Epilogue Chapter 14: When Cherry Blossoms Forget to Fall

Years passed, but for Haruto, time never softened the wound—it only taught him how to carry it.

The boy who once clutched a faded diary in trembling hands grew into a man who built empires. His name echoed in business halls, his wealth rivaled nations, and the world called him successful. Yet, when the crowds dispersed and the lights dimmed, he was always alone.

Haruto never married. He never could.

No matter how many hands reached for him, no matter how many voices called his name, his heart had stopped the day Yui dissolved into light on the rooftop. What was the use of sharing vows with anyone else, when he had already made the truest vow of his life—to remember her?

Every spring, without fail, he returned to the quiet countryside graveyard. Age lined his face, but his steps never faltered. In his hand, he always carried cosmos flowers—the same kind pressed between the pages of her diary, the same kind she once left behind as her silent confession.

He would kneel before her stone, fingers brushing her name as though it were still freshly carved. Around him, cherry blossoms swirled, soft and fleeting. Yet each year, as he lingered, it felt as though the blossoms refused to fall entirely—as if even nature itself hesitated to disturb the stillness of his devotion.

He whispered to her as he always had, voice steady yet aching.

“Yui… I’ve built everything. Riches, power, fame. But none of it matters. I would trade it all for just one more moment—just to see you smile again, just to hear your laugh.”

The wind would stir gently, carrying petals across his shoulders, and for a heartbeat he could almost believe she was there—leaning against him, teasing him for being too serious, too stubborn.

But when he opened his eyes, there was only the stone, the flowers, and the endless rain of blossoms.

And so he smiled through the ache, because even if she wasn’t there, her memory was. And that was enough to keep him walking, year after year.

On his final visit, when age weighed heavily on him, Haruto sat by her grave longer than ever before. The blossoms above swayed but never seemed to fall, caught in an eternal hesitation. His hand rested against the diary he still carried, its pages worn thin, her handwriting fading yet never forgotten.

He closed his eyes, whispered her name one last time, and the world grew quiet.

The wind hushed. The blossoms, at last, let go.

And in that moment, it was said, an old man was seen smiling beneath the trees, as if greeting someone long awaited.