Over the next few weeks, Haru found himself crossing paths with Aika more often. At first, it was by chance—a shared bus stop, a visit to the same library. But gradually, their encounters became more deliberate.
Aika couldn't help but feel drawn to Haru's quiet kindness. He reminded her of someone she couldn't quite place, someone who had once been a big part of her life. She noticed how he seemed to know things about her without her having to say them, how he could sense when she needed a moment of comfort or laughter.
"You're a lot like someone I used to know," she admitted one day as they walked home from school together.
Haru looked at her, his heart aching. "Who was he?"
"A good friend," she said softly. "But I didn't realize how much he meant to me until it was too late."
Haru wanted to tell her the truth, to say that he was Aito—that he'd come back to find her. But the words felt stuck in his throat. Instead, he smiled gently and said, "I think he'd be happy to know he still means something to you."
As the seasons changed, so did the nature of Haru and Aika's bond. They grew closer, spending more time together, sharing stories, and finding comfort in each other's presence. Aika found herself smiling more often, the weight of her past slowly lifting.
Haru, however, struggled with his growing feelings. He had promised himself that this time, he would confess his love for Aika, no matter how hard it was. But as the days passed, the fear of repeating the past held him back.
One evening, as they sat under a sakura tree—the same one where Aito had first seen her—Haru finally spoke. "Aika, if someone cared about you a lot, but never had the courage to tell you… would you want to know?"
Aika looked at him, surprised by the question. "I think I would. Even if I couldn't feel the same way, I'd want to know. It's better than never knowing at all."