December 20th

Dear Toushiro-kun,

Happy Birthday! Can you believe it? You're 16 now! What presents have you gotten? Are you having a party? Guess what? It's snowing right now here in Nara, and a lot too! From my window, it looks like sparkles are falling outside. I just tried taking a picture outside of all the snow. I put the picture here but it's not very good because I was shivering. It's very cold here. But it's weird in a way. Remember when Yoshino-cho had its biggest blizzard in history? We were ten and we played outside all night; we laid in the snow making angels and even got lost in the storm when it was past our bedtime—but I don't remember it being so cold back then. All I can remember is how much fun I had.

I sent you a present. Surprise! I baked matcha cupcakes with amanatto in them for you! That's your favorite, right? Anyways; Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday, Happy Birthday! I hope all your wishes come true (oh, but remember not to give away what you wish for when you blow out the candles like you did for your 11th birthday)!

From,

Momo

The green tea cake was crumbly and stale; the polka-dotted baking cups somewhat worn. It probably would've tasted nice if he hadn't received the package with the letter on January 10th, three weeks after his birthday. It would've tasted delicious straight out of the oven, or even the next day, if they were still going to the same school and he could still bike over to her house at night just to talk.

But he ate them—all three of the dry cupcakes. As he looked at the empty cupcake liners, he was sure that his stomach would pay the price of eating food that had gone through weeks inside a musty delivery truck. He willed himself to like them. The amanatto combined with the frosting left a sweet aftertaste on his tongue, a kind of taste that he remembered used to light his eyes up more than the candles on his birthday cake.

Now it just tasted too sweet.

He wondered exactly when he had lost the boy he used to be. Where did he go? In biology class, he learned that humans lose nearly half a million skin cells each day. Maybe that's how people changed over time, shedding little pieces of themselves into the air until they found themselves a new person.

At least he was still stubborn. Even still, time had made him mature enough to realize that he was fighting a lost battle. No matter how much he read the message on the back of the Princess Bride, the thought of her kept slipping from his mind. That's what hurt about finding her letters in the mailbox. He would go on for days, his mind occupied with kendo, exams, new friends…accustomed to his new life until the neat curls and curves of her handwriting punctured something deep inside of him all over again, causing all the memories he had forgotten to spill out and drown him in renewed loneliness.

He had finished the Princess Bride, partially in attempt to dig between the lines and perhaps find more of the seconds underneath the fireworks they had shared, or maybe hear the bell tone of her laugh when he fell off the tree that summer day. In all honesty, he felt no closer to her after reading her favorite book. If anything, it brought to light just how short their mail exchanges were becoming.

Perhaps Hinamori could feel the distance in their handwriting as well. Had she noticed that their promise to tell each other every detail of their lives was fading? That neither of them could keep up with the rate at which time was pulling them apart? Her letters weren't enough to imagine life back in Yoshino-cho. She had friends he didn't know. Exams she didn't speak of. Jokes and laughter she had no time to share. He was sure his letters were not truly reaching her either.

Their words were falling short, like a ball bobbing in the river in between two children who played catch on opposite banks and could do nothing else but hope.

He wondered if people could really be like Buttercup and Westley from the fairy tale, or Orihime and Hikoboshi from the Tanabata legend. He wondered if everyday people like him and Hinamori could retain the same feelings for each other forever. He wondered if one day, he and Hinamori would stop hoping, if all the lunchtimes in the library and the watermelon eating and the fireworks they shared would dissipate into meaningless dust.

It scared him. So much so that he regretted not having seen her in person before he left Yoshino-cho. If he hadn't been so scared to say goodbye. If he had just said how much she meant to him…

Perhaps that would've made a difference.

But he still clung onto happily ever afters and wanted to believe in fate. And it was with that desperation that he wrote at the end of his letter to her:

Hey, Hinamori—let's meet again at Tanabata this year.

June 2nd

Dear Toushiro-kun,

These past two weeks have been pretty normal for me. Our literature club has started a new book and the baking club is running a fundraiser. I can't remember anything else really important; Vorarlberna-kun talked back at a teacher the other day and it was really funny…but it's kind of hard to explain the joke. Anyways, it's been busy like always, and I wish I could have more time to write to you. But if I take the time to write more, then more days will pass by, and we'll be even more behind on each other's lives. I wish I could have a cell phone…maybe my parents will get me one for my birthday…

On the bright side, there's only a little bit over a month (35 days to be exact!) before we get to see each other again! Have you planned out your trip completely yet? Maybe if I ask my parents, you can stay at my house. Then we can have more time to talk and catch up with each other! I'm really excited…35 days seems too long!

From,

Momo

June 15th

Dear Hinamori,

I can't wait to see you either. I'm still saving some money to pay for a train ride to Yoshino-cho. My parents don't know about this, because if they did, they would say that it's too much money. That's all they seem to care about these days. They are always away from home to work, and if they are home they are too busy arguing over the bills for having Oba-san stay in the hospital. They don't tell me anything, but I think we're in financial trouble

Hey, Hinamori, I want to move back. I don't want to stay in Okayama-shi anymore. When I buy a ticket, I want to buy a one-way ticket. I'm sure I can live on my own; I'm 16 and I can find a job over there. I'm sure I'll be much happier in Yoshino-cho than I am here.

From,

Toushiro.

June 20st

Dear Toushiro-kun,

When I read that you're planning to stay here again, I couldn't stop smiling for the whole day. My parents asked me what happened, but don't worry, I haven't told them anything since this will be a secret between us.

I looked into apartments in our town this morning. I called an agent and pretended to be 18. He told me that there are a lot of really cheap apartments in town, so if you find a job here, it won't be a problem! That's right—I just realized; when you move here we'll be attending the same school again! We can go to the Culture Festival together and everything!

From,

Momo.

June 27th

Dear Hinamori,

I bought my ticket today. I have to change lines at three stations: Shin-Osaka, Tennouji, and Yamato-Kamiichi. I'm leaving at 3 in the afternoon and it'll take around 4 hours, just in time for the Tanabata festival. I told my parents that I'll be at a kendo tournament for the weekend, so they won't suspect anything for a while since they never bother checking up with me anyway.

I'm just as happy as you are about this, Hinamori. Let's watch the fireworks together again with just the two of us soon.

From,

Toushiro.

July 3rd

Dear Toushiro-kun.

I hope this letter reaches you in time! This is just a quick letter but I have good news! My parents really did get me a cell phone for my birthday! Anyways, we can talk more once we meet but I just wanted to give you my phone number so that you can call me if anything happens! It's 81-7473-2245.

See you soon! I can't believe it, we're going to be able to see each other everyday again!

From,

Momo

He looked at her last letter, noticing how atypically uneven her handwriting seemed, as if she could hardly contain her excitement when she had wrote it. Sitting at a desk with the light coral stationary underneath a lamplight, moving her right hand eagerly with that pink pen with a strawberry eraser top…he could picture her.

But after tonight, he wouldn't have to do any picturing anymore.

Jamming the folded letter into his pocket, he zipped up his travel bag after one last check for any important items he was missing…some clothes, his toothbrush, fifteen boxes of Pocky, the copy of The Princess Bride, and his savings from work, which he kept in his wallet.

Truth be told, he would've earned enough money to buy his tickets months ago, if his mother didn't take a twenty dollar bill once every other week, sometimes for groceries, other times for gas money. She knew where he hid his wallet—the lowest drawer of his desk, underneath his pencil case—and would slip into his room early morning to find it, thinking that he was obliviously asleep. She never admitted to it. And he never confronted her about it. Something told him that if he did, both he and his parents would lose something dear; he would no longer be the five year old who sat wholly dependent on his father's shoulders, believing in his parent's strong, tall build as he tried to catch snowflakes in his tongue.

Yet as he walked down the hallway that lead to the front door, his footsteps echoing throughout the constantly empty home, he realized that missing from his wallet this time was not a few dollars, but his ticket.

"Toushiro. What's this?"

He stiffened at the sound of his mother's terse tone; he had not expected anyone to be home this early in the afternoon.

"Mine."

"You bought a ticket to Yoshino-shi behind my back?"

The way she had her hand on one hip, and the other waving the ticket as if it were a trivial scrap of paper caused the veins in his hands to pulse. It was as if she was actually shocked—even if she and his father were never home in the first place. He coiled his fingers into a fist, trying to maintain a cool voice, "It's my money. I can do what I want with it."

"What are you going to do there alone? How do you plan on getting back?"

"I'm not." He replied brusquely.

"What?"

"I'm not coming back."

"Don't be ridiculous, Toushiro. You can't go. Be reasonable."

He stubbornly clenched his jaw, "I'm going."

"No, you're not." Her voice started to rise.

"Yes, I am." He argued, matching the increase in volume. "Give me the ticket back."

"How are you going to support yourself? Where are you going to live?"

"I'm 16! I'm old enough!"

"Toushiro, listen to me—

"No! Give it back!" He glared at her with the icy eyes he inherited.

"I don't get it. You've never been like this before. You've always been a good son. What's happened to you?"

"I hate it here! Don't you get it? I always have! The only reason why you never notice is because you and Oto-san are never here to ask! It's always been like this! Nobody cares what I want!"

"Don't be selfish, Toushiro!" She hissed, "You know why your Oto-san and I do what we do. Oba-san needs the medication and surgery. Be mature."

"I'm sick of it!" His voice cracked like fire as he yelled, "I'm sick of you stealing my money all the time! I'm sick of losing all my friends! I'm sick of moving! It's my life! You can't control it!"

"Toushi—

Her anger was interrupted by the ring of her cell phone. She paused to answer, the ticket still in her hand as he remained frozen in a determined glower.

"Hello? Yes, speaking. Yes….yes…oh my God." She covered her mouth in worry before shutting the phone. As he expected from experiences of her leaving the dinner table or forgetting to pick him up from school due to a call, she said, "We'll finish this conversation later."

And with that she hurried out the door.

The ticket was left on the tabletop. Roughly brushing away the watery heat that stung the corner of his eyes, he snatched it and left.

The evening was colder than what he had expected. He looked up at the sky; the stars outnumbered the number of people at the sparsely populated train station, their pin-point white transcended distance and pricked his skin, sending shivers throughout his body.

He looked over to the station clock with a tired, blue-gray glance. After an hour of fuming on the train, all that remained was ashes in his stomach, a left-over, smoky exhaustion. Now he was waiting, yet again; this time at Tennouji Station, where the train to Yamato-Kamiichi was running behind schedule. He tapped his fingers against his knees, ate a stick of Pocky, tapped out some more, then ate another stick.

He told himself that soon, the wait alone would be over. That the next time he walked out the sliding train doors, heard the monotone announcer's voice repeated voice would be the last time. He imagined what it would be like. At first, he would be among a crowd of strangers—apathetic, passing by him, as always. But then he would find her standing among them. Her hands would be clasped behind her back as she called out his name. He would greet her, maybe get a hug from her. They would talk. She would walk beside him with that typical bounce in her step, her shoulders shrugged ever so slightly as she tilted her head in the cheery yet attentive manner. Outside the station, the fireworks would start—the brown in her eyes would have red little blossoms, then bright blue buds. Then he would tell her.

He would tell her how much he cared about her, everything about her; from her smile to the way she bit her lower lip when she was confused or the arc of her eyelashes when she laughed. He clung onto that self-promise, in hopes that it was his chance at a form of stability or better yet, a fairy tale eternity.

But the train was now half an hour late.

At one moment, he was tempted to get up and walk the rest of the way on his own feet. But even he was reasonable enough to know that such a thing would be impossible. So he flipped through his wallet, trying to calculate how much cab fare was. Seconds felt like minutes, minutes felt like hours.

It just seemed like everything was against them being together again—and that was reality.

"Toushiro."

He looked up and found the sight of his mother after a long car drive, her mascara smudged, eyes damp.

"It's Oba-san. Toushiro:

Oba-san passed away."

She watched the first firework burst in a sparkling blue-green, a color that reminded her of his eyes. Although she had been standing at the station for hours, and the people on the last train of the day had already dispersed, she refused to sit. She wanted to make sure she would be standing when he came. So instead, she leaned against the pole and continued to watch the light show, feeling the cool summer air against her arms, the absence by her side.

Alone and in the dark, her heart whispered to keep waiting, all while the tear that trickled down her cheek reflected the glimmer of the fireworks and broken naivety.

Hello there! Sorry for the 1 week break, but thanks for reading! Please leave reviews if you can :)