrong moment. Maybe this was selfish—”

“Shut up,” she choked out.

My heart stalled.

“Just…shut up for a second.”

She dropped to her knees too, right in front of me, and took my face in her hands.

“I’ve been waiting,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Since forever. I wanted you to ask. And even if you never did, I would’ve still stayed. I’d still wear this yukata every year just to watch you fumble with tying it wrong. I’d still lecture Kaori about ice queen techniques. I’d still choose you.”

“Akari-san…”

She let me slide the ring onto her finger. It fits. Of course it did.

“Call me Aurélie , would you…?”

“...Yes, Aurélie Shimizu.”

And then she kissed me—hard and sure—like she was claiming me in front of the gods.

We sat there, kneeling on the gravel of a quiet hilltop shrine, while the fireworks continued to bloom.

Every burst echoed the word yes.

Every color in the sky felt like something we had painted into existence.

And in the warmth of her embrace, I realized—I never really stole her below the rain that day.

The flower was destined to be with me, and she bloomed willingly in my arms.





THE END