The First Snow

Past

The separation did not happen all at once. It was a slow, agonizing stretch, like a rubber band being pulled until it was translucent. After that final evaluation, the company began to treat us like two different products instead of one cohesive soul. Abby and I were moved to the West Wing of the headquarters, a place dominated by mirrors and high fashion racks. Haru and Rie remained in the South Wing, where the air was thick with the scent of vocal lozenges and the muffled thump of bass from the recording studios.

Our nights in the old building became a sanctuary we had to fight to keep. We still met there at ten at night to practice the basics, because we were terrified that if we stopped dancing together, we would stop being a group. But the sessions grew shorter. My eyes would drift toward the scripts I had to memorize for my new acting tutors. Haru would be preoccupied with music theory. We were physically in the same room, but our minds were drifting into different futures.

"I am officially a professional mannequin," Abby remarked one evening. He was sprawled on the floor of the old building, his six foot three frame taking up half the room. His blonde hair was slicked back with a gel that smelled like expensive citrus. "A photographer told me today that my heart shaped face is a national treasure. I told him he should see my bank account. It is currently a national tragedy."

Rie laughed, though it sounded a bit hollow. She was sitting by the speaker, her short black hair tucked behind her ears. The blue highlights in her hair seemed to glow in the dim light. "At least you get to wear nice clothes. My vocal coach made me sing the same three notes for four hours today. I think I am actually losing my mind."

Everything changed when the company called a joint meeting in early December. We were ushered into a high rise conference room. The director of the new project, Mr. Han, was already there. He laid out several glossy prints from a test photoshoot we had done together weeks ago, back when we were still in the same building.

"The chemistry in these photos is what sold it," Mr. Han said, tapping a finger on a shot of the four of us leaning against a brick wall. "You all look like you belong to different worlds, yet you fit together perfectly. This is the foundation for our new drama, After the Bell Rings. It is a story about four students from completely different cliques, a loner, a popular model, a theater enthusiast, and a tech genius, who are forced to form a filming club together."

It was the first time we had been given a common goal in months. The project felt like a reflection of our actual lives. We spent the next few days in a blur of costume fittings and script readings. Abby was cast as the charming, popular athlete, a role he barely had to act for. Rie was the bubbly girl from the drama department, and Haru was the quiet, logical student who handled the cameras. I was cast as the introspective loner who eventually finds her voice through the club.

As the heavy workload of the drama prep and our final university submissions began to wind down, the air in Tokyo turned crisp. On a Friday afternoon, Haru approached me as I was packing my bag after a script reading.

"Aurora," Haru said. His voice was low and steady. "I need to go to the mall to pick up some things for Rie and Abby. Christmas is coming, and I want to get them something for the drama premiere. I am not very good at choosing gifts. Will you come with me?"

I smiled, feeling a familiar warmth. "Of course, Haru. I’d love to."

We headed to a massive shopping complex in Shinjuku. The mall was a labyrinth of glass and steel, decorated with towering Christmas trees and shimmering gold ribbons. We walked through the crowded aisles, Haru keeping a protective distance between me and the bustling shoppers. He looked handsome in his dark coat, his dark brown hair perfectly groomed. I was wearing an oversized flannel shirt over a hoodie and skirt, my favorite American casual style.

As we walked out of a boutique with a bag containing a vintage record for Rie, the atmosphere shifted. People began to slow down, looking up at the glass ceiling of the outdoor plaza.

"Look," I whispered, pointing upward.

Tiny, crystalline flakes of white began to drift down from the leaden sky. It was the first snow of the year. The city seemed to fall silent for a moment as the flakes danced in the glow of the holiday lights. I felt a surge of pure, idealistic joy. I looked at Haru, and he was already looking at me, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a soft smile.

"The first snow," Haru murmured.

"They say if you witness the first snow with someone you love, you stay together forever," I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I felt my face heat up, but I didn't look away.

Haru didn't say anything, but he reached out and took my hand. His grip was firm and warm. "Then let's make sure we stay for a while."

He didn't take me back to the station. Instead, he led me toward the express line. "The mall was just the beginning. I have one more place to show you. It is a bit of a trip, but I think you will like the view."

We boarded a train heading toward the coast. I leaned my head against the window, watching the snow covered suburbs blur into darkness. Eventually, the rhythmic rocking of the train pulled me into a light sleep. I woke up to the smell of salt air and the sound of the ocean.

We were in a small coastal town. The beach was deserted, the sand glowing like silver under the rising moon. The snow wasn't sticking here, but the air was cold and fresh. Haru led me down a wooden boardwalk that ended near a rocky cliff overlooking the Pacific.

"I wanted to bring you here because it is quiet," Haru said. He turned to face me, his athletic frame blocking the wind. "In Tokyo, everything is so loud. The company, the tutors, the fans. I feel like I can finally hear myself think out here."

"What are you thinking about, Haru?" I asked, my heart racing.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, velvet box. Inside was a delicate silver bracelet. It featured a small, polished sun charm that caught the moonlight.

"I am a practical person, Aurora," Haru said, his gentle brown eyes searching mine. "I like solving problems and fixing things. But I couldn't figure out how to tell you how I felt without feeling like I was messing up the group dynamic. But after seeing you today, in the snow, I realized I don't want to fix anything. I just want to be with you."

He stepped closer, "I love the way you see the world, Aurora. I love that you believe in myths and first snows. I want to be the person who stands next to you for every snow after this one. Will you be my girlfriend?"

My mind flooded with memories I had tucked away for months. I thought about the way he always stood on the side of the road closest to the traffic when we walked to the station. I thought about the countless times I had caught him looking at me in the mirrors of the practice room, only for him to quickly look away with a slight blush. I remembered the hot cans of coffee he would silently hand me when he knew I was cold, and the way his hand had felt steady on my knee during that terrifying evaluation. These small, consistent gestures were the language he spoke, and I had been learning it in secret for so long. All those lingering glances and the quiet support were finally culminating in this moment. I had loved him for a long time, even when I was too afraid to admit it to myself.

I felt tears pricking my eyes. The sincerity in his voice was the most beautiful thing I had ever heard. "Yes, Haru. I want that more than anything."

He leaned in, and his lips met mine in a soft, lingering kiss. It felt like a promise. He took the bracelet out and carefully clipped it around my wrist. The silver was cold, but his touch was warm.

We stayed on the beach for a long time, talking about the drama and our hopes for the future. As the night grew deeper, we found a sheltered spot near a sand dune. Haru spread his heavy coat over the sand, and we lay back together, looking up at the sky. Away from the city lights, the stars were brilliant.

"Look at that cluster over there," Haru said, pointing toward the horizon. "That is the Pleiades. Sailors used to use them to navigate."

"You are my North Star," I whispered, leaning my head against his shoulder.

The cold didn't matter. The stress of the company didn't matter. We were wrapped in each other's warmth, listening to the rhythmic pulse of the tide. Eventually, the exhaustion of the day caught up to us. With the sound of the ocean as our lullaby and the stars as our witness, we fell asleep on the beach, tucked together under Haru's coat.

The memory of the snow falling in the mall stayed with me as I drifted off. I thought about the myth I had told him. If the legend was true, then no matter what drama or thrillers the industry threw at us, we had already secured our forever under the first snow.