Chapter 26: Mimosa’s Gentle Touch

There was a long pause, and Tsukiko could feel the shift in the air between them. Haruki finally looked up, his eyes meeting Tsukiko's. She didn't say anything, just let him speak, feeling the pain in his words, understanding how much it cost him to share this.

Haruki's hands clenched into fists in his lap as he looked at the fire.

Tsukiko's gaze softened as she listened. "Grief doesn't follow any rules," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "But you're still here. And that means something. It means you're stronger than you think."

Haruki was quiet for a long moment, absorbing her words. 

"It's hard," she said after a moment. "Losing someone that close. There's no roadmap for it. Some days it feels like you're doing okay, and other days it's like you're drowning" 

"You know what, I used to have this little garden at home." Tsukiko smiled faintly after a while, her mood shifting.

"It's nothing fancy—just some herbs, a few flowers" she added. "I used to rush through watering them, treating it like a chore. But after I lost my grandma, I started to notice them more. Their struggles."

"Sometimes they wilt, lose their leaves, and look like they won't make it through. But most of the time, if you care for them, they come back. Stronger. I guess people are kind of like that, too. We go through seasons, and sometimes we wither a little. But if we're patient, we can find our way back."

"It's funny how grief can do that—force you to notice the small things because the big things feel too hard to face."

Haruki glanced at her, her words stirring something deep inside him. "You're right." he admitted quietly. 

He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, the tension in his chest easing a little. Her words didn't take away the pain, but they made it feel less like a burden he had to carry alone. 

Her voice lit up with a soft smile as she added, "My grandma used to recite this poem, she said memories are like flames—they burn bright, then fade, but they leave warmth behind. That warmth stays with you, even when the fire's almost gone." 

"It's a reminder that even when things feel cold or lost, there's something left to hold onto." 

He felt his eyes grow heavier as she spoke, his body finally relaxing. 

"Sometimes," she said, her voice quieter now, "it's enough just to be here, in moments like this. To let the quiet do its work. You don't have to solve everything at once." 

Tsukiko's voice became distant, like a gentle hum in the background, and before he realized it, 

He falls asleep.

The sky above was a deep, star-speckled black. 

Haruki woke up. His eyes shot open in surprise, wide with disbelief. 

He turned, catching sight of Tsukiko, leaning against a rock, fast asleep. A wave of astonishment washed over him.

I fell asleep, he thought, a soft laugh escaping him. 

When was the last time I slept like this?

It wasn't the restless, fractured dozing he'd grown accustomed to but deep, genuine rest. The kind of sleep that had eluded him ever since his brother's accident.

His gaze shifted to Tsukiko, her face peaceful in the dim light, the usual guarded lines softened in her sleep.

How does she do it? he wondered. This determined, guarded woman who carried so much pain herself had somehow given him something he hadn't known he needed.

Haruki couldn't take his eyes off her, feeling a pull he didn't fully understand. The walls he'd built around himself didn't feel so impenetrable when she was near.

Who would've thought, he mused silently, that she'd be the therapy I didn't even know I needed?

He shifted carefully, pulling his jacket over her shoulders to keep her warm. Then, leaning back, he let the quiet of the night settle around him. 

For the first time in years, he felt rested—not just in his body, but in his heart—and more drawn to Tsukiko than ever.