The snow had melted mostly by morning, leaving patches of bright water and the clean scent of frost in the air. Haruka stood by the bakery window, watching the remnants of it dripping from the rooftops, her thoughts still behind.
She had not spoken to Kaito much since yesterday. Not out of awkwardness, but because quiet, in a sense, had started to come naturally between them. As though words weren't always necessary to understand each other.
Kaito came by in the afternoon, the doorbell over the entrance ringing its familiar tune. Haruka looked up from behind the counter, expecting the careless smile, the slight nod. But today, there was something more restrained in the way he came in—like he'd been carrying something all day and had finally released it.
"Got a minute?" he asked.
She nodded, wiping her hands on her apron. "Yeah. Sit down."
They claimed the small corner table in the back, where the aroma of just-baked bread and honey lingered from the morning run.
Kaito was silent for a few minutes, fingers tapping on a paper napkin. Haruka didn't prod him. She waited—because there was something in his eyes that told her this was no casual chat.
"I grew up in Tokyo," he began hesitantly, "then moved here with my grandma."
Haruka nodded slowly. She knew that.
"It was a dirty time," he continued. "My parents were always fighting. Most nights, I'd just put headphones on and listen for them to pipe down. I was a shy kid. always trying to become invisible. But then there was this one winter, when it snowed just incredibly heavily. that was the first time I really wanted to escape.".
Haruka's fingers circled the burning ceramic of her mug. She already knew where this story was going—fine, honest.
"But one day," said Kaito, "someone rang our front door. I didn't catch sight of her face. I simply discovered a sticky note the following morning, taped to the fence. It was a little square, in pink pen—scribbly handwriting. It read, 'When we grow up and the snow fall, let's get married, okay?'" He smiled softly, self-consciously. "I took it for a joke at first. But then, every few days… another note would turn up."
Haruka widened her eyes and blinked. "More?"
"Yeah. Just random things. Words of encouragement. Silly little poems. Occasionally, artwork. I didn't know who did them, but they always turned up early in the morning after snow or rain."
Kaito's voice remained level, but his eyes held a wistful look, as if this alternate self, the lonely boy in Tokyo, still hovered nearby.
"I didn't reply to them. Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't know what to say. I didn't even dare to stand outside and try to catch them in the act. But those letters…" He paused. "They kept me going. They gave me something to hope for."
Haruka's heart ached, not with sadness—but with something warmer, deeper.
"Since my parents split up," Kaito continued, "I came here. Never saw or heard from that person since. I have no idea if they left town or just stopped visiting. But there was something about those words that stuck in my head. Felt like somebody noticed me—like I wasn't invisible, after all."
Haruka didn't say anything, her throat constricted.
That's why I started writing sticky notes," Kaito informed her, now looking at her. "For myself initially. Then… for the people around me. I guess a part of me was hoping that if I kept writing, maybe… someday, that someone would take one. Read the manner in which I wrote. The kind of words that I utilized. And maybe… they'd remember me."
Haruka's breath caught.
It was strange.
The girl in Kaito's story… it had sounded too familiar. Too close. And yet, she couldn't bring herself to think it—not yet. Not without being certain.
But what affected her more wasn't the mystery. It was the emotion behind it—the compassion he brought over from a time when he hurt. The way he had turned something small into something promising. Quiet, but powerful.
I was jealous," Haruka admitted, her whisper barely audible. "When I saw Ayaka. I thought maybe. maybe you might have feelings for someone else. That I was just a fleeting moment."
Kaito's eyebrow shot up in surprise. "You thought that?"
She nodded uncertainly. "But now. hearing this. I don't feel that way anymore."
"Why not?
Haruka stared at him. "Because I understand now. That you don't give your word to anyone. When you write something, you mean it. And that… is more to me than I imagined."
There was still silence. But it was no longer the silence of things not said. It was the silence of things realized.
Kaito smiled softly. "I still wonder who that girl was."
Haruka looked down at her lap, blushing. She wasn't ready to answer that. Not yet. And maybe, the time wasn't right. But part of her wanted to believe… that the boy she had written to years ago had grown into this thoughtful, gentle man before her.
And maybe… someday, when snow again fell, the truth would return home.