Chapter 2: Colors of the Past

The dawn broke gently over Hoshimura, light spilling over the lavender fields like liquid gold. The flowers swayed lazily, their purple hues deepening as the morning sun touched them. Inside Kaori no Kaze, the aroma of freshly brewed tea mingled with the earthy scent of wooden beams.

Haruto stirred awake on the futon Hana had set up for him in the corner room. The remnants of last night's dream lingered—a vague memory of colors blending and bleeding into one another, like rain washing over an unfinished canvas. He sat up slowly, stretching his arms as the soft morning light filtered through the paper screens.

The knock on the door startled him, and Hana peeked in, a warm smile on her face. "Good morning! I made breakfast. Grandma Sayo's already outside tending to the garden."

Haruto offered a grateful nod, his voice still thick with sleep. "Morning... I'll be right there."

After washing his face and combing his unruly hair, he joined Hana in the small dining area where she had laid out a modest breakfast—steamed rice, pickled vegetables, and tamagoyaki wrapped with a touch of soy sauce.

"I wasn't sure what you liked," Hana admitted, a hint of shyness coloring her cheeks.

Haruto smiled softly. "This is perfect. Thank you."

As he took a bite, the familiar flavors sparked something comforting within him. Memories surfaced—breakfasts on the road, eating hastily prepared meals while sketching strangers in busy marketplaces. He hadn't had a home-cooked meal in ages.

Hana watched him eat, sensing a change in his demeanor. "Did you sleep well?"

He nodded. "Better than I have in a long time."

Her expression brightened, and she began to clear the dishes. "Grandma wanted me to remind you that some villagers will be dropping by later. They heard about your painting last night."

Haruto's hands stilled around his cup of tea. "People... want to see it?"

"Of course! Everyone was talking about it on their way home. It's been a while since anyone painted the lavender fields like that. I think it made them happy."

Haruto couldn't help but feel a mix of pride and anxiety. It had been so long since he'd painted for others, and the thought of their judgment made his chest tighten. Hana seemed to sense his unease and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry. No one's expecting perfection—they just want to see something beautiful. Your painting gave them that."

Before he could respond, Sayo appeared at the doorway, wiping her hands on a faded apron. "Ah, there you are! Good morning, Haruto. Feeling rested?"

"Yes, thank you," he replied, bowing slightly.

Sayo gave a pleased nod. "There's no rush today. Take your time and enjoy the morning. Hana and I will prepare for the visitors. If you'd like, you can help me arrange the flowers out front later."

Haruto nodded, grateful for the gentle pace of life here. After breakfast, he wandered outside to the veranda where his painting from the previous night still rested. Seeing it in the morning light, he noticed the colors looked softer—less bold than he remembered. Yet it felt right, like the hues had settled into place naturally.

He picked up the brush again, hesitating only for a moment before adding a few more strokes—darker shadows beneath the flowers, a hint of gold along the horizon. As he worked, he felt a sense of purpose weaving through his thoughts, and for once, it wasn't forced.

A few hours passed, and villagers began to gather by the garden gate, whispering in excitement. Sayo greeted them warmly, guiding them to the veranda where Haruto sat. Hana busied herself preparing tea, her movements quick and practiced.

One by one, the villagers approached to admire the painting. A kind-faced farmer named Daichi smiled brightly. "It's been a long time since I've seen the fields captured so beautifully. You've really brought them to life."

A woman named Michiko, carrying a basket of freshly picked vegetables, nodded in agreement. "My mother used to paint the fields, but her eyesight faded. This reminds me of her work."

Humbled, Haruto bowed his head. "Thank you. I wasn't sure how it would turn out."

Daichi chuckled. "Art's like farming—sometimes the seeds don't sprout, but when they do, it's worth every bit of effort."

As the villagers continued to talk and share stories, Haruto found himself listening intently. They spoke of the old days, of celebrations in the fields, and of how the lavender harvest signaled the start of summer festivals. Some shared tales of travelers who had passed through Hoshimura, leaving behind stories and songs.

Amid the conversation, Hana brought out small cups of tea, her eyes glancing at Haruto now and then to see if he was holding up well. He offered her a faint but grateful smile.

When the villagers finally dispersed, the sun had risen high, casting warm light over the field. Haruto took a deep breath, the tension in his shoulders finally easing.

"See? Everyone loved it," Hana said cheerfully as she gathered the empty cups.

Haruto gave a small laugh, almost as if he didn't quite believe it. "I didn't think it would matter that much."

Sayo, who had been listening quietly, spoke up. "It's not just the painting, Haruto. It's the way you captured the soul of this place. You gave them something familiar but also something they didn't know they missed."

Haruto pondered her words, his fingers lightly touching the dried paint on his hands. Just as he was about to speak, the sound of footsteps echoed from the road again. He turned, expecting another villager, but his breath caught at the sight of the hooded figure from the previous night.

The stranger lowered their hood, revealing a young woman with striking amber eyes and windswept hair. Her gaze fixed on Haruto, intense and unwavering.

"You're the painter, aren't you?" she asked, her voice firm but not unkind.

Haruto hesitated before nodding. "Yes... I am."

She took a step closer, her expression unyielding. "I need your help. There's something you must paint for me. Something only you can do."

Hana glanced at Sayo, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. Sayo's face remained calm, but Haruto could feel an unsettling tension hanging in the air.

"What... do you need me to paint?" he asked cautiously.

The woman took a deep breath, seeming to weigh her words carefully. "A memory. One that's slipping away faster than I can hold onto it. If I lose it... I'll forget something precious."

Haruto looked at her, searching for hidden motives, but all he saw was desperation and a faint glimmer of hope. Something in her plea tugged at his heart—an unspoken resonance that made him feel as if this was more than just a request.

He nodded slowly. "I'll try. Tell me about this memory."

Her eyes softened, but just as she opened her mouth to speak, the wind picked up suddenly, sending petals scattering through the air. A strange unease wrapped around Haruto, as if the lavender fields themselves whispered a warning.

But before he could dwell on it, the woman spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.

"It's about a promise... one that can't be broken. But someone is trying to erase it."

A chill ran down Haruto's spine. The woman's hands trembled, clutching her cloak tightly. "If you don't help me... I'll lose everything."

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To be continued...