Haruki Aizawa didn't understand what had changed.
For a week, he had waited in the art room like always. His pencils were sharp, his notebook open, his heart quietly eager. But Himari didn't come.
Not Monday. Not Tuesday.
On Wednesday, he waited even longer, watching the door as the shadows shifted on the floor. The art room felt colder without her laughter, without the gentle way she'd lean forward when studying a painting or the way she'd softly hum when sketching.
He didn't want to admit it, but something inside him had started to ache.
And yet—Mayu Kanzaki kept showing up.
She would knock lightly, step inside, and smile like she belonged there.
"I hope I'm not bothering you," she said that day, settling beside him with ease.
Haruki gave her a polite smile. "It's fine."
She glanced at his sketches—portraits, mostly. The same face drawn over and over. Himari's.
Mayu tilted her head. "She's pretty."
He paused. "What?"
"The girl you keep drawing," she said. "Soft eyes, round cheeks. Looks like someone you care about."
Haruki didn't answer.
She smiled. "You know… I used to model for artists. But no one ever looked at me the way you look at your paper."
He shifted in his seat, uncertain. "I'm not looking at anyone. I'm just drawing."
"Hmm," Mayu said, unconvinced.
---
Elsewhere, Himari sat under the sakura tree alone.
It was the same tree where she had first found the letters, where Haruki had stood beneath lanterns and told her she was his spring.
But now the petals only reminded her of what might be fading.
Ayaka sat beside her quietly, kicking her legs.
"Okay," Ayaka said finally, "you're either writing a tragic haiku in your head, or something's seriously wrong."
Himari smiled weakly. "It's nothing."
"Himari."
She sighed. "I don't know. I just… thought something special was starting. But now there's this new girl, and she's beautiful and talented and confident, and I feel like I don't belong in the same story anymore."
Ayaka was quiet for a moment.
"Do you trust him?"
"…I did."
"And do you think someone like Mayu can change how he sees you?"
Himari hesitated. "I don't know. Maybe."
Ayaka placed a hand on hers. "Then find out. Don't sit here waiting for the wind to turn. Walk into the storm."
---
That Friday, Himari returned to the art room.
Her heart beat so loudly she thought it might echo against the walls. She paused at the door, her fingers trembling. Then she slid it open.
Haruki looked up in surprise.
"Himari…"
She stepped inside, bowing her head slightly. "Sorry I haven't been around."
"I thought maybe…" His voice trailed off.
"I was scared," she admitted. "Of being forgotten. Replaced."
Haruki's eyes softened, the pencil slipping from his fingers.
"Replaced?" he said, standing. "Himari, you were never just someone passing through. You're the reason I started drawing again. You're the reason I even believed someone like me could speak their heart."
She looked up at him, eyes wide.
"Mayu's just… someone who wandered into the room," he said, voice firm. "You're the one who changed it."
A long pause.
Then, softly: "Do you still read my letters?"
She reached into her bag, pulled out one he hadn't seen before—a fresh envelope.
"This time," she whispered, "I wrote you one."
Haruki stared at it, stunned.
And when he opened it, her words were the color his world had been missing.