Spring in Tokyo is like stepping into a dream. The streets shimmer with falling cherry blossoms, and the air smells sweet with new beginnings. It was the first day of Shiroyama Chūgakkō, and even though I wore the same navy blue uniform as every other boy, I felt painfully out of place. My bag was too stiff, my tie slightly crooked, and my heart was racing in a way I couldn't explain.
I stepped into the schoolyard, staring at the towering buildings, the clean concrete walkways, and the new faces pouring in through the gate. My elementary school had been small and familiar—this place felt enormous. Intimidating. I was just about to check the class list posted outside the main hallway when I heard a familiar voice behind me.
"Hey."
I turned. And there she was.
Miyu Sato. Her black hair was tied neatly with a pale blue ribbon, and her uniform fit her like she was meant to wear it. She looked both new and exactly the same. I hadn't seen her much since we graduated from elementary school, but our moms were still close friends, so I knew we'd probably run into each other again.
I didn't expect it to be this soon. Or for it to hit me this hard.
"You're in Class 1-B too," she said, pointing at the list. "Looks like we'll be classmates again."
"Oh, yeah," I said, my voice cracking slightly. "That's… cool."
We walked inside together, her steps calm and quiet while I tried not to trip over myself. Our classroom was filled with chattering students, some already picking desks, others taking selfies by the window. I found a seat by the middle row. Miyu took one near the window—of course. She always liked looking outside.
When homeroom started, the teacher introduced herself, and I tried to focus, but my mind kept drifting. Not just to the newness of everything—but to the way Miyu's hair shimmered in the sunlight. To the way her fingers twirled the edge of her notebook. To the way she glanced my way during roll call and gave a tiny smile.
I hadn't seen her in months, yet something inside me already knew: this year was going to be different.
During lunch, I was about to eat alone when Miyu walked up, holding her bento box.
"Wanna eat together? I don't know anyone else yet either."
I nodded, too stunned to answer properly.
As we sat on the bench behind the classroom building, a gentle breeze carried a few cherry petals onto our lunchboxes. She laughed softly and brushed them away.
"Looks like spring is here," she said.
And I couldn't help but think—maybe something else had just begun too.