Chapter 25: The World Moves, and They Stand Still

Kosuke’s POV

Time didn’t stop for anyone. I learned that the hard way.

A few years after graduation, my inbox filled with job offers—research assistant positions, internships at planetariums, even one from a university that wanted me to help with a telescope project. Everyone said I should be proud. My parents were relieved. My friends clapped me on the back and said I finally made it.

I nodded. Smiled. Thanked them.

And yet, every achievement felt strangely distant, like a dream happening to someone else.

The world kept pushing me forward.

But inside, I felt stuck in the same winter.

Whenever cherry blossoms returned, I felt it again—the ache I carried from a silent message, from a girl whose absence shaped more of my life than her presence ever did. I tried to tell myself it was normal to feel this way. People remember their first love. People cling to old memories, even when they know better.

But it wasn’t nostalgia.

It wasn’t longing.

It was something quieter, deeper—a frozen part of me that never thawed.

Sometimes, when I tidied my apartment, I’d open that bottom drawer without thinking. The letters were still there, stacked neatly, tied with the same ribbon she used. I never reread them. I already knew every word.

I should have thrown them away years ago.

I never could.

My friends talked about their partners, their plans, their futures. I could pretend confidence in every topic—work, travel, responsibilities—but when the conversation tilted toward love, I fell silent.

They thought I was shy.

Or focused on my career.

Or just slow to open up.

None of them knew I had opened up once already.

And it had stayed open, like a door that never fully closed.

Some nights, lying in bed, I wondered if she was happy. If she finally stopped carrying old memories. If she ever smiled without feeling something tug inside her chest. I wondered if she was getting ready for a future she wanted.

Or a future she couldn’t escape.

The world moved. Blossoms bloomed. Stars shifted across the sky.

But somewhere inside, I still stood in that winter.

Still waiting for a voice that never came back.

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Hanami’s POV

My world grew quieter the closer the marriage date approached.

People congratulated me everywhere I went. At home, my mother spoke with soft excitement, choosing fabrics for the ceremony. My father nodded with approval whenever plans were discussed. Relatives sent gifts I didn’t need and advice I didn’t want to hear.

They said I looked calm.

Graceful.

Mature.

No one realized I wasn’t calm—I was numb.

I walked through each day like I was following lines on a script. Dress fittings. Meetings. Family dinners. Smiles I practiced in the mirror. I became good at hiding whatever I didn’t want others to see.

Everyone thought I was prepared.

Everyone thought I was ready for this next “beautiful chapter.”

But I wasn’t writing this chapter.

I was just appearing in it.

When my friends talked about marrying the person they loved, I laughed along, but it felt thin, like my voice came from somewhere outside my chest. They didn’t know about the message I couldn’t answer. About the letters I kept in a locked box. About the photo I still carried in my sketchbook—the one I never dared throw away.

They didn’t know that I still thought of him in moments I wished I didn’t.

When rain hit the window.

When I passed a library.

When someone mentioned stars.

When cherry blossoms fell onto the pavement.

They didn’t know how often I imagined an alternate life I wasn’t brave enough to choose.

I told myself it was too late.

I told myself I didn’t deserve to reach back.

I told myself he surely moved on.

But the truth felt heavier:

I hadn’t moved at all.

I painted less these days. Not because I was busy—though I was—but because every time I picked up a brush, I felt something stir that I couldn’t afford to feel anymore.

Pain, longing, regret.

Possibilities that no longer belonged to me.

Sometimes, at night, I whispered into the dark, “Are you happy, Kosuke?”

The question never reached him.

The answer never reached me.

The world around me moved forward.

My friends grew into better versions of themselves.

My parents built a future for me.

But my heart stayed in a quiet place no one could see.

A small corner of winter.

A memory that refused to melt.

A story we left unfinished, even though life kept trying to write over it.

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And so the years passed.

Everyone believed we were fine.

Everyone believed we had grown.

Only we knew that some seasons move forward

while some hearts stay frozen in place.