The first cherry blossoms of spring had arrived, delicate and fleeting, as if the entire town had been dusted with pink snow overnight. Haru walked down the narrow cobblestone streets, his school bag slung loosely over one shoulder, and his notebook clutched in the other hand. The petals drifted lazily in the wind, scattering across the sidewalks and into the shallow puddles leftover from last night's rain.
Haru had always loved spring. Not for the festivals, or the new school year, or even the soft warmth of sunlight after months of winter. He loved it for the small things—the way the petals landed on a café window sill, the scent of rain mingling with flowers, or the quiet laughter of children chasing each other through the park. Most people walked past these moments without noticing, but Haru recorded them in his notebook, sketching, writing, capturing life in miniature.
"Aoi! Wait up!" he called, sprinting a few steps to catch his friend.
Aoi, already several meters ahead, turned her head with a playful grin. "Slowpoke!" she laughed, her voice ringing over the quiet street. Her camera swung lightly around her neck, bouncing as she jogged. "If you don't hurry, the best shot will be gone!"
Haru reached her just as she knelt down to photograph a cluster of petals resting on a low stone wall. He paused, catching his breath, and glanced at her through the sunlight that filtered softly between the tree branches. She was impossibly bright in his memory, always moving, always noticing things that others ignored. And she had this way of drawing him out of his shell, even when he didn't want to move.
"You're always so slow," she teased, brushing a stray pink petal from her hair. "How do you even notice anything when you walk like a snail?"
Haru smiled faintly, adjusting the strap of his bag. "I… just notice things," he muttered. He always felt a little awkward trying to explain himself. Observing the world was natural to him, not something to brag about.
"Not just notice, Haru. You see. That's why you should write it down, instead of just keeping it in your head," Aoi said, eyes sparkling. "Have you even thought about entering the writing contest Ms. Natsumi told us about?"
Haru froze. The idea of submitting something he had written—something so personal—was terrifying. What if it's not good enough? What if people laugh at it? He had scribbled countless lines in his notebook, yet the thought of showing them to anyone felt like standing naked in front of a crowd.
"I… I don't know," he whispered, glancing down at the notebook in his hands.
Aoi crouched slightly, leveling her camera at his face. "You do know. I can see it in the way you look at the world, Haru. You notice the little things, the things that make people feel alive… That's exactly why you should write. Come on. You can do it. I believe in you."
Haru looked down at her outstretched hand, the morning sunlight catching the edge of her sleeve. For a brief moment, he wanted to reach for it, to let someone else pull him forward. And maybe that was the first spark of courage he had felt in a long time.
The streets were alive with spring. A few students hurried past, their laughter echoing across the walls of the small town. The café on the corner had opened for the morning, sending wafts of coffee and fresh bread into the air. Haru let his gaze linger on the simple scene: the pastries displayed behind the glass, the barista tidying up the tables, a stray cat perched lazily on the windowsill.
He opened his notebook. The pages were worn at the edges, filled with small sketches, incomplete sentences, and fragments of observations. He began to write.
Petals fall like memories—soft, fleeting, impossible to hold. But beautiful enough to remember.
Aoi peeked over his shoulder, smiling. "See? You're already halfway there. That's the kind of thing that could win the contest."
Haru felt his chest tighten. Part of him wanted to keep hiding, to continue writing only for himself. But another part—an almost impatient, insistent part—urged him forward. Maybe, just maybe, sharing his words wasn't as terrifying as he thought.
By the time school started, he had filled a few pages. Each sentence felt like a small victory, each observation a gentle step toward something he had been avoiding for years. He tucked the notebook carefully into his bag, letting the familiar weight settle against him, and walked with Aoi toward the school gates.
The morning air carried a chill, but it was softened by sunlight and the distant scent of flowers. Haru's mind lingered on the petals, the café, the cat, and the laughter he had seen. Life is ordinary, he thought, but maybe that's where the stories live.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt that maybe he could capture them.
As the school bell rang, he opened his notebook one last time before class, writing a single line:
Tomorrow, I will try. Tomorrow, I will write my story.
He looked up at the cherry blossoms outside the window and smiled faintly. The petals swirled in the wind like whispers, reminding him that even fleeting moments could leave a lasting mark.