Graduation loomed closer, but Takashi's thoughts stayed fixed on the small restaurant where Mizuki worked. Each day after school, he found himself drawn there, standing across the street, watching through the window as she moved quietly behind the counter. Their eyes never met, and neither spoke; the silence between them felt heavier than any conversation.
Unable to bear the weight of everything unsaid, Takashi poured his heart into a letter late one night. Line by line, he confessed how he missed her, how seeing her from afar hurt yet offered comfort. His words were raw, uncertain, but honest—a piece of his heart on paper.
The next afternoon, gathering his courage, he slipped into the restaurant while she was in the back. His hands shook as he left the letter on the counter, addressed simply to "Mizuki-sensei." Before she returned, he hurried out, heart pounding in his chest.
Later, hidden outside, he watched as Mizuki found the letter. Her fingers hovered over the envelope; her expression softened, then tightened. After a long pause, she slipped it into her apron pocket, unopened.
Takashi felt his heart sink. Even though she hadn't read it, part of him understood: some truths were too heavy to revisit, even if written gently. The silence between them endured—not out of cruelty, but out of fragile necessity, each holding back words that might reopen wounds neither dared to face.
Days passed, and Takashi kept coming by, hoping to see a sign she had read his letter, but nothing changed. Mizuki continued her work with the same calm poise, her gaze never searching the street where he stood.
At home, Takashi struggled to focus on final assignments and graduation preparations. The letter he wrote had become both a relief and a regret; part of him wished she'd read it, but another part feared what might follow if she did.
The city bloomed softly into spring, cherry blossoms starting to line the streets. Yet for Takashi, everything felt muted, as if color itself had dimmed.
One evening, as dusk fell, Takashi returned to the restaurant. He stood silently in the same place, watching her move behind the counter, serving customers with gentle smiles. He wondered if, beneath that composed exterior, she thought of him too—if the letter weighed in her pocket or if she had set it aside somewhere, unopened and untouched.
But no answer came, and Takashi knew some questions had to remain unspoken, the truth left folded betwee
n paper and silence.