The graveyard behind the shrine was quiet that spring day, the air filled with the gentle rustling of wind through the plum trees. Tiny petals fluttered down like snow, settling softly on the old gravestone that bore the name Miyako Sakuma.
A younger Reiko knelt before it, her school satchel tucked at her side, eyes solemn as she placed a small bundle of lilies in the stone vase.
"Why are you crying?" a voice asked from behind.
She turned to see a boy about her age—messy black hair, scraped knees, and eyes like quiet nightfall. He looked out of place in the graveyard, holding a small juice box and a rice ball.
"I'm not crying," she said, quickly wiping her eyes.
He walked closer and squatted beside her, curious. "Is this your mom?"
Reiko nodded, not speaking.
The boy hesitated, then placed his rice ball on the edge of the grave. "My mom says we should always share food with people we miss. Even if they're not here."
Reiko stared at him, surprised. "That's silly."
"Maybe," he said, grinning. "But it makes me feel better."
She gave a soft laugh for the first time that day. He liked that sound. He wanted to hear it again.
"I'm Shin," he said. "I live with the priest here. What's your name?"
"Reiko."
He smiled. "That's a pretty name."
That was the first time he saw her.
And the last time he forgot her.
---
Years passed. Reiko returned to Hairama, her face a little older, her eyes quieter, carrying the weight of something unseen.
Shin saw her at the shrine again, in front of the same grave, placing lilies just like before.
He stood for a long time behind the tree, watching her fingers brush the stone, her lips moving in a whisper. The breeze carried the scent of plum blossoms and something more—memory.
When she turned and saw him, her eyes widened slightly. "You're…"
"Shin," he said, stepping closer, heart pounding. "From back then."
She blinked, then softly smiled. "You kept the rice ball on the grave."
"You kept the name in my heart," he replied.
Reiko looked at him, surprised by the words. But then she laughed again—just like before.
And that sound made him fall all over again.
Beneath the plum trees where blossoms fell, so quietly, so gently—
Love returned.
To be continued...