Chapter 40: The Long Walk After the Reunion

Kosuke’s POV

The moment Hanami kicked my leg outside the hotel, everything inside me tilted.

Not from pain.

From the shock of her actually being there—frustrated, trembling, demanding I talk instead of hiding behind polite smiles.

I didn’t even remember what I said back. Something clumsy. Something small. Something that made her exhale hard and turn away like she wasn’t sure whether to yell at me or walk off.

When she finally muttered, “Come on. Let’s just… walk,” I followed without thinking.

We slipped away from the hotel lights and stepped into darker streets washed in quiet. The reunion noise, the laughter, the polite greetings—they vanished the second we reached the first empty intersection. Only the glow of street lamps and the soft push of the wind stayed with us.

Hanami’s heels clicked lightly on the pavement.

My footsteps sounded heavier than they should’ve.

It felt like the whole town was listening.

Neither of us spoke for a while. Our shoulders weren’t close enough to brush, but the distance was small enough that I could hear her breathe. I kept glancing at her from the corner of my eye, trying to read what she was feeling. Her expression stayed calm, but her fingers kept fidgeting with her sleeve.

Every sign of nerves from her still made my chest warm in a way I shouldn’t let it.

Finally, she said, “It’s strange… being here with you again.”

I swallowed. “Yeah.”

“It doesn’t feel real,” she added, voice soft enough to get lost in the night.

“It doesn’t,” I said. “But I’m glad.”

She slowed, turning her face toward the dark road ahead. The light caught her eyes for a moment. They were tired, but honest.

“Do you want to… see some of the old places?” she asked.

My heart tightened.

She didn’t say our places.

But I heard it anyway.

“Yeah,” I answered quietly. “I do.”

So we walked.

The convenience store where we used to buy warm drinks had been replaced by a pharmacy. The old bookshop now had a faded “For Rent” sign taped to its door. The town wasn’t the same anymore, but the air still carried the same softness we grew up with.

Hanami tugged on my sleeve lightly. “The park. Let’s go there first.”

I nodded and let her lead.

The park sat on the corner near the river. The playground was half-lit, metal bars dull with age, swings barely creaking in the wind. No children. No noise. Just the whisper of leaves brushing against each other and the faint smell of winter rain.

For a moment, we both stood at the entrance, not moving.

“This place…” Hanami whispered. “I haven’t been here since before I moved.”

“Me neither,” I admitted.

We walked toward the old swing set, our feet sinking slightly into the soft ground. The two swings were side by side, chains cold and stiff. She sat first, brushing dust from the seat, and the moment she settled, something in her seemed to loosen.

I sat beside her.

The metal groaned faintly under my weight.

We didn’t swing.

We just stayed there, letting the night sit between us.

Hanami pushed her hair behind her ear. “We used to come here almost every week.”

“Yeah. You’d draw. I’d complain about homework,” I said.

“You never finished your homework.”

“You never let me copy yours.”

She laughed, quiet and warm. It was a sound I didn’t realize I had missed this much. Her breath clouded in the air, disappearing fast. Mine did too.

For a long moment, we didn’t talk.

The rustling trees sounded like they were whispering old secrets. A dog barked in the distance. Somewhere far away, a train rumbled across the tracks.

Hanami finally sighed. “Kosuke… I didn’t expect tonight to end like this.”

“Me neither.”

“I thought I would go back to the hotel, sleep, and forget everything.”

“Did you want to forget?”

She looked down at her hands. “I don’t know.”

The swing chains rattled when she shifted her weight. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t smiling. She was simply holding herself together in a way I could recognize instantly—because I’d been doing the same for years.

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said softly. “Not after seeing you again.”

Her eyes widened just a little. “Me too.”

A small, shaky breath left my throat. “I thought… I wouldn’t know what to say to you.”

“You didn’t,” she said, nudging my leg with hers. “You still don’t.”

I felt my face warm.

But she kept smiling.

The wind picked up again, pushing the swings just enough to make us sway.

In that quiet motion, something settled inside me. Something that had been restless for years. The thrill of being with her again—alive, warm, real—covered every part of my chest.

She leaned back on the swing, tilting her head toward the stars. “It feels like the past came back for one night.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “And it doesn’t feel finished.”

Hanami’s swing drifted slightly closer to mine. Not enough to touch, but enough that I felt the pull.

“Let’s go to the next place,” she said. “If… if you want to.”

I stood slowly. “I want to.”

She looked relieved. Almost happy.

And just like that, under the dim streetlights and the cold night wind, we began walking again—back through the places we left behind, back through the years that never quite let go.

The night wasn’t over.

And neither were we.