Chapter Text
Kanao had seen her sisters cry before, usually during sappy dramas or when Tanjiro accidentally called Shinobu 'mom' when he came over for dinner. But this was different.
Shortly after a parent teacher conference. Kanae came home to Shinobu. Kanae was full-on sobbing into a tissue, voice warbling something about growth and independence.
-
Kanao was in her room. Studying, in the zone. Rereading and referencing to her study guide and textbook. Until she heard a noise outside her bedroom, a distant muffled clink of dishes and the creak of hallway floorboards. She didn't hear the front door open, but she heard Kanae's voice.
Soft at first, then a sharp inhale, like someone trying very hard not to cry.
Kanao froze, pen suspended mid-word. Listening in closely, and she heard it again, but it was more distant.
“…she’s really coming out of her shell,” a teacher had said not an hour ago, during the parent-teacher conference. “She speaks in class now. Participates in group work. It’s… remarkable progress.”
Kanao hadn’t lingered afterward. She’d dipped her head, offered a small thank-you, and walked straight home. She didn’t realize those words would hit Kanae so hard.
From her room, she could make out hushed voices in the kitchen. She padded to the door, silent as ever, and peeked out into the hallway that led into the living room. Hearing their voices clearer now.
“I just-” Kanae’s voice cracked. “I was so scared I wasn’t doing enough. That I brought her into this house thinking love would be enough and that I was failing her, Shinobu.”
“You’re not,” came Shinobu’s reply, quiet but certain. “Look at her. She’s building herself, piece by piece. That’s not failure, Kanae. That’s everything you taught her.”
“I didn’t think she'd ever really recover. Not fully.” Kanae let out a shaky laugh. “And now she’s raising her hand in class and talking more. She’s becoming better. I didn't think she'd get here at first," Her voice hitched, "Not really, but I hoped and prayed to god that she'd become less shy. But every little sign of growth felt so fragile, like it could disappear if I looked at it too long.”
“She told a classmate off last week,” Kanae added with a wet laugh. “Not even rudely! Just said she didn’t want to share her notes this time. And you’d think that was a small thing, right? But I swear, I wanted to frame the moment.”
“She’s drawing boundaries,” Shinobu said gently. “That’s not small.”
“She never used to say no, Shinobu. Never. I’d ask her if she was hungry and she’d say whatever I wanted was fine. I’d ask if she liked a book, and she’d smile like she was guessing.”
Kanae’s smile wobbled. “She used to flinch when I hugged her. Did I tell you that?”
Shinobu’s face softened. “I remember.”
“She doesn’t anymore. Now she leans in, hugs me back even.”
There was silence for a beat.
“I’m scared,” Kanae admitted finally. “That I didn’t do enough. That adopting her, loving her... it wasn’t enough to fix all the quiet cracks she still carries. I try not to hover. I try to let her breathe. But what if I’m messing up and don’t even realize it?”
Kanao could hear the kitchen stool shift, maybe Shinobu standing. A pause, then the sound of arms wrapping around someone. Kanae sobbed into it.
Kanao backed away from the door, heart thudding. She didn't listen in any further. Knowing it was impolite to eavesdrop.
'Becoming better?' She thought to herself, unsure what her older sister meant. The word echoed light in her chest. She felt herself stiffen, thinking about the moments she’d shut down, withdrawn, made her sisters worry in the quiet ways they never said aloud.
They deserved better than that fear. Than the burden of guessing her feelings. She closed the door so she wouldn't listen to her sisters cry over her any longer.
She sat down at her desk and opened a fresh sheet of paper, abandoning studying all together and putting aside her work. She wasn't sure why she pulled out a new sheet of paper.
Kanae had told her one time, that some people write about their feelings to express it. Literature, Kanao thought. Maybe she could try it right now, but she couldn't conjure up anything to write, since she didn't have any feelings to put on paper. Maybe that's vague but it's true. She felt hollow in the moment, maybe she didn't need to write about her feelings. That's too big of a topic to start with,
So, she looked around her room, all-though bland, she had to find inspiration somehow.
She scanned the room with dispassionate eyes, books neatly stacked, a sleepy moth tapping at her windowpane, her pressed uniform draped carefully over her chair. Nothing sparkled with inspiration.
Then her eyes landed on the pale-purple carnation in the little ceramic vase by her windowsill. A leftover from Shinobu’s garden. It wasn’t particularly fresh anymore, its petals slightly wilted at the edges, but it stood tall anyway, facing the light.
She felt a spark, and took that as her chance. Her pen moving across the paper.
She stared at the sentence. Then, more and more came, words and descriptions, but she kept it simple and short for her first try at it.
And finally, she stared at the stanza's taking in her work.
-
'It was never the boldest in the bouquet,
not rose, not lily, not even a wild daisy flame.
But soft-hued violet, with a dusk pink edge, sitting on the ledge of its cramped space
Its stem curved, imperfect, anchored in still water, cradled by glass
No garden to sprawl, just roots that settled and chose to last
It asked for nothing, not notice, not name, and still, the light found by morning's crawl. Spilling amber warmth across its petals, a golden crown, unearned but worn after all.
Taking up space, in its tiny vase,
A bloom not forced, not plucked to please. The sun praising the flower for simply showing ease,
What did it do to deserve such a kind gentle breeze.'
-
As the final line settled on the page, Kanao lowered her pen and stared at the words. There was a strange stillness in her chest, like something had opened inside her that she didn't realize was shut before.
The poem wasn't perfect. The rhythm wobbled in some places, but it was hers. Something honest had spilled from her fingertips without her needing to understand it first.
For a fleeting second, she felt... light. Not giddy or triumphant. As if her thoughts and her hands and her breath were finally moving in the same direction. It was the closest thing she’d felt to joy that didn’t overwhelm her, didn’t set off alarms.
She hadn’t known it would feel like this.
The spark ignited with the first stanza and caught somewhere around “golden crown.” She didn’t think. She just flowed. Her usual self-conscious pause before every sentence had vanished, no second-guessing, no rewrites. Just image after image, and idea after idea. Like she was discovering something and wanted- needed to indulge in.
But now the poem was done. The pen was still. The room returned.
Her shoulders slumped. A subtle ache curled in her chest, a loss not sharp, but dull and lingering. Like stepping out of a dream you didn’t want to end. She reread the poem once more, lips barely moving. Then gently set it aside, unsure what to do with it now that it existed.
Had this... always been inside her?
She didn’t know if she loved literature yet. Not really. But for the first time, she could understand how someone might. How poetry could be more than just words on paper and an expression of feelings. The hollow feeling crept back into her chest, she felt a little excited knowing she could name this poem, like it was something that belonged to her.
She named it: Carnation, simple, uncreative, but still it was something! She felt the smallest bit giddy as she wrote 'by Tsyuri Kanao' next to the name.
Just as Kanao folded the poem neatly in half, there was a gentle knock on her door.
"Come in..." Kanao said softly, too quiet at the same time.
She didn’t answer, but the door opened anyway, slow and cautious.
Kanae peeked in first, her eyes puffy but hopeful, followed by Shinobu, who carried two mugs of tea, and Aoi.
“We’re not interrupting, are we?” Kanae asked, voice warm with the kind of love that makes you feel like a plant being gently tilted toward the sun. Her voice strained just a little from crying.
Kanao shook her head, instinctively straightening the papers on her desk.
“We just… wanted to talk,” Kanae continued, stepping into the room fully and taking the spare seat near her window. “About the conference today.”
“You did very well,” Shinobu added, setting a mug down beside Kanao’s elbow. “They all said so. Every teacher.”
“They were basically all bragging about you,” Aoi muttered, arms folded but not unkind. “It was embarrassing.”
Kanao looked they're way, not moving to grab the mug set beside her, mouth twitching into a subtle smile. "Oh."
"Yes, it was-" She stopped for a second, sniffling, stifling a sob. "I'm very proud of you Kanao."
"We all are." Shinobu added, sipping her tea. Giving a small smile of approval.
Kanao ducked her head slightly, trying to hide the blush forming on her cheeks. "Thank you." She muttered.
Aoi was by the door, with her arms crossed, leaning against the wall. "Well, whatever is going on with you. Keep it going, because it's making Kanae happy." She huffed.
At that, Aoi’s eyes drifted down toward the corner of the desk and spotted the folded paper, out of place. Aoi pushed herself off the wall, taking the folded piece of paper quietly. Kanao didn't stop her.
She unfolded it, reading the top. “Did you write this?” she asked, and the room went still.
"It's not the best..." Kanao stated quietly, reaching to take it back. But Aoi had already scanned the stanza's quickly, her mouth parting slightly in surprise.
"What is it?" Shinobu asked, curiosity getting the better of her.
"Kanao wrote poetry..." Aoi confirmed, and to that Kanae's eyes lit up at the revelation looking Kanao's way in small surprise. Tears welling in her eyes. Aoi gave Kanao back the poem once she was done re-reading it.
Kanao felt Kanae's eyes on her, turning to look her way, Kanae spoke quietly. "Can I see?" She had asked gently, to which Kanao could only nod, offering it over to her.
Kanae skimmed the poem quietly. Her lips trembling, "Oh... Kanao..." Her voice wobbled, tears falling from her eyes now. Shinobu felt her curiosity reach her peak, taking the poem silently after Kanae finished.
She didn’t say anything at first, but when she folded the page back and handed it to Kanao, her expression was thoughtful. Respectful.
“You have a voice,” she said. “I’m glad you’re beginning to share it.”
Kanao held the page like it might dissolve. For a moment, she didn’t know where to put her hands. Or her face. Or the swelling thing in her chest that felt like both embarrassment and pride.
Kanae wiped her eyes again, standing up, and let out a wobbly laugh. "Oh, this must cause for celebration, right?" She looked Shinobu's way, too which she replied.
"It depends on how Kanao feels, we don't wanna scare her away over something that is seemingly so simple... but I have to admit, I am impressed given Kanao's circumstances."
Aoi let out a squeal, kneeling beside Kanao's study desk to hug her, her usual frown now a smile. Shocking Kanao at first, her hands hanging in the air awkwardly before resting on Aoi's back. "My sister is coming out of her shell!" Until Aoi herself might've realized how out of character she became and stilled, standing and letting Kanao go with a cough.
Shinobu stifled a giggle at her little sister's small outburst.
Kanao’s cheeks burned, but this time she didn’t hide her face.
Kanae, still smiling through the last of her tears, stepped over and rested a gentle hand on Kanao's shoulder. "We don't expect you to do everything at once," she said. "But if this-" She tapped the poem lightly, "Is even a fraction of what's waiting in you, then I hope you'll keep writing. Even if it's just for you."
"I..." Kanao hesitated, before giving a small nod and averting her gaze. A candle lighting inside her chest, a small flame.
Aoi huffed, sitting beside Shinobu on Kanao's bed. Whispering something in Shinobu's ear, whatever it was, Shinobu was agreeing with her with a raised eyebrow and her signature smile.
"Can we put this on the fridge?" Kanae offered gently, wanting to let Kanao know this is her choice. "Only if you want of course." She followed up with quickly, not wanting to overwhelm Kanao, but she figured that ship was already sailed by how quiet Kanao is right now.
Kanao looked at the folded poem, then at the tea that was going cold atop her desk. Before she nodded, handing the poem over to Kanae, who smiled and wiped another stray tear from her face.
"Come girls, let's not overwhelm our new poet so soon." She teased lightly, gesturing for Aoi and Kanae to follow her out the door, leaving Kanao by herself in her room.
Kanao wanted to write another one, just to feel the small thrill that came with it. But for now, she'd just continue studying and plan the day tomorrow.