The days after the café meeting slipped by in a blur of routine and restless thoughts. Classes, errands, and stolen moments alone under the cherry blossoms, each felt heavier, as if I was carrying more than just my books and worries.
The lottery money was safely tucked away in my new savings account, but it no longer felt like a miracle. It was just a number on a screen, cold and impersonal. What I really wanted was something I couldn't buy: peace.
One afternoon, while studying in the library, I noticed her again, the woman who had given me those five dollars. She was sitting by the window, absorbed in a book, sunlight catching her hair like a halo. My heart thudded in a strange mix of gratitude and nervousness.
Gathering courage, I approached her. "Hi," I said softly.
She looked up, surprised but smiled warmly. "Haruki, right?"
I nodded. "I wanted to thank you again… for everything."
She closed her book gently. "You don't need to thank me. You've already taken the first steps."
We talked for a while, about small things, books, campus life, and the kind of dreams that felt too big to say aloud. For the first time in months, I felt a connection that wasn't filled with fear or judgment.
"Sometimes," she said, "life doesn't hand us chances on a silver platter. We have to reach out and grab them, even when it's scary."
Her words settled into me like seeds in fertile soil.
Over the next few weeks, we met often. She became a quiet anchor, helping me see beyond my past and the bullying that still lingered like a dark cloud.
But not everyone was happy.
One afternoon, as I walked home from class, Kazuki and Ryo appeared again, this time with different intentions. Their faces were less hostile, more calculating.
"Let's talk," Kazuki said, blocking my path.
I stood my ground. "There's nothing left to say."
Ryo smirked. "You think you're better than us now, don't you? Money doesn't change who you really are."
Their words stung, but I refused to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.
"I'm done with this," I said quietly, and pushed past them.
That night, I sat by my window, the city lights flickering below like distant stars. The woman's voice echoed in my mind: "The real work begins now."
I realized the journey wasn't about the money or escaping my past, it was about building something stronger inside me.
And for the first time, I believed I could.