Chapter Text
The cold of the afternoon seeped into his bones.
He could feel it creeping into every corner of his body; not even the thick coat he wore could protect him from the icy air. Each time he exhaled, a small whitish cloud floated in front of his face before fading away.
The only thing keeping him steady where he stood was his grandmother’s hand, holding his gently, as if trying to pass on a bit of warmth and calm.
Before them stood a small tree. It was still young, barely strong enough to withstand the wind shaking its bare branches. At its base lay some withered flowers, their petals having lost almost all their color.
Jinshi looked down at the rose he held between his small fingers. He studied it for a few seconds before letting go of his grandmother’s gentle hold and crouching in front of the tree, setting it down softly by the trunk.
“Grandma…” His high voice could barely be heard over the noise of the cars passing by on the street.
Suiren looked down at him, her eyes softening.
“Yes, Yue?”
The boy stayed quiet for a few seconds, gathering the courage to ask the question that had been circling in his mind for days.
“Did my mom… love me?”
Suiren carefully took Yue’s small hand.
“I’m sure she did…”
Jinshi slowly raised his gaze. His amethyst-colored eyes reflected an innocence that was painful to look at.
“Then… why did she abandon me?”
The wind blew through the branches again.
Suiren felt a lump in her throat. She had imagined this moment many times, but no answer was ever enough for a child who simply wanted to understand why his mother wasn’t there.
She knelt down in front of him and carefully brushed a strand of hair from his young face. She gave him a gentle smile, tinged with a sadness Jinshi was still too young to understand.
“Some questions take a long time to find an answer,” she said softly. “And some never find one at all, Yue.”
Jinshi lowered his head. He didn’t press further, but he did glance down at the grass beneath his feet.
“Do you know why we planted this tree?” Suiren asked, her eyes full of tenderness.
Jinshi shook his head.
“Because even small things can grow if someone takes care of them. Someday, this little tree will become a beautiful cherry tree.”
The boy looked back at the tree. It was thin, its branches just beginning to stretch out. It had no leaves or blossoms yet, and the wind seemed determined to bend it again and again.
“Whenever you feel sad… you can come here.”
“Here?”
Jinshi nodded, a small smile spreading across her face.
“Tell the tree what’s in your heart. It might not be able to answer you, but it will always be willing to listen.”
Yue stayed quiet for a moment before nodding slowly.
With his free hand, he reached for the scarf around his neck and ran his fingertips over it. It was soft and always smelled the same. His grandmother had told him it likely belonged to his mother, who had been with him the day she found him.
Then he carefully opened the old sketchbook. The pages were a little worn and yellowed with time, but every drawing still looked perfect to his eyes.
Dresses.
Coats.
Outfits.
Garments he still didn’t fully understand, but that he looked at again and again, as if among those lines he might find some trace of the woman who had drawn them.
He slowly flipped through the pages.
Then, with trembling hands, he took hold of one of the corners.
Suiren’s eyes widened slightly.
It was the first time she had seen Yue tear a page from the sketchbook.
The boy folded it with the utmost care, as if afraid of damaging it, and handed the sketchbook back to his grandmother.
“Grandma… can I bury the page too?” he asked slowly.
There was a flicker of surprise in Suiren’s eyes, but she nodded.
Seeing that he had his grandmother’s approval, Yue crouched in front of the tree and, with his small hands, moved some of the dirt aside.
Then he stood up and opened the lid of the box they had brought specifically for burying a few things.
Yue’s hand paused for a few seconds before reaching inside the box.
“Yue…?” Suiren asked.
Jinshi didn’t answer; he just stared at what was on the page.
Drawn on it was the sketch of a dress.
It was made with such delicacy and passion that Yue’s heart ached inside his chest.
After looking at it for a few moments, he wiped his hand across his eyes.
He placed the drawing in the box and closed it.
Suiren placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently.
“Let’s bury it with the shovel we brought; it’ll be easier,” his grandmother said.
Yue nodded, blinking away the wetness that had gathered in his eyes.
Jinshi handed the box to Suiren, and she set it down in the hole they had dug a few moments before.
Suiren offered the shovel to Yue with a soft smile.
“Do you want to bury it?”
Jinshi hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
Suiren and Yue began filling in the hole together.
They didn’t stop until it was completely full of dirt. Jinshi smoothed out the unevenly packed soil until it was level.
Yue took his grandmother’s hand and moved closer to her, seeking warmth.
“Grandma…”
She smiled at him tenderly.
“Yes?”
Jinshi tightened his grip on the end of his scarf.
“Do you think… if I become a designer someday… Mom will recognize my drawings?”
His voice was barely a whisper.
“Do you think she’ll come looking for me?”
And if she found him, would she abandon him again?
“And you… will you leave me too?”
Suiren’s heart shattered.
She crouched down to Yue’s level and adjusted his scarf to better shield him from the freezing wind. Then she took one of his small hands in hers and squeezed it tenderly.
“I won’t leave you, Yue. Never.”
“Do you promise?”
“I promise.” His grandmother pulled him into her arms and held him tightly. “It’s time to go home.”
Despite everything, Suiren wasn’t Yue’s biological grandmother — they weren’t even blood relatives. From the day she found him on her doorstep, he stopped being someone else’s son. To her, he was simply Yue.
And so, that boy was her Yue.
Jinshi cast one last glance at the tree and waved goodbye.
“See you later, Mr. Tree.”
Yue hoped that, someday, that little tree would grow into a great and beautiful cherry tree, just as his grandmother had said — and that someday, he too could make drawings as beautiful as the ones in her sketchbook.
Without another word, he walked home beside his grandmother.