The bakery was all but closed when Kaito poked his head into the kitchen and found Haruka wiping down counters.
"Finished?" he asked, voice low.
"Almost," Haruka said, brushing flour from her apron. "What's up?"
"I have to show you something," Kaito said, his eyes gleaming with something midway between mischief and warmth. "You've been here for weeks, but I'll bet you've never seen the lake behind the bakery."
Haruka tilted her head. "There's a lake?"
Kaito chuckled. "Exactly. Come on. Just a short walk."
Curiosity tugged at her. And maybe, the way Kaito looked at her—like he'd been saving this moment for her alone—made it hard to say no.
They stepped out of the store together, the last traces of daylight tinting the sky with soft amber. The air was nippy in winter but not unfriendly. As they reached a clearing at the rear of the bakery, the trees broke apart to unveil a hidden lakeside vista.
The water was calm, reflecting the pastel-colored sky. There was a wooden bench situated to face the lake, a bit worn from the seasons. Kaito had already placed something on it—a couple of steaming cups in takeaway cups and a paper bag.
Haruka's eyes widened. "You plotted this?"
He shrugged humbly. "A bit. I thought… you should see it. And besides—" he dipped his hand into his jacket pocket "—this."
Before she could ask, he took her hand in his and stuck on a warm patch over her wrist. A heat pack.
"You always forget your gloves," he said, smiling eyes.
Haruka's heart tightened at the gesture. "You really do think of everything, don't you?"
He didn't say anything. He sat beside her and handed her a cup of tea. The scent of roasted barley and citrus filled the air.
They drank in silence for a while, watching mist roll across the lake's surface.
Then Kaito spoke, more quietly now. "This is where I come when I miss home."
Haruka turned to him.
"I mean Tokyo. Not that I wish to return," he added quickly. "But because sometimes, when it snows like it did yesterday, it brings things back."
She waited.
"I catch myself considering her," he said. "The girl who wrote me all those notes. The very last one particularly. It was… bold, for her. She said, 'Let's get married when we grow up and the snow all' I remember sitting there holding that paper, my fingers cold, and thinking—why now?"
He looked out over the lake, the reflection of the sky smoothing his features.
"I didn't know it would be the last," he said. "But not long after that, I discovered we were moving. I never got to say goodbye. I didn't even know her name."
Haruka's breath caught. Something in her chest shifted, slowly unwinding a memory she'd stored away for years.
"Kaito," she whispered. "Can I tell you something strange?"
He looked at her, his head nodding.
There was this boy I knew," Haruka began, his voice trembling slightly. "When I was younger. I was in trouble a lot. Not the school kind. The… home kind."
Kaito's expression softened, concern in his eyes.
My father had these thin long rods of bamboo," Haruka continued, her hand tightening around the cup. "He'd bring them out whenever he thought I needed correcting. And then I'd run away. I never wanted anyone to see me cry, but somehow I always ended up at my friend's house.".
Her voice grew gentle. "He didn't ask me questions. Just sat with me on the stairs until I finished crying. Sometimes he'd give me taiyaki or leftover snacks from his grandmother."
Kaito's breath hitched. Haruka didn't appear to notice—she was staring out across the lake, eyes distant but there.
"I thought he was the kindest guy I'd ever met," she said. "So one day, I left a note. On a yellow sticky pad I borrowed from my mom. I wrote… something stupid." She laughed bitterly. "I wrote, 'Let's get married when we grow up and the snow all.' I wanted to give it to him. But I had tutoring that week. Everything was a rush. And then…"
Her voice cracked.
"I heard he was leaving. That his parents were splitting up and he'd move out of Tokyo. I panicked. I couldn't say goodbye. So I just… taped the note to his front gate."
Haruka finally looked up and met Kaito's eyes. Her eyes wide, uncertain, and wounded.
Kaito's face had stilled. Not emotionless—but saturated with something like quiet amazement. Or doubt. Or memory rising up from some corner of the past he thought he'd lost.
Neither of them said anything for a moment. The lake, the sky, the air—they all held the pause for them.
Then Kaito, softly, placed his tea on the bench.
"Haruka," he said gently. "Do you remember that boy's name?"
She hesitated. "No. I… I called him 'Kai-chan' but I don't think that was really his name."
Kaito laughed, the sound exploding like light through the clouds. "That's what my grandma used to call me."
Haruka blinked.
Silence once more. But this one buzzed—alive, electric, full of revelation and recognition.
Kaito faced her. "Did you have a blue backpack with a whale keychain?"
Haruka's eyes widened. "You remember that?"
"I remember everything," he said.
And with that, the pieces fell into place.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
Just softly, like snow onto open hands.