Your Step in Spring

Chapter 4 – The First Spring They Shared

The festival was over, but the feelings it left behind lingered like the fading scent of tea. The classroom had returned to its usual layout. Desks in rows. Chalk dust on the board. But something between Akira and Airi had changed.

They didn't speak more than usual. They didn't exchange messages or eat lunch together. But now, they no longer avoided each other's gaze.

And that was enough—for now.

---

One day, during the last period, it began to rain again.

Light, slow droplets brushed against the classroom windows. Airi sat with her chin resting in her hand, eyes distant. The teacher's voice was only background noise.

Akira turned slightly. "You like the rain, don't you?"

She blinked, surprised. "How do you know?"

"You always write more on rainy days."

She gave a soft smile. "It's quiet. Like the world is thinking."

He leaned back. "Or remembering."

A pause.

Airi reached into her bag and slid a folded piece of paper onto his desk.

"Another one?" he asked.

"Don't read it now."

He slipped it into his notebook without a word.

---

That evening, at home, Akira unfolded the paper. It was a short story—less than two hundred words.

> "The boy walked alone until he met the girl who never spoke first.

She didn't pull him out of the rain.

She simply walked beside him without an umbrella.

And suddenly, the storm didn't feel so cold anymore."

Akira stared at the words for a long time. Then he carefully folded it back and placed it inside his drawer, next to the blue notebook he had once given her.

---

At school the next day, rumors swirled as usual.

People speculated about who had written the café's mysterious message cards. Some guessed it was the literature club. Others pointed at the student council.

But one rumor reached Akira's ears—and made him freeze.

"Someone said the cards were written by a girl in our class," one of the boys whispered. "They think it was Airi Tachibana."

Akira didn't say anything.

The boy smirked. "I mean, she does look like the type who writes love poems in secret."

Akira turned to him calmly. "Maybe you should read them before making fun of them."

The boy blinked. "Relax. It's just a joke."

"It wasn't funny."

He walked away.

---

At lunch, Akira found Airi alone on the roof, sitting under the shade of the water tower, sketching something in her notebook.

"You're getting bold," he said, sitting beside her.

"Not really. It's just quieter up here."

He leaned his back against the wall. "People are talking."

"I know."

"Does it bother you?"

She closed her notebook. "A little. But I'm used to being overlooked. Being noticed… feels strange."

"They're not laughing at your words. They're just uncomfortable with honesty."

She glanced at him. "Why do you care?"

"I guess because I know what it's like to be seen for the wrong reasons."

She didn't speak, but the silence felt full.

---

That weekend, Akira was invited to a family dinner—one of those formal events filled with relatives he barely knew. Polished suits. Expensive plates. Conversations that floated like fog.

He sat quietly, answering politely, listening to his uncle praise his grades and his aunt comparing him to their underachieving son.

"You're lucky," she said. "You always did everything right."

He smiled thinly. "Right doesn't mean happy."

They didn't hear him.

That night, when he returned home, he sat on his bed in the dark.

He opened his phone. Airi had posted a new chapter.

> "He wore a perfect mask, so perfect that no one knew it was suffocating him.

He didn't cry. He didn't shout.

But someone saw it anyway.

And because of that, he could finally breathe."

He closed his eyes and whispered, "Thank you."

---

Monday came with wind and sunlight. The sakura trees were almost bare now, petals swept to the corners of the schoolyard.

After school, Airi walked alone down the path behind the gym. She didn't expect company.

So when Akira appeared beside her, holding two cans of hot tea, she blinked in surprise.

"For you," he said, offering one.

"Why?"

"I read your latest chapter."

She accepted it. "Was it too honest?"

"No. It was what I needed."

They sat together on a low stone wall, sipping quietly.

"I never wrote for anyone before," Airi admitted.

"You do now."

She looked at him. "Why do you always understand what I don't say?"

"Because your silence is louder than words."

---

Later that week, the class was asked to submit a personal project for the end-of-term portfolio. Most students turned in essays, photo collages, or club reports.

Airi submitted a handwritten collection titled "The Unnamed Boy."

Akira submitted a short essay called "Letters Without Envelopes."

Neither said anything about it to each other.

But when the teacher returned their portfolios, there was a note on Akira's page.

> "You used to write alone," Airi had written.

"Now, you write beside someone.

That's a different kind of story."

He smiled quietly.

---

On the last day of spring term, the class gathered for cleaning duty. Chairs scraped. Windows opened. Sunlight painted the floor in soft gold.

Akira found himself sweeping near Airi's desk.

"You going anywhere over break?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I like quiet summers."

"I might stay home too."

A pause.

"Want to write together sometime?" he added.

Her eyes widened. "Like… in person?"

He nodded. "Maybe at the library. Or the park."

Airi hesitated, then smiled. "Okay."

Their fingers brushed as they passed the broom.

She didn't pull away.

---

That night, Airi wrote one final spring entry in her notebook.

> "It wasn't fireworks or confessions.

It was soft words. Shared silence.

And a boy who saw me when no one else did.

Maybe that's what spring really is.

Not the start of something loud—

But something gentle.

Something that stays."

She closed the book and stared out her window.

The petals were gone.

But something remained.

Something real.

---