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It was early May when he appeared again. After such a long time, Tomoyo had gotten used to his name only appearing in Sakura’s words. And Tomoyo wished the confident smile before her was just another conversation topic.
But no. His name was mentioned on the brightest days. Days when Sakura was practically glowing with happiness. The days when, quite honestly, the now more mature Sakura would return to her simple childlike wonder and awe that Tomoyo oh so loved to see. And the bad days also. Those were the hardest on Tomoyo, because those were the hardest on Sakura. It was then that his name appeared in almost indecipherable sobs. In the weary voice of a lonely girl that made Tomoyo mumble endlessly I’m still here, I’m still here. Tomoyo knew, however, that it was not she whom Sakura missed. It was the boy with the name that Sakura mumbled in her restless sleeps:
“Syaoran”
It wasn’t that Tomoyo had anything against Sakura’s Chinese lover. No, not at all. If Tomoyo had to describe what she felt about the boy in a single word, she would surely say “fondness”. Once his relationship with Sakura improved, Tomoyo began thinking of him as a close friend. He, too, was someone Tomoyo wanted to see smile—like Sakura. But Syaoran was different from Sakura.
Because Tomoyo loved Sakura.
She remembered telling her once. Spilling out her feelings under the cherry blossoms. Even though Tomoyo knew Sakura wouldn’t understand the exact meaning of those three words, she had felt so alive in that moment. Sakura had answered her the same, told her she loved her back. This, Tomoyo knew, was a misunderstanding. The one she had expected. And so Tomoyo announced that she would again say those words one day.
But the fast heartbeats and gentle cherry trees of that time were long gone.
The festival had barely passed when Syaoran appeared. With the boy glaring daggers at Sakura, Tomoyo was sure he would become a great danger. And Tomoyo would protect her—whatever the cost.
Tomoyo had underestimated Sakura. She had many types of magic, but nothing was so amazing as watching the stubborn transfer student stand in awe before her, lower his defenses, and become the warm-hearted, soft-spoken friend Sakura would come to love. Tomoyo had forgotten how Sakura could melt people like that. Tomoyo should have kept this in close memory—as someone who experienced this power first-hand.
Tomoyo wondered if, by chance, she meant as much to Sakura as he did. Since he left, Sakura’s mind all but left on some days, going to some far-off place where Tomoyo knew the memory of Syaoran rested. Would the same happen if Tomoyo had left? Perhaps not. Syaoran’s relationship with Sakura was one she envied but could not obtain. His support could become like pillars in Sakura’s life, keeping her lifted high even if Tomoyo had left.
But Tomoyo had been here all along. And he who had not had once again appeared, the strength of his presence all but granting Sakura the ability to fly.
Of this Tomoyo was certain: If Sakura really was such a delicate blossom, then surely she could be the wind. Because Tomoyo would carry Sakura wherever she needed to go.
But Syaoran… Syaoran gave her what Tomoyo could not. He gave her wings. And if Sakura had wings, she would no longer have to rely on the wind. She could fly wherever she wanted on her own. And surely the one who gave her such an ability would be the one she held dearest.
“Welcome back, Syaoran-kun,” Tomoyo greeted brightly, ignoring the stabbing sensation in her heart. Then her watery eyes met Syaoran’s determined ones. “It’s a pleasure to finally see you again.”
And this time, Tomoyo knew Sakura was his forever.