Affection: From you

I don't remember much from when I was little.

But ever since that morning beneath the sakura tree, fragments have started slipping through.

Laughter. Petals falling from the branches.

A white-haired girl who clung to my sleeve and called me her knight.

That was her.

That was Izumi.

And I had forgotten.

All of it.

It was hard to focus in class after she showed me that photo album. My mind kept drifting back to her voice, steady and cold when she said she hated me for forgetting—and to her eyes, which had held a softness they didn't before.

A part of me wanted to chase her after that.

But another part—the cowardly part—froze. What would I even say?

"Sorry I forgot the most important person in your life?"

She hadn't come to school the rest of that day. Some excuse about Student Council business. I caught glimpses of her across campus during breaks, usually surrounded by other council members or faculty. She moved like a different person when others were around—composed, unreachable.

But then her eyes would drift in my direction. Just for a second. And I'd wonder if she was thinking the same things I was.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the sakura petals, the photo album, her lips forming the words "my princess."

---

The next day, I arrived early again. Maybe I was hoping she'd be there.

She wasn't.

The courtyard was empty except for a janitor sweeping leaves.

As I walked to my classroom, I passed the bulletin board outside the student council office. A notice had been pinned there:

> "Fall Cultural Festival: Mandatory Committee Meeting – 4:00 PM Today"

Council Members & Volunteers Only

And scrawled in pen beneath it:

> Yes, Ryou, this includes you.

I blinked.

She wrote that.

---

By the time 4:00 rolled around, I was standing awkwardly in the student council room, surrounded by polished desks, binders color-coded by committee, and stacks of festival permits taller than my confidence.

Only three other people were inside when I entered.

Kaito, the sarcastic vice president with his ever-present bubble tea.

Mina, the hyperactive secretary who spoke a mile a minute.

And Izumi.

She didn't look up from her clipboard when I walked in. But I noticed the corner of her mouth twitch.

I took a seat near the window, trying not to stare. Kaito handed me a clipboard.

"Welcome to the madness, newbie. You'll be helping with stage setup. That means dealing with power cables, lighting rig, and occasionally catching falling classmates. You good with ladders?"

"I have trauma involving heights and falling," I replied dryly.

Mina gasped. "Oh no! Did you fall off something recently?"

"Let's just say gravity has a grudge against me."

Izumi finally spoke, without looking up: "He's clumsy. Keep him off ladders."

"Understood, Madam President!" Mina saluted.

Izumi sighed. "I'm not in the military."

But I saw it—that tiny smile again.

---

After an hour of planning, Mina and Kaito left to deliver equipment requests. That left just me and Izumi in the room.

She stood by the whiteboard, erasing some scribbles with a cloth. Her posture was stiff. I was still seated, fiddling with the corner of a flyer.

"Do you… always stay this late?" I asked.

"Only when no one else can get things right."

"So, always?"

A pause. Then a soft chuckle.

She turned slightly. "You're not funny, but you try hard."

"Thanks, I think?"

I stood up and walked to the supply shelf, pretending to look for something. The silence between us stretched—not uncomfortable, but full of unsaid things.

"Izumi," I said quietly, "About the photo…"

She paused.

I turned to face her.

"I… I don't remember everything. But I want to. I really do."

Her eyes met mine.

For once, there was no ice in them.

"Then try," she whispered. "Because I've been remembering for the both of us for too long."

Something cracked open inside me. Not a full memory—just the feeling of one. Like a shadow of warmth on a cold day.

"I think… I used to braid flowers into your hair," I said.

Her lips parted.

"You did."

"And I called you my princess."

"You did."

"And I said I'd marry you."

Her expression trembled.

"You did."

A long silence.

Then she added, "I waited. Every year. Beneath that tree. Like an idiot."

"I didn't mean to forget you," I whispered.

"I know."

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides.

"But knowing doesn't make it hurt less."

The clock on the wall ticked loudly.

I took a deep breath.

"I'm not that kid anymore, Izumi… but maybe… I could try being someone better."

She blinked rapidly, then turned away.

"We still have paperwork."

That was her way of saying "I'm listening. Just not ready yet."

---

Over the next week, we kept meeting like that—after school, long hours, quiet moments stolen between planning and chaos. Our conversations grew longer, gentler. Sometimes silly.

Like the time I got tangled in a string of festival lanterns and she laughed so hard she fell off her chair.

Or when we both tried the cotton candy machine prototype and got sugar stuck in our hair.

But the moments that lingered the most were the quiet ones.

The way she would tuck her hair behind her ear and glance at me when she thought I wasn't looking.

The way her fingers sometimes lingered too long when she handed me a pen.

The way our hands brushed once and neither of us pulled away.

One evening, as we finished organizing the stage roster, she leaned back in her chair and sighed.

"You know, you've improved."

"Improved?"

"Less clumsy. Less weird. Marginally."

"Wow. I feel deeply flattered."

She smiled—tired, but real.

"You're persistent. That's… admirable."

There was a pause.

Then she added, almost too softly to hear:

"I missed having someone like you around."

My heart did a double-take.

> Someone like me… or me?

Before I could say anything, Kaito burst into the room.

"President! You forgot to sign the fireworks permit!"

Izumi blinked, flustered. "I—ah, right."

She stood quickly, brushing past me, but I caught something in her eyes before she turned away.

Something that looked like fear.

Or maybe hope.

---

That night, I couldn't sleep again.

Not because of dreams—but because I wanted to dream.

About her.

About what it might be like if we'd never been separated.

If I'd never forgotten.

If we could just go back to being two kids under a tree, promising the world to each other.

But that wasn't reality.

Reality was a festival in four days, with too much work left and a girl who both missed me and didn't know if she could trust me.

Still... something had changed between us.

And I could feel it growing.

---

On Friday, the school was buzzing with festival prep. Decorations went up, class booths were finalized, and music blared from speakers as students rehearsed for performances.

I was assigned to help with the haunted house setup. Izumi was inspecting safety standards. We crossed paths frequently, sometimes on purpose, sometimes by accident.

Every time we did, our eyes lingered.

We didn't speak much in front of others. But our silences said enough.

Later that afternoon, I was sent to fetch extra lights from the supply room at the far end of the gym building. It was an old, dusty space with barely any light.

I pushed the door open and stepped inside.

A moment later—I heard footsteps.

And then the door clicked shut behind me.

I turned.

Izumi stood there, holding a clipboard.

"I need to talk to you," she said.

My heart rate tripled.

"Uh… now?"

She looked around, irritated.

"No one else will give me five minutes without treating me like a porcelain doll or a manager. You, at least, talk to me like a person."

She stepped closer.

There was barely any space between us.

Her voice dropped.

"Do you think I'm scary?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Everyone does. Because I'm strict. Because I'm perfect. Because I never mess up."

"You're not scary, Izumi. You're just… tired of pretending you are."

Her eyes widened slightly.

I added, "You don't have to pretend with me. Not anymore."

She looked up at me—and I realized how close we were. Inches apart.

The air between us shifted.

Her lips parted as if to speak, but nothing came out.

And then—her hand moved.

She reached out, slowly, and touched my chest.

Right over my heart.

And whispered:

"You really don't remember… do you?"

I shook my head.

"But something in me does," I said quietly. "When I'm near you, it does."

Her fingers lingered for one more second.

Then she turned and walked out.

Leaving me alone in the half-lit room, heart pounding, mind spinning, and the ghost of her touch still burning through my chest.

AUTHOR- CrimsonBorN / Step

Twitter / x account: ANC_CrimsonBorN