In the quiet town of Mizukaze, where the wind carried secrets and cherry blossoms bloomed even in winter, lived a boy named Koki Shinju. With hair as silver as moonlight and eyes the color of the deep sea, Koki was often seen as otherworldly. People whispered that he was born during a snowstorm under a blue moon—that he could hear the voice of the wind.
Koki didn't believe in such tales. He believed in silence, in solitude, and in the comfort of routine. Every morning, he walked the hill behind the old shrine, sketchbook in hand, drawing the ever-changing sky.
One day, while sketching under a lone sakura tree, he heard a soft voice carried on the wind.
"You're drawing the sky again?"
He turned to find a girl with hair like autumn fire and a smile that melted the lingering winter chill. Her name was Airi—a transfer student with an odd habit of talking to the wind as if it were an old friend.
Koki raised an eyebrow. "Do I know you?"
"Not yet," she said, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "But the wind does."
From that day, Airi became a part of his world. She followed him on walks, challenged his quiet, and laughed like the spring breeze. Slowly, the stillness Koki lived in began to move. He found himself waiting for her voice, her footsteps, her wind-borne laughter.
But as the seasons changed, so did the whispers of the wind. One day, it carried a warning—one that only Koki could hear:
"She doesn't belong to this world for long."
Koki didn't understand—until Airi confessed the truth.
"I'm not supposed to be here," she said, standing beneath the cherry tree in full bloom. "I was meant to disappear a year ago. But I begged the wind for more time... because I met you."
He reached for her hand, trembling. "So you'll leave again?"
She nodded, tears shimmering. "When the last petal falls."
Koki clenched his fists. "Then I'll wait here. Every day. Until the wind brings you back."
Airi smiled through her tears. "Promise me, Koki... that you'll keep drawing the sky."
And as the wind carried her away with the falling blossoms, Koki did.
He drew her smile in the clouds, her laugh in the breeze, and her warmth in the morning sun.
Years later, under the same tree, the wind whispered again.
"I kept the promise," said a voice behind him.
Koki turned.
There she was—Airi, unchanged, as if no time had passed.
And in that moment, with the wind swirling around them, he understood:
Some love stories are written not in ink, but in wind and petals—and they never truly end.