Chapter 24: The Language of Flowers

The next morning, Haruki and Tsukiko set out into the wilds of the countryside as usual. Haruki, used to the land and its many hidden corners, took the lead, while Tsukiko followed behind, carrying a small backpack filled with research notes. Despite the initial awkwardness, they found themselves making slow but steady progress.

Their partnership was anything but harmonious.

"You're hiking too fast," Tsukiko complained, struggling to keep up with Haruki's long strides.

"Maybe you're too slow," he quipped without looking back. "Maybe you don't know how to pace yourself!"

"You sure you're okay?" Haruki asked, glancing back as she stumbled over a thick root.

"I'm fine," Tsukiko snapped, brushing herself off. 

Haruki raised an eyebrow. "You don't seem like someone who's comfortable with roughing it."

Tsukiko shot him a look but didn't respond. In truth, she wasn't. Her life had been spent among the delicate, curated flowers of a florist's shop, arranging petals with care. The unpredictability of nature was something she hadn't prepared for. But she wasn't about to admit that.

The journey had taken longer than either of them had anticipated, the winding path through the woods seeming endless. 

As dusk fell and the light began to fade, they decided to set up camp by the river.

The gentle rush of the water offering a sense of calm after the day's exertion.

Haruki moved with practiced ease, setting up the tent and gathering firewood. Tsukiko, though still determined and focused, worked beside him without a word, her hands steady despite the long trek. The evening air was cool, but the warmth from the fire soon began to spread, flickering and crackling as they both settled beside it.

The firelight cast dancing shadows across their faces as they sat in silence, the only sounds the occasional crackle of burning wood and the soothing flow of the river nearby. 

Tsukiko pulled her knees up to her chest, her eyes tracing the flames with a quiet intensity, lost in thought. Haruki, on the other hand, leaned back slightly, his gaze steady on the fire but his mind clearly elsewhere.

Finally, Haruki broke the silence, his voice softer than usual. "You love flowers didn't you?" 

Tsukiko blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the question. "How do you know?"

"Well, you have the vibe?" Haruki does not want to tell but he had noticed how Tsukiko's eyes softened whenever she saw a beautiful tree or wildflower as if she was admiring it.

Tsukiko stared into the fire, her expression unreadable, before finally admitting. "Yeah… I used to work in a flower shop, as a florist. I loved it," she admitted, her voice softening. 

"Making bouquets, arranging flowers, helping people express themselves through nature—it felt... meaningful. Like I was bringing a little bit of beauty into their lives."

Her words hung in the air, and for the first time, Haruki glimpsed a softer side of Tsukiko—a side that wasn't guarded by walls of professionalism and determination. There was something wistful in her tone, something that hinted at a loss he couldn't quite place.

Haruki remained silent, letting her words settle. He could see the flicker of pain in her eyes, a pain he recognized too well. Memories of the past had a way of lingering, of haunting you in the quiet moments when you least expected them.

"You miss it," he said finally, his tone gentle.

Tsukiko didn't answer immediately. She ran her fingers through her hair and let out a breath. "I miss it," she murmured, her thoughts drifting to her grandmother. "But life changes, doesn't it? You can't hold on to everything you love."

Haruki's gaze dropped to the fire, its warm glow reflecting in his dark eyes. He wanted to say something, to tell her that he understood, but the words felt heavy in his throat.

The fire crackled softly as Tsukiko poked at it with a stick, her gaze distant and reflective. After a long silence, she spoke, her voice quiet but steady.

"My grandma used to tell me stories by the fire," she began. "She raised me after my parents died. I was too young to remember much about them, but she was everything to me—my family, my friend, my anchor."

Haruki glanced at her, sensing the weight in her words.

"She was the one who taught me about flowers," Tsukiko continued. "About how each one has a meaning, a purpose. When I was little, I thought it was just her way of keeping me busy, but now I realize... she was teaching me how to find beauty, even when life felt empty."

Haruki didn't interrupt, letting her words flow.

"She passed away when I was in high school," Tsukiko said, her voice softening. "It was just the two of us for so long, and then suddenly... I was alone."

Her fingers tightened slightly around the stick in her hand. "Though I met someone. Someone who made me believe I could trust—" She stopped. 

Her voice trailing off, her hand frozen mid-motion. For a moment, she stared into the fire, her expression distant and closed off.

Haruki noticed the subtle shift in her posture, the way she seemed to retreat into herself. It was a wound she wasn't ready to share, and he wasn't going to push.

"Well, anyway," Tsukiko said suddenly, forcing a faint smile as she straightened. "Since then, I've thrown myself into my career. It's easier to keep moving forward when you don't let yourself look back too much." 

Tsukiko hesitated for a moment before asking, "What about you? Who did you look up to?"

Haruki paused, his gaze drifting before he spoke softly, as if it was something he'd never said before.

"My brother," Haruki said.