Chapter 55: I Hate Snow

The train station stood quiet under the morning sky.

Snowflakes drifted down in slow, gentle spirals. The kind that didn’t melt right away—the kind that stayed.

Hanami and Kosuke walked side by side through the entrance. Her hand was still in his until the automatic doors opened, and she let go first.

The separation felt small but sharp.

Kosuke cleared his throat. “Your train leaves in ten minutes.”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

They stopped near the yellow line. People were scattered around—mothers with bags, students half asleep, travelers waiting with paper cups of coffee. Life moved normally.

Only the two of them felt like the world had paused.

Hanami hugged her small suitcase. She kept her eyes on the tracks as she spoke. “Thank you… for last night.”

Kosuke looked down. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“I do,” she said quietly. “If it was anyone else, I would’ve broken.”

He didn’t answer. His jaw tightened a little, like her words hit somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

Snow kept falling, dusting her hair, catching on his scarf.

A soft announcement echoed through the station.

> “Train arriving on Platform Two.”

Hanami’s breath caught. Kosuke stepped closer without thinking, as if pulled by a string.

“Hanami.”

He said her name gently, almost like a plea.

She finally looked at him.

His eyes held everything he didn’t say last night. Everything he couldn’t say now.

She swallowed. “Kosuke… I—”

But the train doors opened with a hiss, cutting her off.

Passengers streamed out. Others rushed in.

Hanami stood still, fingers gripping her suitcase handle until her knuckles turned pale. Her eyes were wet, but she blinked fast.

Kosuke took half a step forward.

“Don’t cry,” he said softly.

She forced a laugh. “I’m not. It’s just the snow.”

“Hanami…”

“I’ll be fine,” she whispered. “I have to be.”

He nodded slowly, even though something inside him seemed to unravel.

She stepped onto the train.

Then stopped.

She turned back to him, the doors still open behind her, the cold air rushing between them.

“You know,” she said, voice trembling, “I used to love snow.”

Kosuke frowned a little. “Used to?”

She smiled, small and sad. “Yeah. Because snow meant winter break. It meant walking home with you. It meant… everything felt lighter.”

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could hide it.

“But now,” she whispered, “snow always comes when I have to leave.”

The doors beeped, warning they were about to close.

She stepped back inside.

Just before the doors slid shut, she mouthed the words—

“I hate snow.”

Kosuke stood alone on the platform as the train pulled away, snow falling harder now, covering his hair, shoulders, coat.

His breath came out in a cloud.

He whispered into the empty air,

“I hate it too.”

The train vanished down the tracks.

And the snow kept falling.