Spring settled deeper into the school grounds, as if it had decided to stay a little longer.
The cherry blossoms had not yet begun to thin. If anything, they seemed brighter — stubbornly beautiful against the pale blue sky.
Hana wondered if beauty always felt more intense when you feared it wouldn't last.
The thought lingered as she walked through the school gates.
She had replayed Takumi's words all night.
I'm choosing to stay.
Choice.
The word felt fragile. Powerful. Dangerous.
Because choices could change.
And people could too.
She spotted him near the lockers this time.
He wasn't alone.
Sizu stood beside him, holding a rolled canvas under her arm. They weren't standing close, but they were comfortable — the kind of comfort built over years.
Takumi noticed Hana first.
His expression shifted slightly.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
Sizu followed his gaze.
For a second, the three of them stood suspended in a quiet triangle of awareness.
"Hana," Takumi said.
She nodded.
"Morning."
Sizu smiled gently. "We're finalizing pieces for the spring exhibition. Takumi keeps pretending he's not competitive."
"I'm not," he replied.
"You are," Sizu said lightly.
The ease between them was undeniable.
History has its own gravity.
Hana told herself not to feel small.
During literature class, her concentration fractured again.
The teacher spoke about subtext in romantic poetry — about the tension between what is spoken and what is left unsaid.
Sometimes silence carries more meaning than confession.
The sentence struck her harder than expected.
Because that was what this was.
Not love.
Not yet.
But something suspended between possibility and restraint.
After school, Hana didn't go to the rooftop.
Instead, she stayed in the classroom long after most students had left.
She needed space.
Not from Takumi.
From her own thoughts.
The door slid open quietly.
She didn't look up.
"You're hiding again."
Takumi's voice.
"I'm not hiding."
"Then why are you alone?"
She closed her notebook slowly.
"Because being alone is simple."
He walked closer.
"And being with me isn't?"
The question caught her off guard.
"It's not simple."
"Is that a bad thing?"
She hesitated.
"No."
He pulled out the chair across from her and sat down.
For once, he didn't try to read her expression.
He just waited.
And that waiting felt intentional.
Careful.
"I don't want to be someone temporary," she said quietly.
The confession slipped out before she could filter it.
Takumi's eyes sharpened slightly.
"You think I see you that way?"
"I don't know how you see me."
He leaned back slightly, studying her.
"You see me as someone who leaves."
"That's not what I—"
"But it is," he interrupted softly. "You're already bracing yourself."
Her throat tightened.
Maybe she was.
Maybe she had already prepared for an ending that hadn't begun.
That evening, the Art Club was louder than usual.
Preparations for the exhibition were in full swing. Canvases were being rearranged. Critiques were sharper. Energy buzzed through the room.
Sizu stood near the center, guiding discussions with steady authority.
Takumi worked quietly at his desk.
Hana sat near the window again, pretending to read.
But she felt it.
The difference in atmosphere.
This was Sizu's world.
And Takumi fit into it naturally.
Sizu approached him, bending slightly to examine his work.
"You're softening your lines," she observed.
"I am?"
"You used to press harder."
He glanced at her. "Maybe I'm not angry anymore."
The comment was subtle.
But it landed.
Sizu's expression shifted almost imperceptibly.
"Or maybe," she said calmly, "you're distracted."
Her eyes flicked toward Hana for just a second.
Takumi followed her gaze.
"I'm focused," he replied evenly.
Sizu straightened.
"I hope so. The exhibition matters."
"It does."
"To you?"
"To all of us."
She nodded slowly.
But something unspoken hovered there.
Not accusation.
Not jealousy.
Something closer to concern.
Later, as students began leaving, Sizu caught Hana by the door.
"Can we talk?"
Hana hesitated before nodding.
They stepped into the hallway.
The fluorescent lights hummed softly overhead.
"You look tired," Sizu said.
"I didn't sleep much."
"Because of him?"
Direct.
As always.
Hana met her gaze.
"Why does it matter to you?"
Sizu didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she leaned lightly against the wall.
"Takumi doesn't handle attachment well."
"I'm not asking him to."
"That's not how it works."
The honesty in her tone surprised Hana.
"When he was younger," Sizu continued, "every time he moved, he told himself not to get close to anyone. It made leaving easier."
Hana listened carefully.
"But with you…" Sizu paused.
"He's staying."
The words felt heavier coming from her.
Sizu's eyes softened slightly.
"I don't dislike you."
"I never thought you did."
"But I won't pretend this doesn't change things."
"For you?" Hana asked quietly.
"For all of us."
There was no hostility.
Only truth.
And that made it harder.
The following afternoon, the rooftop felt different again.
Takumi arrived after Hana this time.
"You left early yesterday."
"I needed air."
He walked toward her slowly.
"You talked to Sizu."
"Yes."
"And?"
"She cares about you."
He exhaled lightly.
"I know."
"She's afraid of losing her place."
He looked at Hana carefully.
"And you?"
She swallowed.
"I don't even know if I have one."
The wind lifted between them.
Takumi stepped closer this time.
Not accidental.
Intentional.
"You do."
"Where?"
He hesitated.
Then reached out — not to brush away a petal this time, not by accident.
He gently took her hand.
The contact was soft.
Careful.
As if asking permission without words.
"Here," he said quietly.
Her heart pounded violently.
"You're making this harder," she whispered.
"Good."
She looked at him, startled.
"If it were easy," he continued, "it wouldn't matter."
The rooftop felt smaller suddenly.
More intimate.
More dangerous.
She tightened her grip slightly before she could stop herself.
And he noticed.
Of course he did.
From the courtyard below, Sizu looked up.
She hadn't meant to.
But something had drawn her gaze.
And there they were.
Not dramatic.
Not kissing.
Just standing close enough that the distance no longer existed.
Her expression didn't break.
But something inside her shifted.
Not anger.
Not bitterness.
Something quieter.
Acceptance.
Or perhaps—
Resignation.
That evening, the cherry blossoms began to fall more heavily than before.
The wind was stronger.
Petals scattered across the pavement in restless swirls.
Hana walked beside Takumi toward the gate.
They didn't hold hands this time.
But the memory of it lingered between them like warmth.
"Sizu won't fight you," he said suddenly.
"I'm not fighting."
"I know."
"She's important to you."
"She is."
"And I'm trying to understand that."
He stopped walking.
"I don't want you to feel second."
The vulnerability in his voice surprised her.
"I don't want to feel temporary," she corrected softly.
His jaw tightened slightly.
"I told you. I'm choosing."
She nodded.
But choice still felt fragile.
Because choosing once didn't mean choosing forever.
As the bus approached, she turned to face him.
"Takumi…"
"Yes?"
"Don't choose me because I'm quiet."
His expression shifted.
"Then why should I?"
She hesitated.
Then answered honestly.
"Because you want to."
For a moment, he just looked at her.
And in that silence, something solidified.
The bus doors opened.
She stepped backward.
"See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," he echoed.
As the bus pulled away, she looked out the window again.
He was still there.
Watching.
But this time—
Sizu wasn't standing in the shadows.
She was walking away.
Alone.
The wind lifted the last of the falling petals into the air.
Spring was still beautiful.
But something had changed.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
And sometimes—
That was how everything began.