Chapter 7: The Letter With No Fear
Haruki sat on the empty stairwell behind the school, the soft spring breeze brushing against his cheek.
He held the letter in his hand like it was made of glass.
For so long, he had been the writer. The anonymous poet. The silent artist hiding behind paper and ink, never sure his words would even be read. His feelings had always existed in shadows—unspoken, unreturned, safe in solitude.
But now, in his hand, was a letter addressed to him.
From her.
He turned the envelope over once more. Her handwriting was small, careful, a little nervous. Just like her.
He opened it.
Inside was a single page, folded neatly. He unfolded it slowly, fingers trembling.
> Dear Haruki,
I wasn't sure how to start this. I've never written a real letter to someone I like. I was always the girl who just dreamed quietly. The one who watched the sky but never touched it.
But then your letters started appearing.
At first, they made me smile. Then, they made me curious. Then… they made me feel seen. Like someone out there had noticed not just what I did, but who I was. The version of me I never showed anyone.
You gave me courage.
And now, I want to give you something in return.
I'm not perfect. I get jealous. I overthink. Sometimes I get scared that someone better will come along and you'll realize I was just… a quiet daydream.
But even with that fear, I want to stand beside you.
Not just under sakura trees or in quiet art rooms.
I want to be the person you draw, not because you have to—but because you want to.
So this is me, writing back.
I like you, Haruki Aizawa.
No secrets. No initials. Just me.
—Himari
Haruki stared at the letter for a long time, letting each line settle into his heart like falling petals.
He didn't know how long he sat there, motionless. His eyes were damp—but he didn't blink them away. He let himself feel everything. The quiet joy. The trembling hope. The overwhelming sense that maybe, just maybe, he was no longer alone.
He folded the letter carefully, held it against his chest.
And smiled.
---
Later that day, as the final bell rang and the sun began to stretch golden across the hallway, Haruki stood by the school gate.
Himari was there already.
She turned when she saw him, uncertain.
He didn't speak right away.
Instead, he walked up, held out his hand, and simply said:
"Walk home with me?"
Her eyes lit up.
She took his hand.
And for the first time, they walked the same path—not as strangers, not as secret writers—but as two people who had finally stopped waiting for the wind to carry their words.