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Ren’s house stood partway up the slope, a modest two-story home with weathered wooden eaves and a small balcony overlooking the sea. The garden below was neat, rows of green onions, tomatoes, and shiso leaves swaying gently in the night breeze. A wind chime tinkled softly outside his window, its glass bell catching the moonlight.
Inside his room, Ren lay on his futon, arms folded behind his head, staring at the ceiling where shadows of tree branches danced. His guitar leaned against the desk, the metal strings glinting faintly. The faint scent of the ocean drifted in through the open window.
Why can’t I sleep? he wondered, turning onto his side. His heart still felt too full, as if that simple walk home with Aoi had unlocked a door he hadn’t even known was there.
The house was quiet — his mother already asleep after a long day at the shop, his father away on a fishing trip out at sea. Ren could hear only the ticking of the small clock on his shelf, the creak of the house settling, and his own restless thoughts.
He reached for his guitar, fingers brushing the strings gently, the soft hum filling the room. But no melody came to him tonight — only the memory of Aoi’s smile, the way her hair had caught the light, the way the evening breeze had seemed to carry their unspoken words.
---
Meanwhile, down near Shiomachi Station, Aoi lay awake in her small, tidy room on the second floor of her family’s home. The white walls were decorated with postcards from her sister’s travels and pressed flowers she had saved from summer walks. A small bookshelf stood by the window, stacked neatly with novels, notebooks, and school guides.
Outside, the camellias by the steps glowed pale in the moonlight. The jasmine vines along the fence swayed, filling the air with their sweet scent.
Aoi turned beneath the covers, gazing at the shadows the moon cast on her ceiling. The sound of the trains came and went, like a heartbeat in the distance.
Why am I thinking about him so much? she asked herself, feeling her cheeks grow warm even in the cool night air. She remembered his quiet smile, the way he had looked at the sea, the soft sound of his voice when he said, “Anytime.”
From the next room came the faint murmur of her parents’ voices as they prepared for bed. The creak of a floorboard, the soft clink of a tea cup. The ordinary sounds of home, grounding her in the present, even as her mind wandered back to the walk she and Ren had shared.
Her big sister, Miki, was still out — probably studying late at the university library. Aoi wondered, briefly, if she could ask her about feelings like this. But no — she didn’t even know what she wanted to ask.
The night stretched on, sleepless and gentle, wrapping both Ren and Aoi in its quiet embrace as Shiomachi dreamed around them.
The first pale threads of light crept over Shiomachi, brushing the rooftops with silver and painting the narrow streets in soft hues of lavender and gold. The sea, once dark and endless, now shimmered gently beneath the awakening sky.
Ren blinked up at the ceiling, realizing he must have dozed for a while, though it felt like he hadn’t slept at all. The air in his room was cool and fresh, carrying the clean scent of morning dew and the faint tang of the sea.
Outside, the garden glistened with moisture. A single bird sang from the persimmon tree, its notes clear and hopeful. Ren sat up, rubbing his eyes, and slid the window open wider. The breeze tousled his hair, and he closed his eyes for a moment, letting it wash over him.
The guitar leaned silently against the desk, as if waiting. His school blazer hung neatly on the back of his chair, untouched since the evening before.
Another day, he thought, but the words felt heavier than usual, weighted with the memory of Aoi’s smile, the warmth of their shared walk. His heart beat faster, though he tried to steady it.
---
At the other end of town, Aoi stirred in her bed, blinking against the soft light that filled her room. She could hear her mother moving about downstairs, the clatter of a pan, the low hum of the rice cooker. The familiar sounds were comforting, yet her thoughts were anything but calm.
She sat up slowly, brushing her hair back from her face. The air smelled of jasmine and fresh bread from the bakery down the street. Outside, the camellias glowed in the morning light, their petals trembling with the breeze.
Her school uniform hung ready on the closet door, the neat blue skirt and white blouse pressed and clean. But for once, Aoi didn’t feel the usual sense of routine.
How do I face him today? she wondered, heart fluttering with a strange mix of anticipation and worry.
She heard her father’s voice — warm, calling up to her that breakfast was ready — and Miki’s laughter as she came in quietly from her late night of study, apologizing for waking everyone.
Aoi smiled faintly, pulling herself from her thoughts. But as she got ready for school, her mind kept drifting back to Ren, to the way the sea breeze had lifted his hair, the soft sound of his voice in the evening light.
---
The town came alive around them — shopkeepers opening shutters, delivery bikes rattling over the stones, the station bell chiming faintly in the distance.
Ren stepped out of his house, bag slung over his shoulder, and paused at the gate. The air felt crisp, the world washed clean by the night.
Down below, on her own street, Aoi stepped out, adjusting her bag strap, glancing at the sky as if looking for a sign.
Neither knew that their paths would cross again in just a few moments — on that familiar road where cherry blossoms still lingered on the breeze, where new feelings waited quietly for them to notice.
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