By the time the seventh spring rolled across Kirishima Bay, the camellias had grown so thick they spilled down the cliffs like waves of red fire.
The air carried the same scent of salt and earth that had always greeted Aoi Nakamura and Miyako Takahashi every morning.
The rhythm of their life had become so seamless, so quiet, that sometimes the days felt like pages in the same long, gentle book.
But even the calmest seas bring new tides.
This time, it came to them in the form of two girls who reminded them of everything they once were.
---
It began one afternoon when Aoi was finishing her sketch of the shoreline.
The light had turned soft and gold; Miyako was hanging clothes outside, humming faintly.
That was when they heard the commotion down by the pier — the sound of raised voices, muffled sobs, the sharp edge of shame that both of them recognized too easily.
Aoi set her brush aside. "It sounds like an argument."
Miyako frowned, shading her eyes. "No… it sounds like someone being cornered."
They followed the noise to the docks, where two teenage girls stood surrounded by a small crowd of locals. One had short hair dyed light brown, eyes defiant but trembling; the other stood slightly behind her, shoulders shaking.
An older fisherman pointed at them. "If they want to act like that, they shouldn't do it in public! This is still a decent town!"
The short-haired girl lifted her chin. "We weren't doing anything wrong!"
Her voice cracked on the last word.
Miyako's expression darkened — not with anger, but something deeper. Recognition.
Aoi didn't hesitate. She stepped forward. "That's enough."
The fisherman blinked, startled. "Aoi-san? This isn't—"
"It is," she said quietly, her tone carrying a weight that silenced him. "You're better than this."
The crowd shifted, uncertain.
Everyone in Kirishima knew who Aoi and Miyako were — their story had long become part of the town's quiet pride.
The short-haired girl's eyes widened when she saw them. "You're— you're the painter."
Aoi smiled gently. "And she's the one who taught me courage."
Miyako stepped beside her, her presence calm but firm. "Go home, everyone. There's nothing here to stare at."
One by one, the townspeople dispersed, some muttering apologies, others ashamed.
When the pier was empty, the girls stood trembling, unsure what to do.
Aoi extended her hand. "Come. Let's get you out of the cold."
---
They brought the girls back to their cottage.
The younger one, with brown hair, introduced herself as Rika. The quieter one, with soft eyes and trembling hands, was Nanase.
They were both seventeen, still in school, still learning how to name what they felt.
Rika spoke first, voice small but fierce. "We didn't mean to cause trouble. I just held her hand. That's all."
Miyako poured tea, her expression warm. "That's never all, is it?"
Rika hesitated, then shook her head. "No."
Nanase's voice was barely a whisper. "Everyone found out. My parents… they told me to stay away from her. They said people like us don't belong here."
Aoi sat beside her. "That's what they told me once, too."
Both girls looked up, startled.
Miyako smiled softly. "We know what it's like to be afraid. To think you have to choose between love and the world."
Aoi added, "But you don't. You just have to choose yourself."
Rika's eyes filled with tears. "How? You make it sound so easy."
Aoi reached across the table, her voice trembling but sure. "It's never easy. But one day you'll wake up and realize that the world didn't end. You're still here. And so is your love. That's how."
---
Over the weeks that followed, the two girls began to visit often.
Sometimes after school, sometimes after arguments at home, sometimes just to sit by the sea where no one judged them.
Rika was bold, curious, full of restless energy that reminded Aoi of Miyako's younger self — all sharp edges and quiet fears.
Nanase was gentle, thoughtful, always sketching little doodles in the sand that disappeared when the tide came in.
Aoi taught her how to paint with watercolors, patient and encouraging.
Miyako helped Rika with her studies, telling her stories of the years she spent teaching in Tokyo.
Slowly, laughter returned to their cottage — a different kind of laughter, younger, untamed, full of the awkward bravery that only comes from first love.
---
One evening, Rika stood by the water, watching the waves.
Miyako joined her.
"Do you ever stop being scared?" Rika asked quietly.
Miyako smiled. "No. You just learn to carry the fear differently."
Rika looked at her, eyes searching. "Did people ever forgive you?"
Miyako's voice softened. "Some did. Some never will. But the ones who mattered — they learned from us. That's what forgiveness looks like."
Rika nodded slowly. "I want to be like that someday."
Miyako laughed gently. "You already are."
---
Later that night, Aoi found Nanase cleaning up the brushes in the small studio.
"You're good," Aoi said, glancing at the small watercolor on the table — a rough but heartfelt image of two figures standing against the sea.
Nanase blushed. "It's supposed to be you two."
Aoi smiled, touched. "It's beautiful."
Nanase hesitated. "Do you think people like us will ever just be… normal?"
Aoi thought for a moment. "Maybe one day. But I don't think we were meant to be normal. I think we were meant to remind people what love looks like when it's honest."
Nanase's eyes shimmered. "You really believe that?"
Aoi nodded. "Completely."
---
By summer, Rika and Nanase had decided to move to Tokyo after graduation — together.
They wanted to study art and teaching, just like Aoi and Miyako once had.
On their last night in Kirishima, they visited the cottage one final time.
The sunset was deep orange, the sea glowing gold as it met the horizon.
They ate dinner together, laughing, remembering, promising.
When it was time to leave, Rika hugged Miyako tightly. "Thank you. For showing us we could be brave."
Miyako smiled, tears in her eyes. "Thank you for reminding us why we had to be."
Nanase hugged Aoi, whispering, "We'll come back. I'll paint this place someday."
Aoi nodded, smiling through her tears. "We'll be waiting."
---
After they left, the house felt strangely quiet.
Miyako poured tea, setting one cup in front of Aoi. "You okay?"
Aoi smiled faintly. "They remind me of us."
Miyako nodded. "Then the world really is changing."
Aoi looked out at the sea, the waves catching the fading light. "You think they'll be okay?"
Miyako leaned against her shoulder. "They will. Because they're not alone anymore."
Aoi closed her eyes, listening to the sound of the waves. "Neither are we."
---
That night, they stood together on the porch, watching the stars shimmer over the ocean.
Miyako slipped her arm around Aoi's waist. "Do you ever think," she said softly, "that maybe this is what we were meant to do? Not just live — but leave something behind?"
Aoi smiled, her voice barely above a whisper. "We already have."
She looked out at the horizon, where two small lights flickered from a departing ferry — Rika and Nanase, sailing toward their own beginning.
And in that moment, Aoi understood something she hadn't before:
Their love wasn't just survival anymore.
It was inheritance.
---