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“Mikami…I’m sorry,” Tsubomi said, pulling away. “I…didn’t want anything left unsaid…if you don’t come to Tokyo, too.”
It snowed that first time they kissed—the first fall of the season; Mikami saw it as a heavenly sign—an abstraction of the feelings she had been heretofore afraid to concretise, but had known all along. Tsubomi brought nuance and modernity to a world Mikami had thought to be frozen in the sepia of tradition. How could she ever let go of that?
They held hands as the train pulled out of Kyoto Station, as the snow fell anew.