Chapter 29: The Island Evenings

Okinawa had a different kind of quiet.

Not the lonely kind he’d grown used to. This one felt warm. Open. Like the air itself wasn’t in a rush to judge him or push him forward. He didn’t mind the pace. If anything, it reminded him how long it had been since he let himself slow down.

Every evening, after the project work wrapped up, Airi walked with him along the beach. She had an endless energy that made the shoreline feel brighter. He liked that about her. It made the long days easier. It also made him painfully aware of the distance he kept without trying.

“Professor, do you ever feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be?” she asked as the waves broke softly nearby.

Kosuke kept his hands in his pockets. “Sometimes. Not very often.”

She laughed under her breath. “You always seem like someone who never doubts anything.”

He almost snorted at that. “People who look certain usually have the most doubts.”

Her eyes widened a little, like he’d told her a secret. That was the thing about Airi—she always listened as if every word carried weight. It made him careful about what he said.

They walked until the sand grew cooler under their feet. The sun had dipped enough that the shops behind them were flickering with early lights. It felt peaceful, almost too peaceful.

“Your dedication is something I admire,” she said suddenly.

Kosuke slowed, but didn’t stop. The compliment didn’t embarrass him, but it stirred something uncomfortable. Admiration was complicated. It could turn into expectations he had no intention of meeting.

“You’ll carve out your own path,” he said. “You don’t need to follow mine.”

“I know.” She kicked lightly at the sand. “But you’re steady. I want to learn that.”

Steady.

If only she knew what it took to appear that way. If only she knew how much he held back to keep everything in place.

They reached a large flat rock near the water, and she sat down. Kosuke joined her, keeping space between them out of instinct.

“When I was younger,” she said, “I used to think the ocean could take away anything sad.”

“And now?”

“Now it depends on the day.”

He nodded. The breeze carried the faint scent of salt and sun-warmed stone. That smell tugged at something old inside him.

A memory he didn’t ask for.

Hanami slipping on wet sand, grabbing his sleeve, laughing breathlessly. ‘One day let’s go somewhere like Okinawa! Promise me.’

He didn’t say he remembered. He didn’t say that he came here first, alone.

Airi looked at him. “You seem far away, Professor.”

“Maybe I am.”

“Thinking of someone?”

Her voice wasn’t prying. It was soft, careful. That almost made it harder.

He could lie. He had practice. But the ocean kept pulling at him, steady as breathing, and lying suddenly felt pointless.

“Yes,” he said.

Airi looked back toward the darkening water. “I hope she’s looking at a sky like this too.”

Kosuke didn’t answer. The sky was turning deep blue, stars faint but growing. He wondered if Hanami ever paused long enough to look up at night. If she ever felt a small ache she couldn’t name. If she ever thought of him at all anymore.

When they walked back to the guesthouse, Airi wished him goodnight with her usual bright smile. She didn’t ask anything else. He appreciated that more than he showed.

Kosuke stayed outside a little longer.

The air was warm, the night calm. He leaned on the railing, watching the stars take their places like patient lights. He breathed slowly, trying to let the quiet settle inside him.

It didn’t fix anything.

But for the first time in a long time, the quiet didn’t feel heavy.

It felt like a place where a name—one he never spoke anymore—could still linger without breaking him.

Hanami.

He whispered it only in his mind.

Then he let the night hold the rest.