The morning light brushed gently against Airi's cheeks as she and Toshio stepped outside. The world around them was quiet—fresh with dew, cool with early wind, soft with promise. Airi inhaled slowly, her fingers intertwined with his.
For the first time in a very long time, she wasn't walking behind someone.
She wasn't hiding in shadows.
She wasn't being pulled by fate.
She was beside him.
Choosing to be.
As they walked down the familiar path toward school, Airi found herself glancing at Toshio more than the scenery. Every little thing he did—the way he stepped slightly closer when a cyclist passed, the way he adjusted his pace to match hers, the way he held her hand gently but firmly—felt grounding.
Comforting.
Real.
"Toshio…" she said softly.
He hummed in response.
"Do you think people can start over? Completely, I mean… not just by changing their name or forgetting things… but truly start again?"
Toshio glanced at her. "I think people can become who they want to be when they finally stop running from who they were."
Airi fell silent.
He wasn't wrong.
She had spent years as Mina—broken, scared, surviving in a shell of memories and shadows.
But she wasn't Mina anymore.
And as the wind swept through her hair, Airi closed her eyes and whispered, almost to herself:
"I think… I'm starting over too."
Toshio slowed, looking at her fully now. "Airi, you're not starting alone. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Her heart trembled—not with fear, but with warmth.
"I know."
They reached the school gates, where a few students were already gathering. Airi immediately felt the familiar tightness in her chest—the fear of eyes, the fear of whispers. But today, something was different.
Today, she didn't pull her hand away.
Today, she didn't step behind him.
When two girls glanced at their joined hands, whispering, Toshio subtly squeezed her fingers.
And Airi… squeezed back.
Small victories.
New beginnings.
A life she was no longer afraid to claim.
Later That Day
Classes were a blur of chalk tapping, murmured lessons, and paper rustling. But Airi wasn't drifting. For once, she wasn't lost in memories or panic—she was present.
During lunch, she sat with Toshio beneath the cherry blossom tree. A few petals drifted down, settling on her hair and lap.
"Toshio-kun?" she began.
"Yes?"
"What… what do you see me as?"
He blinked, surprised. "What do you mean?"
Airi looked down at her hands. "People used to see me as fragile. Delicate. A burden. Someone who needed protection, but never someone who could stand on her own."
Her voice trembled, but she continued:
"I'm not asking how they see me. I want to know how you see me."
Toshio leaned back against the tree, thoughtful.
"Honestly?"
She nodded, nervous.
"I see someone who survived things most people wouldn't. Someone who fought through a life she didn't choose, and still found a way to be gentle. Someone brave enough to try again. Someone who's learning to choose for herself."
Airi's eyes softened, shimmering with warmth.
"And more than that…" he added quietly, "I see someone I care about. Deeply."
Her breath hitched.
"Toshio…"
He looked away, cheeks faintly pink. "Sorry. Was that too—"
"No." She shook her head quickly. "It wasn't too much. It was… perfect."
For a moment, the world was silent except for the gentle rustling of petals.
Airi shifted closer, just a little. "Can I tell you something too?"
"Of course."
"I think… I like the person I'm becoming when I'm with you."
Toshio's eyes widened slightly—but then he smiled, soft and full of something warm.
"And I like the person I am when I'm with you."
Their words lingered between them—delicate, tender, unhurried.
Neither of them pushed further.
Neither of them needed to.
This was enough for now.
The Night of the Lantern Festival
A week later, the annual town festival lit the streets with warm, golden lanterns. Families and couples filled the roads with laughter and music.
Airi, dressed in a light blue yukata, walked beside Toshio beneath rows of glowing lights. Her hair was tied loosely with a ribbon Toshio's mother had helped her pick.
"You look beautiful," Toshio said, almost shy.
Airi froze for a heartbeat, heat filling her cheeks. "Y-you can't just say something like that so suddenly…"
"But it's true."
She lowered her gaze, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "Thank you."
They stopped by a stall selling lanterns where couples could write wishes on the paper before releasing them into the sky.
Airi hesitated.
Toshio noticed. "Do you want to try?"
"…Yes."
They bought a lantern—white with golden edges. Toshio handed her the brush.
"You write first."
She dipped the brush in ink, thinking for several seconds before writing slowly, carefully:
"I wish… to live without fear."
Toshio watched her silently, something unreadable in his eyes.
Then he took the brush and wrote beneath her words:
"I wish… to walk beside her for as long as she'll have me."
Airi's breath caught.
"T-Toshio…"
"That's my wish," he said quietly.
Airi looked at the lantern, then at him. And in that moment, something inside her settled—soft, steady, full of possibility.
They lifted the lantern together.
The warm light illuminated both their faces.
"Ready?" Toshio asked.
Airi nodded. "Let it go."
They released.
The lantern floated upward, rising higher and higher until it joined hundreds of others, glowing like stars reborn.
Airi stepped a little closer. Her shoulder brushed his.
"Toshio-kun… can I tell you something?"
"Anything."
"…I want your wish to come true."
When he turned to her, she met his gaze—steadily, bravely, with a heart finally free.
"And one day," she whispered, "I want to be the person who can walk beside you… not just for now… but forever."
Toshio's breath trembled.
"Airi…"
Their hands found each other naturally—warm, certain, intertwined beneath the rising lights.
That night, surrounded by floating wishes and golden skies, something deep and quiet sealed itself between them:
A promise.
A beginning.
The first step toward the ending that awaited them—the ending where she would walk beside him not as the girl who feared…
…but as the woman who chose him.
Chosen her future.
Chosen them.