Stepping outside with a heavy heart, Miyano's eyes fell upon the vibrant red roses blooming in the garden. Their beauty seemed to pierce through the heaviness in his chest, pulling him back into a memory long buried in his heart.
"Mom, why are you planting so many roses? Do you love them that much?" Little Miyano had asked, his small hands clutching the hem of her dress as he stared at the rows of budding plants. His voice was curious, his tone innocent, as only a child's could be.
A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and she turned to him, her smile as warm as the morning sun. "Oh, my sweet boy, you're here," she said, crouching to his level and brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "Yes, I do love roses. They're my favorite."
"Why?" he asked, tilting his head in confusion. "What's so special about them?"
She paused, her fingers grazing the delicate leaves of a nearby plant. Her smile softened, and a hint of wistfulness clouded her gaze. "When I was little, like you, I used to pluck roses whenever I saw them. I loved how beautiful they looked in my hands. But do you know what happened next?"
Miyano shook his head, his eyes wide with anticipation.
"They would die," she said quietly, her voice laced with sadness. "No matter how much I loved them, they'd wither within hours. But I couldn't stop. Every time I saw a rose, I'd pluck it again, hoping it would last. And yet, it never did. I was heartbroken."
He frowned, tugging at her sleeve. "So… you stopped picking them?"
She smiled at his innocence, shaking her head. "Not right away. But one day, I realized something important. If I truly loved roses, why was I taking their beauty away? I decided to grow my own rose plants instead. And as I nurtured them, I learned a lesson."
"What lesson?" he asked eagerly.
She reached out and gently took his hand, guiding his fingers to the thorny stem of a rose. "Look closely, Miyano. Roses are beautiful, but they come with thorns. If I want to keep a rose, I have to be willing to endure the pain of the thorns. That's what love is—it's not just about the beauty; it's about the sacrifices we make to protect it."
Her words lingered in the air, a truth that etched itself deep into Miyano's heart.
Now, as he stood in the present, staring at the same garden his mother had lovingly tended, tears pricked his eyes. The roses swayed gently in the breeze, their beauty unchanged, but the absence of her presence was a wound he could never heal.
The memories filled with in his mind
"Mom, " he whispered, his voice breaking, "I finally understand,... Please get well soon
you are the only person who will understand me"
"Miyano!" his brother's voice cut through the quiet, firm and filled with frustration.
His brother walked closer, crossing his arms. "Change your decision, Miyano. Stop acting like this. Don't you love your family anymore?"
Miyano finally looked up, his eyes sharp but weary. "So you all love me only if I stay the way you want? If I pretend to be someone I'm not?" He paused, his voice quieter but filled with hurt. "What's wrong with liking a man? Why is that enough to make me a stranger to my own family?"
His brother stared at him, momentarily speechless. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unresolved.
Then, with a sigh, his brother stepped closer. His voice softened, no longer sharp but tinged with weariness. "Miyano, I'm not against your choice of who to love. It's not about that. But think about our family. We're not just any common household. Think about how much our parents have worked to build their reputation. How much they've sacrificed."
Miyano clenched his fists but said nothing, his gaze fixed on the floor.
His brother hesitated before continuing, his tone growing more pointed. "And let me ask you something. Has anyone truly loved you, Miyano? Beyond your looks or our family's wealth? Has anyone ever cared for you, for who you really are?"
Miyano flinched, his breath catching in his throat.
"No, right?" his brother pressed gently but firmly. "You don't trust them. You know that all they see is your face or the family name. Isn't that why you've always kept people at arm's length?"
Miyano stood frozen, like a motionless doll. His lips quivered, but no words came out. Tears welled in his eyes, threatening to spill, yet he couldn't bring himself to wipe them away.
The weight of his brother's words settled heavily over him, intertwining with his own doubts and fears.
Without a word, Miyano turned and walked toward his car.
"Miyano!" his brother called out,
But Miyano didn't stop. Without even looking back, he got into the car and drove off, leaving the heavy silence behind.
The next day…
As Miyano entered the classroom, he felt the weight of every gaze on him. Conversations faltered, and curious whispers followed him as he made his way to his bench. Within moments, a group of girls surrounded him.
"Miyano-kun, what happened? You look so tired," one of them asked, her voice laced with concern.
"Your eyes are all puffed and red!" another chimed in, leaning closer.
Miyano forced a small smile. "I'm okay. I just had a nightmare, so I couldn't sleep. That's all."
"A nightmare?" a voice cut through the chatter.
The girls turned, expecting it to be Kiyato. Instead, it was Aio, stepping in with a wave of his hand. "Alright, girls, give him some space! Let him breathe!"
The group hesitated before retreating one by one, leaving Aio and Kiyoto behind.
Aio studied him closely, his brow furrowing. "Miyano, you look awful. You should've just taken the day off."
"You should rest if you're not well," Kiyoto added quietly, his tone gentle but laced with worry.
"I'm fine, really," Miyano replied, brushing off their concerns with a faint smile.
Kiyoto hesitated, his gaze fixed on the floor. "If… if you're not feeling better, you can rest in my room after lunch," he offered, his voice soft and careful.
Miyano blinked, a smile tugging at his lips. "Really?"
"If you really want to" Kiyoto mumbled, his face flushed as he hurriedly turned and walked to his seat, avoiding Miyano's eyes.
Miyano watched him go, his smile lingering.