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❁ 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓼𝔀𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓻𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮𝓰𝓪𝓷 ❁
The playground was full of voices and laughter, but to Maki Zen’in, it all felt far away...
She sat alone on the swing, legs still, letting herself sway gently with the breeze and the weight of her own body. The noise reached her like an echo, muffled by a veil of boredom and disinterest.
A little further away, her sister Mai was playing with a group of kids, laughing and chatting.
Maki didn’t care. They all seemed the same to her—loud, annoying children who had never done a thing to make her feel included.
Not that it mattered, of course.
Honestly, she would’ve rather stayed home with a book or trained in the courtyard. But her parents had insisted she go with Mai.
“Maybe you’ll socialize too,” they had said.
As if she needed to.
Her fingers clutched the swing’s chain, knuckles just turning white.
Maki didn’t need anyone.
“Why are you just sitting there?”
The voice caught her off guard. She looked up.
Standing in front of her was a boy her age, with messy black hair and big, dark, gentle eyes.
She recognized him right away: Yuta Okkotsu.
He went to her school, though they’d never really spoken.
“Don’t you know how to swing?” he asked, tilting his head slightly.
She shot him a glare. “Of course I do. I just don’t like it.”
Yuta stayed quiet, as if he hadn’t fully understood her answer. Then he glanced over at the group of kids. Some were sneaking looks at Maki and giggling.
His gaze dropped, thoughtful.
He knew Maki was different. She didn’t try to please anyone—and because of that, she often ended up on the sidelines.Some kids called her “weird.” Others avoided her just because she always said what she thought, without fear.
He took a step toward the swing beside hers.
“I can stay with you, if you want.”
Maki tensed slightly. Her body stopped swaying.
There was something in Yuta’s tone… something genuine. Not pity. Not curiosity. Just kindness.
She opened her mouth to reply—
“Yutaaa! Come on, you promised we’d go down the slide!”
A little girl with light brown hair tied in two messy pigtails ran up to him, practically bouncing.
She wore a light-colored dress that fluttered as she moved, and her eyes—big and bright—shone with excitement.
She grabbed Yuta’s hand with natural affection, like the rest of the world didn’t exist.
She didn’t even notice Maki.
“Rika…” Yuta murmured, turning to her with a smile that softened his whole face.
Then he looked back at Maki. He hesitated.
“Wanna come with us?” he asked, uncertain, offering a half smile. Only then did Rika notice her.
She looked at Maki with curiosity, but no malice. It was clear she hadn’t realized she was even there until now.
Maki felt a flicker inside. Part of her wanted to say yes.
But something twisted in her stomach.
No.
She didn’t want anyone’s pity.
She didn’t want to be the lonely kid someone invited out of kindness.
She looked away, hands buried in her jacket pockets, fists clenched. She didn’t answer.
Yuta stood still for a moment, unsure.
Then he let Rika pull him along. She didn’t look back, lost in the eager joy of a child who turns everything into a game.
Maki watched them go. Their voices faded slowly, light as wind trailing through the trees.
Yuta looked happy with Rika. Like, with her, the world was just a little bit lighter.
And Rika laughed with that carefree joy only children have—like nothing could ever break her.
They were always together.
Just the two of them.
And Maki realized… maybe Yuta didn’t have other friends.
Just her.
The weeks passed like the flap of a wing.
Winter arrived quietly, tiptoeing in and leaving behind a thin layer of cold.
The days grew shorter. The sky seemed a little further away each day.
And yet, Yuta and Rika kept seeing each other.
They laughed together, ran through fallen leaves, climbed the slide and the swings as if nothing in the world could touch them.
They looked invincible. Sealed in a world of their own.
Then—suddenly—it all shattered.
There was no real warning. Just a sharp sound in the air. A scream.
A road. A car. One wrong step.
Yuta was there. He saw everything.
He saw the car appear out of nowhere.
He saw Rika step forward, unaware.
He saw her body lift from the ground as it was hit.
He saw how she landed.
That dull, sickening thud haunted him.
And he stood there, frozen.
He couldn’t scream. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything.
Rika died that same day, at the hospital.
And with her, a part of him died too.
From that moment on, Yuta was never the same. He didn’t laugh anymore. Didn’t run. He even stopped talking to the other kids.
Every afternoon he went back to the park. Alone.
He sat on the swing, eyes fixed on the slide. And he waited.
As if hoping—willing with all his heart—that any second now, Rika would come running out from behind the trees,
with her messy hair and that big smile.
But it never happened.
Maki watched from afar. Always.
She saw him stay there for hours, unmoving. His back hunched, hands on his knees— as if time itself had broken with him.
She wanted to talk to him. Say something. Anything.
But the words wouldn’t come.
It felt like nothing she could say would matter.
The pain in Yuta’s eyes ran too deep.
It wasn’t the kind of wound you could touch.
So she just stayed.
Sometimes she sat on the swing next to his, in silence.
No questions. No comments. Just presence.
And slowly—very slowly— Yuta started to notice.
That year, Maki had changed too.
She’d started taking martial arts lessons with Gojo, an eccentric and unpredictable teacher—
but the only one who had believed in her from the very beginning.
Every day after school, she trained with dedication, leaving behind her breath and bruises on the tatami.
She’d learned how to defend herself, and by now, the other kids had stopped picking on her.
Now, though, it was Yuta who had become the target.
She often saw him stumbling through school hallways or courtyards, trying to dodge the bullies’ stares.
He always tried to avoid them, but it never worked. They shoved him, mocked him, hit him.
One day, while Maki was sitting on the usual swing, she saw three boys—just a bit older than them—surround him in the middle of the park.
One grabbed his lunch, another pushed him, and the third laughed, throwing out a cruel comment about Rika.
That last part— That was what broke something.
Maki saw Yuta’s expression change. A moment ago, there’d only been fear. But now there was something else.
A deeper pain.
The kind that doesn’t even cry.
His shoulders slumped. His chin dropped.
Like that one sentence had hurt more than everything else.
He fell to the ground, hands loose at his sides, eyes glossy.
Maki stood up.
Enough.
She crossed the park without rushing, without saying a word.
She had her wooden staff from the dojo with her, its tip digging into the dirt with every step.
She planted herself between him and the bullies, her stare cold, her voice like a blade.
“Cut it out. And give him back his lunch.”
The three turned toward her.
The first, a blond, freckled boy with a shirt two sizes too big, laughed.
“Listen to her…” He pointed at the staff. “You think that thing’s gonna scare us?”
The second, skinnier, nudged his friend.
“Pssst! That’s Mei’s sister. She’s serious. She actually does martial arts.”
The third, with buck teeth and a bowl cut, nodded but puffed up his chest.
“So what? There’s three of us! We can take her!”
Maki didn’t answer. She moved.
Less than thirty seconds later, they were all on the ground—then running away, whimpering, dropping the bento as they fled.
Yuta was still sitting on the ground, wide-eyed and glassy, as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just seen.
Maki looked down at him, arms at her sides, the staff still firm in her grip.
“What are you doing still down there?”
Yuta flinched a little at her voice.
He scrambled to his feet, brushing off his knees. “T-thanks…”
She didn’t reply right away.
She bent down, picked up the lunch they’d tossed aside, and held it out to him. No extra words.
“You shouldn’t let people walk all over you like that.”
Yuta lowered his gaze, fingers tightening slowly around the lunchbox.
“I know…”
She crossed her arms. “You know those bullies hang around here. If you don’t fight back, why keep coming? There are other parks.”
Yuta stayed silent for a moment.
He seemed to search for the words, caught between the need to explain and the shame of doing so.
Then, quietly:
“This… was Rika’s favorite park.”
Maki froze.
The wind stirred the leaves in the trees, breaking the silence that had suddenly grown heavier.
She looked at him for a few seconds, then dropped her gaze.
Her staff slipped from her hands. She held it out to him.
“Then the only solution is to face the problem head-on.” She looked him in the eye. “That way they won’t bother you anymore.”
Yuta looked at her, confused.
“B-but I… I’m not strong like you, Maki.”
A faint blush crept onto her cheeks.
She looked away at once, turning sharply, as if to shake off the embarrassment.
“You can learn. You think I got like this without effort? I train every day after school at the dojo.”
Yuta watched her in silence, that usual thoughtful, vulnerable look on his face.
Admiring her, yes… but full of doubts.
Maki looked at him one last time, then turned to leave.
“It’s up to you.” Her voice dropped, quiet but firm. “But I won’t always be there to save you.”
Without another word, she walked off, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound she left behind.
She didn’t look back.
But something inside her had shifted.
And maybe— something in Yuta had too.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
The day after school, Maki was walking down the now-familiar road that led to the gym. The afternoon sun filtered through the branches, casting patches of light on the sidewalk.
She walked with a determined step, already focused on the training ahead.
That’s when she saw him.
Standing at the entrance to the gym, looking nervous but determined, was Yuta. As soon as their eyes met, his face lit up with a radiant smile.
“Maki!” he called out, hurrying toward her. Once close enough, he bowed deeply, almost solemnly. “I haven’t thanked you for yesterday.”
She stopped, caught off guard. Her cheeks flushed and she quickly looked away.
“You didn’t have to,” she mumbled.
“Yes, I did,” he insisted, straightening up with a shy smile. “I’m sorry about how I acted. In the end… I decided to take your advice. I came to train.”
Maki glanced at him, surprised — and maybe a little impressed. But before she could say anything, the gym door creaked open.
A tall figure appeared in the doorway: wrinkled white shirt, sunglasses indoors, and a smile far too wide to be taken seriously.
“Hey, Maki! Class is about to start,” announced Gojo, in the tone of someone about to host a must-see show.
Two kids peeked out behind him. The first was Panda — a tall, stocky boy with messy dark hair. Gojo had given him that nickname on the very first day, after noticing the boy wore a hoodie with panda ears every time. Since then, no one had ever called him by his real name.
The other was Inumaki: smaller and quieter, with light-colored hair and a perpetually thoughtful expression. He wore a scarf even in 25-degree weather.
They said it was for fashion. But no one had ever heard him confirm or deny it — Inumaki barely spoke, and when he did, no one ever really understood what he meant.
Gojo gave Yuta a curious look. “Oh? A new face?”
The boy stiffened and bowed again, clearly nervous. “G-good afternoon! My name’s Yuta Okkotsu and… and I’m here to sign up!”
“Nice to meet you, Okkotsu,” Gojo said, smiling smugly. “But if that’s the case, why are you still outside?”
Yuta barely lifted his gaze, embarrassed. “I… I wanted to wait for Maki. To go in with her.”
Maki froze. She felt the blood rush to her ears and quickly turned away, pretending she hadn’t heard.
Behind her, loud laughter rang out.
“I didn’t think Maki brought her boyfriend to the dojo!” Panda joked, grinning ear to ear.
Maki spun around and smacked him hard on the arm, making him stagger.
“Ow!” he yelped, still laughing.
Gojo raised his hands like he was trying to break up a fight. “Hey now! Save the hits for the tatami, please!”
Yuta watched the scene with wide eyes, still confused… but then a smile crept onto his face. And finally, he laughed too.
Together, they stepped inside the gym.
It was just one step — but for Yuta, in that moment, it felt like the start of something new.
Maki watched him out of the corner of her eye, still slightly red, as he curiously took in the dojo’s interior. She hadn’t really thought he’d show up.
And now that she saw him there, with that shy but sincere smile, she wasn’t sure what she was feeling.
But one thing was certain: for the first time, being alone didn’t seem so important anymore.
Yuta and Maki became inseparable. Together with Panda and Inumaki, they formed a solid group, full of affection and routine. After training sessions, spontaneous outings, meals grabbed at the konbini, evenings spent talking intensely or silently challenging each other at the dojo.
But there was one habit that belonged only to them: the park.
Always the same one.
Always the same swings.
They talked. They laughed. Sometimes, they simply stayed quiet, letting the silence speak louder than any words.
Now they were in their final year of high school. The rest of the class was already looking toward the future: university, exams, travels.
Maki, instead, remained on the sidelines of those conversations, never really feeling involved.
Her mother was head nurse at the hospital. Her father, a methodical and distant municipal clerk.
Mai, already ready to enter a prestigious university.
Everyone seemed to have a direction.
Except her.
Maki didn’t hate studying, but she couldn’t picture herself stuck in a classroom for more years.
Only the dojo — the friends’ laughter, the effort of training — really gave her a sense of purpose. A presence.
That afternoon, after school, while putting her uwabaki shoes in her locker, she overheard two classmates talking a little too loudly nearby.
“So it’s true? Okkotsu is leaving?”
The boy’s voice was almost envious.
“Yeah,” the girl replied. “He won a scholarship. Archaeology, or something like that.”
Maki froze.
She stayed crouched in front of her locker, holding one shoe in her hand. Muscles frozen, breath caught.
“In Egypt, if I’m not mistaken,” the girl added. “I don’t know for how long, but… if I were him, I’d stay as long as possible.”
The sound of footsteps fading away was muffled, distant.
Inside Maki, however, everything was sharp. Absurd.
Yuta hadn’t told her anything.
He’d told others about such a big change… and not her.
Her throat tightened into a warm, sudden knot.
She couldn’t name the feeling: anger? Disappointment?
She simply stood up quickly, jaw clenched, and for the rest of the day avoided Yuta by any means.
She didn’t look him in the face. Didn’t answer his greetings.
And every time he tried to talk to her, she found an excuse to walk away.
That afternoon, the dojo was closed.
Maki left anyway, aimless. She walked through the neighborhood streets until, almost without realizing, she found herself in front of the old park. The sky was hazy, tinted gold and blue, and the swings creaked softly, pushed by the wind.
She stopped.
A moment later, she was already sitting on the same old swing. Hands entwined around the ropes, eyes fixed on the ground.
She sat still, motionless, as if that place could give her answers.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
The voice was gentle. Almost hesitant.
Yuta.
Maki didn’t turn around.
She kept staring at the same spot in the sand beneath her feet, shoulders tense.
He stood still for a moment, then sat on the other swing.
For a few seconds, no one spoke. Only the slow, monotone sound of the metal.
“…So you found out.”
Maki nodded.
“It’s hard not to know. When the whole class is talking about it.”
Yuta shifted slightly.
“…Are you angry?”
She didn’t answer.
Her fingers tightened around the rope, almost making it creak.
And Yuta understood.
“I wanted to tell you, really… but I didn’t know how.”
“Why? Did you think I wouldn’t approve?”
“No, that’s not it!” he snapped. “It’s just… I had to find the right moment, but I couldn’t.”
She barely looked up, cold.
“So you decided to exclude me.”
“Maki, I… I could never do that.” His voice trembled slightly.
“With Panda and Inumaki it was different, with them it was easy. But with you…”
The words came out too fast.
Too sincere.
Too dangerous.
Yuta realized too late what he had said.
And Maki, seeing him lower his gaze, felt a strange, dull ache in her chest.
“I really think archaeology is my path,” he continued softly.
“But the idea of leaving this place scares me. The memories of Rika… the dojo… you guys."
Those last two words stayed with her like an echo.
Maki lowered her eyes.
Of course she knew. Yuta was made to explore, to discover. But a part of her, the part she didn’t know how to silence, didn’t want him to leave.
She wasn’t the type to wallow in self-pity. Not the type to cling to someone.
And yet, there on that swing, she felt more fragile than she wanted to admit.
She wanted to say to him: “Don’t go.”
But it wouldn’t have been right. And it wasn’t her.
Yuta tried to smile.
“We can write to each other, right? And maybe I won’t even like it that much. I could come back by the end of the year.”
At that point, Maki stood up abruptly.
“Don’t pretend staying is an option.”
She looked him in the eyes, serious.
“You’re way stronger than that.”
Yuta stayed silent.
She went on, without giving him time to reply.
“As far as I’m concerned, no promises are needed. If you like it, stay. It’s your life, Yuta. Don’t let anyone hold you back.”
She didn’t give him time to follow or add anything. She simply left, without looking back. But as she walked away, she still felt that knot in her stomach.
A weight without a name.
A silent awareness she wished she could ignore:
She would miss him.
More than she’d ever have the courage to admit.
The day of departure, the airport was crowded and noisy.
Yuta stood in front of the gate, backpack slung over his shoulder, his eyes restlessly scanning the crowd. He had just said goodbye to Panda and Inumaki — a hug, a joke, some last-minute advice — but now he couldn’t stay still. He kept looking around, as if among those hundreds of faces his own could appear: Maki.
Every time he heard someone approach, he would quickly turn his head away.
He tried to tell himself it was normal. That she had chosen this.
That maybe she was angry, or maybe she just didn’t care that much.
But the emptiness he felt beneath his ribs told a different story.
What Yuta didn’t know...
...was that Maki was there.
She hadn’t come down to the gate. She didn’t want Yuta to see her.
Not because she didn’t want to say goodbye... but because she wasn’t sure if she could let him go.
She was leaning against a railing far away, on one of the observation terraces. The wind tousled her hair, and her backpack hung from one shoulder, almost forgotten.
Her gaze followed the planes taking off one after another, cutting through the summer sky.
One of those... could be his.
She had been holding her phone for minutes now. Maybe longer.
The screen was still on. A message opened, written and rewritten at least three times.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reread it yet again, searching for the courage that wouldn’t come.
It was the most sincere thing she had ever written.
And maybe for that reason... she couldn’t send it.
Her thumb hovered over the “send” button. Then, slowly, it pressed down, locking the screen.
She didn’t delete the message, but she didn’t send it either.
She left it there, buried in the phone’s memory — a silent thought, a hidden feeling.
Something she hadn’t had the courage to deliver.
Because looking him in the eyes, in that moment, would have broken her.
Pulling her jacket tighter, she looked back up at the sky.
She didn’t know if somewhere among the clouds, inside that ever smaller plane, there really was Yuta.
But a part of her... hoped that, wherever he was, at that moment he was thinking of her.
Even if just for a moment.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Three years passed.
Maki hadn’t gone to university after all. She had chosen a different path — more concrete, more her own. After a series of tournament wins, her master Gojo had offered her to take his place as martial arts instructor. At first, it was supposed to be only for a period, but over time the exception became the rule. Maki liked teaching. And she nurtured a dream: to one day open a gym of her own, maybe in Shibuya.
Her life had become simple, linear, but full. She had cut ties with her family, trained, taught, went out with friends like Panda and Inumaki.
From Yuta, she occasionally received messages or postcards: photos of vast deserts, ancient tombs, distant skies. And a “I miss you guys” always written at the end.
That day, the dojo was empty, the lesson just finished. Maki was putting away the mats when a voice behind her made her turn sharply.
“Hi, Maki.”
She froze.
Yuta was there. Standing in front of her, with an expression both unreadable and familiar at the same time.
He had changed.
His hair, longer than before, fell messily around his face: black, slightly wavy, with some strands brushing his eyebrows and others escaping toward his neck. He wore a simple dark jacket that gave him a mature, relaxed air. His eyes were different too — still kind, but deeper.
He had grown up. The awkward boy from before was gone. In front of Maki now was someone new... yet, when he smiled at her, it was as if nothing had ever changed.
At that moment, Gojo appeared behind Yuta, waving a hand.
“Well, well, look who’s back! About time you showed up, my boy!”
The boy laughed, embarrassed.
“Yeah, um… I just got back.”
“Tell me all about it later!” Gojo said as he started to walk away, then stopped and looked at Maki.
“Ah, Maki, you’re closing tonight, right? I’ve got a live stream soon, my fans are waiting!”
Maki sighed.
“Again? You could have warned me!”
Gojo made a prayer gesture with his hands, chuckling.
“I know, I know! You’re an angel!” Then he disappeared, already filming himself with his phone.
Left alone, Yuta stepped closer.
“I’ll help you, if you want.”
“Go ahead,” she replied, turning to hide a smile.
They tidied up in silence. Then, as if it were natural, they headed toward the park.
The old slide creaked softly in the wind. Yuta ran his hand over it, caressing the metal faded by time.
“I can’t believe they’re going to close this place.”
“They just want to fix the rides,” Maki replied. “But maybe these…” she turned toward the swings, “they’ll take them away. They’re too old.”
They looked at each other. A moment of silence. Then Yuta nodded.
“Want to take a swing?”
Maki gave a slight smile. “You know I don’t like it.”
Yet she sat down, in the usual spot. And he did the same.
There was a calm silence, hanging in the warm late afternoon air.
“I’m glad some things haven’t changed,” Yuta finally said, turning to her. “Although… I like your new haircut.”
Maki blushed and looked away.
She had always worn her hair long, tied back. But now she had cut it very short, more practical for training. And she used contact lenses instead of glasses. It wasn’t an aesthetic choice, just… more comfortable that way. More free.
“They were starting to annoy me,” she answered with a shrug.
“They suit you,” he said, sincere. Almost gently.
She blushed again. “Thanks.”
They talked some more, on and off, like they always had. Yuta asked about the dojo, how things were managed. Maki told him how Gojo had fully dedicated himself to his YouTube career and how she was now running the place.
“You’re incredible,” Yuta said. “I’ve always thought so, since we were kids.”
Maki looked at him, surprised by the simple phrase. So disarming.
“You’ve always been too good.”
“And you too hard on yourself.”
They kept talking.
Light sentences, sometimes awkward, as if they had to find again a rhythm that once was natural. Yet, even in the silences, there was that subtle complicity neither had ever forgotten.
Then, suddenly, Yuta lowered his gaze and ran a hand through his hair, blushing.
“I didn’t tell anyone… Panda and Inumaki didn’t know I was back,” he admitted. “I wanted to come see you first.”
Maki felt her heart skip a beat. A wave of warmth rose to her cheeks, but as always, she masked it with a distracted gesture, turning her face away.
“Sometimes I wonder if you realize how good you are,” she murmured. “Even when I don’t deserve it.”
Yuta turned to look at her, serious. “Why do you say that?”
She hesitated, then answered in a low voice. “Because of how I acted before you left.”
He shook his head slowly. “I was wrong too. I was scared.”
“Of what?”
“That… maybe you wouldn’t care,” Yuta replied with a tense smile. “That you wouldn’t miss me…”
“What?”
Yuta scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed. “It’s just that… you always seemed to know who you were, what you wanted. And I… I was afraid I wouldn’t keep up with you. That I wouldn’t be good enough.”
“Excuse me?” Maki said, her voice sharper now. “Did you really think I saw you that way?”
“No! That’s not what—”
“Because that’s how it sounds,” she snapped, raising her voice a bit. “You picked my point of view for your own convenience?”
“I’m not saying that!” he answered, agitated. “It wasn’t easy for me either.
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” she snapped, teeth clenched.
“For the same reason you never wrote to me once.”
The sentence hit like a blow. Maki froze, shoulders stiff.
She lowered her gaze just for a moment. Then clenched her hands and tried to stand up: “Forget it. It’s over.”
But Yuta stood before she could. He blocked her path. And this time, his gaze was firmer than Maki remembered.
“It’s not over,” he said. “It never was for me.”
Maki stayed where she was. She couldn’t hold his eyes, but she didn’t move either.
Yuta took a deep breath.
“I wished you’d stopped me. That you’d said even just ‘I’ll miss you,’ or something else. Even one word. But it never came.” He swallowed. “So I thought maybe I wasn’t that important.”
A strange silence slipped between them. Not a comfortable one. It was tense, heavier.
Maki lowered her eyes, this time for real. Her hands relaxed. A light tremor ran through her fingers. When she looked back at him, her eyes no longer had the armor they had before.
Then she reached into her pocket without a word. She pulled out her phone.
“There was something,” she whispered. “I just never had the courage to send it.”
She found a message. That message.
She had written it three years earlier, outside the airport, and never sent it.
When she found it, her heart was pounding so loud she could hear it in her ears.
She handed it to Yuta.
She said nothing.
He read it slowly, almost holding his breath:
"I will miss you. But I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to tell you.
And even less to hear what you’d answer.
I was never good with certain words.
But if you miss me a little too… maybe you’ll understand on your own."
Yuta lifted his gaze, eyes glossy. “Why didn’t you send it to me?”
Maki clenched her hands. “Because it would have been useless. I couldn’t ask you to stay.”
“You shouldn’t have. But that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t…” he exhaled softly, “that it wouldn’t have done me good to know.”
She lowered her eyes, unable to meet his gaze. “I feared you’d give up your dream. And I couldn’t let that happen. Not for me.”
A long silence fell between them, heavy like the air before a storm. The sky above the park was turning orange, and the leaves swayed gently in the warm evening air.
Then Yuta leaned toward her. His hands trembled, but he raised them anyway. He placed them on her face with a gentle, almost timid touch.
And he kissed her.
Maki stiffened.
For a moment everything stopped: the breath, the heartbeat, the world around.
Yuta felt it. He pulled away immediately, face tight. “Sorry, I—”
He couldn’t finish.
She grabbed his wrists, stopping him.
Her face was flushed, her eyes slightly glossy — but steady.
She was the same Maki: straight, unshakable, with that look that could make you feel both tiny and safe at the same time.
Yet, beneath that firmness… something trembled.
“Why did you stop?” she whispered.
Yuta held his breath. Then smiled faintly. And kissed her again.
This time, it was different. There was no more hesitation. No surprise. Only the deep calm of two people who, after searching for each other for a long time, finally found one another.
Their lips met softly, but it took only a moment for the kiss to grow more intense.
Maki let herself be carried by that contact as if she were stepping in slowly, one step at a time.
Her hands rose, sliding from Yuta’s chest to his shoulders, sinking gently into the fabric of his jacket, pulling him slightly closer.
Yuta responded without thinking: his hands slid over her face, then through her short hair, caressing her nape with a careful, almost trembling delicacy.
The kiss deepened, grew warmer. There was no hesitation, only need. A silent urgency, held back for too long.
Her breath broke softly against his, and Yuta moved closer still, brushing her side with his free hand, as if afraid she might pull away.
Maki’s heart pounded. But she didn’t pull back. Not once.
She let him come closer, let the kiss speak for all the things she had never dared to say.
When they finally pulled apart, they stayed close, breaths still mingled.
Yuta’s forehead brushed hers.
Maki said nothing, but smiled.
Just a hint. But it was enough.
They stayed there, sitting on the creaking swings, their knees barely touching, their shoulders almost brushing.
For a moment, no one spoke. The silence wasn’t empty—it was full of everything that no longer needed to be said.
Then, without looking at him, Maki lowered her hand. And sought his.
Yuta’s fingers were warm, trembling slightly. But they closed around hers with a naturalness that took her breath away.
As if, deep down, they had been waiting for nothing else.
The park, now old and a little neglected, welcomed them in that simple gesture. It had seen their friendship born, their anger, their pain.
And now… silently, it witnessed something new being born too.
Maki lifted her gaze to the sky, where day was slowly giving way to twilight.
“Welcome back,” she said softly, without turning around.
Yuta smiled. He squeezed her fingers.
“This was the place I missed.”
And maybe…
… he had never really left after all.