Chapter 46: “I Was at Your Wedding.”

The hotel room was quiet, the dim light from the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Hanami sat on the edge of the sofa, her knees drawn up, hands fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. I took a deep breath, my chest tightening as I finally found the words I’d buried for years.

“I… need to tell you something,” I said, my voice rough, uneven. She turned her head to look at me, eyes wide but calm, waiting.

“I was at your wedding,” I admitted, letting the words hang between us. The weight of them pressed on my chest as if I were confessing a crime.

Her breath caught. She didn’t speak. I could feel her shock radiating toward me, and yet there was no anger—only disbelief, and something softer, something sorrowful.

“I came,” I continued, voice lower now, almost a whisper. “I saw you… in your dress. You were beautiful, Hanami. I thought… I thought I could watch. I thought I could finally see you happy with someone else, and I… I just couldn’t. I left before the ceremony began properly.”

The words were bitter on my tongue. Bitter, because even though I knew it was impossible to be with her, I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone else holding the space I had once imagined for myself. The image of her in that white dress haunted me—the delicate lace, the way her hair curled softly around her face, the small smile she had for everyone, except me.

“I stayed in the corner of the chapel for a few minutes,” I admitted. “Hiding behind the pillars, pretending to be just another guest. Watching you walk down the aisle… it was like… like I was seeing a dream I could never touch.” My voice faltered, and I had to pause. The memory pressed against my chest like a stone.

She didn’t interrupt. She just sat there, silent, letting me unravel. And for the first time in years, I allowed myself to feel the ache fully, to breathe in the memory and exhale it slowly.

“I thought… if I left early, if I didn’t interfere, it would be better for you. That you’d be happy, and I’d be okay. But I wasn’t okay. I walked out of that chapel and didn’t know how to come back from it.”

Her hands trembled slightly. I saw the way her eyes glistened in the lamplight, and I knew the tears were close. “Kosuke…” she whispered, voice breaking. But I couldn’t look at her yet. I had to get the confession out fully.

“I tried to move on,” I said, voice quieter, pained. “I threw myself into work, into teaching, into everything that wasn’t you. I told myself I was over it, that I could live without knowing, without you. But every spring… every time the cherry blossoms bloom… it’s like seeing your face in every petal. Every flower reminds me that part of me… part of my heart… has never left you.”

I finally looked at her. The tears were rolling freely down her cheeks now, her lips trembling. “I… I thought you were happy. I thought if I stayed away, it wouldn’t hurt either of us as much. But I was wrong. It hurt more than I could ever explain.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, shaking her head slightly. “All these years… you were there, and I had no idea. And I thought—”

“I know,” I said softly. “We both made mistakes. We both hid because we thought it would protect each other, but it only made the distance grow.”

The room was quiet again, except for the faint sound of the city outside. I wanted to reach for her hand, to bridge the years, the unspoken love, and the pain. But I hesitated, afraid that even a single touch would shatter the fragile balance we’d just begun to rebuild.

“I left because I couldn’t bear to see you make the promises you had to make,” I admitted. “I left because I loved you too much to watch you with someone else… and that love hasn’t gone anywhere. It never went anywhere, Hanami. Not for a single day.”

Her breath caught, and I saw the storm of emotion in her eyes. She wanted to speak, to say something, but I didn’t need her words. I could feel her understanding, her sorrow, her guilt—all of it mixing with the relief that finally, finally, the truth was out.

“I… I cried, Kosuke,” she whispered. “All those years. I didn’t know if you remembered me, if you thought I moved on. And I—”

I shook my head, reaching slowly to take her hand. This time, she didn’t pull away. Our fingers intertwined naturally, the familiar warmth of her skin grounding me. “We were both wrong to hide,” I said, softly. “But we’re here now. And I… I want to know if we can be honest from here on.”

Hanami nodded, tears slipping freely down her face, but this time mixed with relief, with recognition, with something like hope. “I want that too,” she said, voice small but sure.

For the first time in years, I let myself breathe. The truth was heavy, but it was no longer a burden. It was the start of something new—a night where years of pain and longing could finally begin to heal.

We stayed like that for a long while, sitting side by side on the sofa, holding hands, letting the memories settle around us. Outside, the city slept, but inside, we were finally awake, finally honest, and finally together in the way we had always been meant to be.