It started as a whisper in the bustling cafeteria. Kaito had been sitting with his friends, absently pushing his lunch around on his tray. He wasn't particularly hungry, as usual, and his mind was elsewhere—on memories of Hana, on the sketchbook he had been filling with drawings inspired by her absence.
"Hey, did you hear about the new art exhibit downtown?"
The question came from a classmate at a nearby table. Kaito barely noticed until the words that followed hit him like a bolt of lightning.
"I heard a girl named Hana is one of the featured artists. Isn't that the name of that quiet girl who transferred a while back?"
Kaito froze. His chopsticks clattered against his tray. His friend Yuto looked at him, confused. "Kaito? You okay?"
"Hana?" Kaito asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He leaned toward the other table, interrupting their conversation. "What did you just say about Hana?"
The classmate blinked in surprise. "Oh, I said I heard there's an art exhibit downtown. One of the artists has the same name—Hana Matsui, I think?"
Kaito's heart skipped a beat. Could it really be her? The thought sent a rush of adrenaline through his veins. He hadn't heard anything about Hana since her letter. There was no return address, no contact information, just her words to hold onto. And yet here was a rumor—a hint that she might be nearby.
"Are you sure it's her?" Kaito asked, his voice rising with urgency.
The classmate shrugged. "I don't know for sure, but the name stood out. She was kind of unforgettable, you know? Quiet, but there was something about her. Anyway, the exhibit opens tomorrow. You could go and see for yourself."
That evening, Kaito couldn't focus on anything else. He sat at his desk, staring at the purple sketchbook he had bought, his pencil hovering over the page. His thoughts were a tangled mess of hope, doubt, and nervous energy. Could it really be Hana? Or was it just a coincidence?
The possibility of seeing her again made his chest ache. He wanted to believe it was true, but what if it wasn't? What if he went there and found a stranger instead?
Still, Kaito knew he couldn't let the chance pass by. He had to know.
The next day, Kaito stood outside the art gallery, his heart pounding in his chest. The building was modest, with large glass windows that showcased some of the artwork inside. A banner hanging above the entrance read: "Emerging Artists of Tomorrow: A Celebration of Young Talent."
Taking a deep breath, Kaito stepped inside. The air was cool and filled with the faint scent of paint. The gallery was quiet, with only a handful of visitors strolling through the exhibits. Kaito scanned the room, his eyes darting from painting to painting, looking for any sign of her.
He turned a corner and stopped dead in his tracks.
There, hanging on the wall, was a painting he recognized instantly. It was a scene from the park they had visited together, the one where they'd spent countless hours talking and laughing. The details were unmistakable—the old stone bench, the tall oak tree, the soft light filtering through the leaves. But what struck him most was the figure sitting on the bench.
It was him.
The boy in the painting had Kaito's unruly hair, his slouched posture, even the small, lopsided smile that Hana had always teased him about. His breath caught in his throat as he stepped closer, his hand reaching out as if to touch the canvas.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Kaito turned, startled by the voice. A gallery attendant stood nearby, smiling politely. "The artist has a gift for capturing emotion. This piece has been getting a lot of attention."
"Do you know who painted it?" Kaito asked, his voice trembling.
The attendant nodded. "Hana Matsui. She's incredibly talented. She's one of the youngest artists featured in this exhibit. I believe she's here today, actually. She's in the back room, speaking with some of the other artists."
Kaito's heart leapt. She was here. Hana was here. Without another word, he hurried toward the back of the gallery, his steps quick and determined.
The back room was smaller, filled with easels, unfinished sketches, and a few people chatting quietly. Kaito scanned the room, his eyes searching for her. And then, he saw her.
Hana stood near a window, her back to him. She was holding a sketchpad, speaking softly to another artist. Her hair was tied back, and she wore a simple dress, but there was something different about her—something confident, radiant.
"Hana," Kaito called out before he could stop himself.
She turned slowly, her eyes widening in surprise as they met his. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The world seemed to fall away, leaving just the two of them in that tiny room.
"Kaito?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
He took a step closer, his chest tight with emotions he couldn't put into words. "It's really you."
Hana smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up her face. "I didn't think I'd see you again."
Kaito let out a shaky laugh. "Neither did I. But I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye again."
Hana's smile softened, and she closed the distance between them. "You're still as dramatic as ever."
"And you're still as bossy as ever," Kaito shot back, a grin spreading across his face.
For the first time in weeks, the emptiness inside him seemed to lift. She was here. She was real. And for now, that was all that mattered.