Chapter 2 : Reunion on the Bridge
From the top of my class, I witnessed the quiet magic of falling in love.
He wasn't the top scorer, nor the loudest voice in the room ~but when he held that basketball in his hand, he shone like the sun sneaking through a raincloud. The way his hair bounced in rhythm with the dribble, the way his laugh lit up a crowd louder than the applause when he scored ~he stole my heart, just like that basketball disappearing into the net.
And his smile… it bloomed even before the cherry blossoms did. That's how I remembered him.
The boy I loved had the smile of spring.
"You're late."
My voice was calm, almost quiet, as I turned toward the crowd, toward him.
Haru stood still a few steps away, his eyes scanning, searching - until they met mine.
He smiled.
He didn't say anything at first. Instead, he walked toward me and pulled me into a tight hug. The sudden warmth of his body against mine made my hand slip-the cigarette I was holding dropped from my fingers, tumbling off the edge of the bridge.
His eyes sparkled with a familiar warmth. It stung.
Somewhere deep down, I realized it then-the love I had for Haru had never really worn off.
"You still find me in the crowd, Aki," he murmured, pulling back slightly, a trace of wonder in his voice.
I bent down and picked up the fallen cigarette from the pavement. Instead of lighting it again, I tossed it into the nearby waste bin. Straightening up, I met his gaze.
"You shine the brightest. Then, now, and always." I lit another cigarette anyway and took a slow puff. "How could I not find you?"
He coughed instantly, waving the smoke away. Turning his face from me, he said over his shoulder, "Can you throw that out? I've got… breathing problems now."
Breathing problems?
That made me pause.
This was the same Haru who once taught me how to smoke. Who laughed as he shared his first lighter with me. Who called cigarette breaks "tiny pockets of freedom."
And now he couldn't even stand the smell?
Time changes people, I thought.
Without another word, I stubbed the cigarette and slipped my hands into the pockets of my coat. It was chilly.
"Where are we going?" Haru asked, falling into step beside me.
"Let's get a drink," I replied.
He hesitated, clearly unsure, but in the end, he followed me-like he always did back then.
The restaurant was warm and dimly lit, tucked away in a quiet corner of the city. A small jazz band played in the background, muffled under the hum of conversation and clinking glasses.
I shrugged off my coat and draped it over the chair as we sat. The waitress came by, notebook ready.
"Regular pasta and one bottle of vodka," I said, not bothering to glance at the menu. Then I turned to Haru, waiting.
He smiled politely at the waitress. "A vegetarian salad, please. No cheese."
I blinked.
"No drinks?" I asked.
He shook his head. "I stopped drinking."
Time really changes people.
As the waitress disappeared, Haru looked across the table at me.
"You've bulked up," he noted, voice casual.
I glanced down at myself and gave a lopsided grin. "You were born with a silver spoon. I had to go looking for mine. That kind of difference... it builds muscle."
Haru laughed. He remembered. I'd said something like that the first time we met, ten years ago.
"So what are you doing now? Business?" I asked, stirring my glass of water absentmindedly.
"Not quite," he replied. "I'm taking time off. Figuring out what I want to do… need to do… should do."
I raised an eyebrow. "So… a year off?"
"A year's too long. Maybe six months," he smiled.
Just then, our food arrived. The clinking of plates filled the space between us, the silence sitting heavier than the jazz in the air.
"I wish I had the luxury to take six months off," I muttered.
Haru chuckled. "Be careful what you wish for, Aki."
I watched as he stabbed a carrot with his fork.
"You're really eating vegetables now?"
He nodded. "Because of the so-called luxury."
I stopped chewing.
"Don't tell me your father kicked you out and froze your cards."
Haru laughed, but there was something else in his eyes. I wasn't sure what it was.
"For the record," I said, pointing at his plate, "your salad costs more than my pasta."
He looked at me, and for a second, I saw something in him I hadn't seen before. Not back then. Not even now.
"Yeah," he said softly, "this salad is really expensive. But don't worry… I'll pay the price."
I leaned back in my chair, watching him.
"Good then."