The wind moved gently over the hill, bending the tall grass in slow waves. A child's voice carried through the air, light and bright.
"Hana!"
Hana stopped halfway up the slope and lifted her head. Above her, the hill widened into a crown of wildflowers—white, blue, and pale yellow swaying beneath the open sky. At the very top lies Yakumo, arms folded beneath his head, staring upward as if the world below didn't exist.
She huffed and climbed the rest of the way, brushing dirt from her knees. "You're doing it again," she said, standing over him with her hands on her hips. "Just lying there, looking at the clouds. They all look the same."
Yakumo didn't sit up right away. He turned his head slightly, dark hair tickled by the breeze, and smiled as if he'd been caught doing something important. "They don't," he said. "They just move slowly. You have to watch for a while."
Hana followed his gaze despite herself. The sky stretched endlessly above them, blue and clear, clouds drifting lazily like unhurried thoughts. "They're just… white blobs," she insisted, though her voice softened.
Yakumo laughed quietly. "They're nice and pretty," he said. "And peaceful. When I'm here, it feels like nothing bad can reach me."
Hana hesitated, then lowered herself into the flowers beside him. The petals brushed her arms, warm from the sun, and the grass bent softly beneath her weight. She stared up at the sky, blinking against the brightness. The clouds moved—not all at once, not dramatically—but steadily, changing shape inch by inch.
"…They do seem kind of nice," she admitted. "But don't you get bored just staring at them all day?"
Yakumo turned his head toward her, eyes bright. "I don't get bored," he said happily. "It's really fun. And I'm happy I can share it with you, Hana."
Her heart jumped in a way she didn't quite understand. Heat rushed to her cheeks, and she looked away quickly, pretending to watch the clouds. "Then," she said, words tumbling out before she could stop them, "you have to marry me. You shared your secret spot with me."
Yakumo froze.
For a moment, only the wind answered, whispering through the flowers. Then his face turned red, all the way to the tips of his ears. He pushed himself up on one elbow, unsure but earnest. "O-Okay," he said. "When we're older… I'll marry you."
Hana smiled so wide it hurt.
They lay back down together, shoulders almost touching, watching the clouds drift by in silence. The sun warmed their skin, the breeze carried laughter from somewhere far below the hill, and the moment settled into memory—quiet, perfect, and fragile.
—
Ten years later, bells rang softly through a sunlit hall.
Hana stood at the entrance, her hands trembling as she held her bouquet. The dress felt heavier than she expected, layers of white fabric brushing the floor with every step. She took a breath and lifted her eyes.
At the altar stood Yakumo.
He wore a dark suit that fit him perfectly, his posture straight but tense, as if he might float away if he didn't concentrate hard enough on staying still. When he saw her, all that tension melted into pure, unmistakable joy. His smile was the same one she remembered from the hill—open, honest, and full of warmth.
As she walked toward him, the world narrowed. The murmurs of guests blurred together, footsteps echoed distantly, and all she could hear was her own heartbeat. We really grew up, she thought. But we're still here.
Their vows were spoken with voices that wavered only slightly. Rings were exchanged, hands clasped tightly, as if either of them might disappear if they let go. Applause filled the hall, laughter followed, and soon the guests were swept away into celebration.
But the bride and groom were nowhere to be found.
They had slipped away quietly, changing nothing but their destination.
The hill greeted them just as it always had.
Hana kicked off her shoes, lifting the hem of her dress as she climbed, laughing breathlessly. Yakumo followed, loosening his tie, the two of them moving with the same familiar rhythm they'd shared since childhood. At the top, the flower bed spread wide beneath the open sky.
They collapsed into the grass, wedding clothes and all.
The clouds drifted above them, slow and unchanging.
Yakumo laughed, turning his head toward her. "They're still nice," he said.
Hana smiled, eyes tracing the sky. "They're still not the same," she replied. Then, softer, "But I think that's why I like them."
The wind passed over the hill once more, carrying petals and promises alike. And beneath the endless sky, they lay together—laughing, breathing, remembering—as if nothing else in the world mattered at all.
The clouds moved on, slow and silent, and neither of them noticed how easily even the most peaceful things could begin to change.