It was the beginning of September when the little girl first set foot in that small, rural town. A cool light breeze blew through her short dark hair, bringing with it the freshest scents of fall. Untouched by the factories and smoke of the city, the autumn cherry blossoms were in full bloom; their majestic colors created a collage of innate beauty the way only nature can. Stepping off the bullet train and onto the platform, the little girl’s initial plan to walk straight over to her ojii-chan’s house was pushed aside when a single petal floated down to her midst.

“Look, kaa-san, a flower,” she squealed, clasping the blossom and holding it out in wonder.

Her mother smiled indulgently, giving her hand a small squeeze. “Do you like it here?”

The girl nodded, her face shining with unmistakable happiness. The woman followed her gaze to the small forest of trees, and already knowing her daughter’s unspoken request, she gave a rueful smile. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll explore. Okay?”

Later that evening, after the girl had already been put to bed, the woman and her father sat around the small table in another bedroom to talk. The television, with its speakers highly muted, flashed images and the occasional sound as the reporters discussed the evening news. Sipping on tea, the two adults quietly discussed the reason for the move.

“She will be okay here, right?” the woman murmured, pouring another cup. “Moving away from the city was the right choice to make?” It was a rhetorical question, given the circumstances. Nonetheless, the old man gave her a reassuring smile, understanding firsthand her parental worry.

“The fresh air is good for her health. And plus, there are the legends.”

“Tou-san, you aren’t really serious about those.”

The old man closed his eyes, reminiscing. “Who knows?” He opened them again and his gaze fell on an old photo, propped up on his dresser and half-hidden behind stacks of papers and other mementos of a life long and richly lived. “It would be nice if they were true, wouldn’t it?”

Laughing, the little girl dodged in and out of sight among the trees, her quick feet and light steps making her an elusive target for her mother. “Kaa-san, can you find me?” she taunted, giggling. Hearing her mother’s response close by, she turned and ran deeper into the forest. The pinks, oranges, and reds of her world enveloped her in their midst, and she, being like them in both name and appearance, found inexplicable comfort in their beauty.

But very soon afterwards, she realized that she was alone.

“Kaa-san?” She stepped away from her hiding place. “Okaa-san?” Silence answered her. “Okaa-san…” She began to cry, running around blindly. “Okaa-san, where are you?” Briefly losing control of her foot, she tripped and collapsed onto the ground. She curled up in a ball, sobbing harder. “Where are you?”

Presently, a soft melody reached her, stopping her tears. Realizing that it meant someone was nearby, she picked herself up and started running again towards the source.

The trees moved aside, revealing a small clearing. Though it was too early in the season for the blossoms to have wilted, fallen petals had already piled in a large mound. In the center sat a teenage boy playing a wooden flute, blowing lilting notes that ebbed and flowed and spoke of times long past. He was wearing old-fashioned clothing from her grandfather’s era, billowing white pants and sleeves overlaid with a patterned silk vest and belt. His brown hair, seemingly streaked with red where the sunlight struck it, matched and camouflaged him within the flowers that surrounded his person. Eyes closed, he appeared too concentrated in his song to notice his new audience.

“What is that you’re playing? Is that a shinobue, a Japanese flute?”

His eyes flew open and in movements too fast for the girl to follow, the music stopped and an animal mask covered his face.

“How did you get here?” His alarmed voice was muffled behind the wooden exterior.

“I got lost…” At the reminder of her plight, the girl’s serenity was broken and she started sobbing into her hands again. She felt a slight nudge.

“Don’t cry,” the masked boy said awkwardly, poking her with his flute. “I’ll lead you back to your mother. So stop crying now, okay?”

Overcome with relief, the girl pushed past his bamboo instrument and ran towards its owner, hands outstretched. “Thank you,” she cried, “than—”

He dodged her fingers and repositioned himself a few feet away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Why not?” The tears were coming back.

“Because my skin can’t be touched by you,” he said flatly. He paused, watching the tears streaming down her face, and sighed, holding out his flute. “Just grab onto this, okay? I’ll lead you out.”

She obediently clasped the instrument, and with him holding the other end, the two began walking out from the trees side by side. Suddenly, the little girl giggled.

“This is like going on a date!” she squealed, tears apparently forgotten.

“Not a very romantic one…” the boy snorted.

They walked together in silence.

“How old are you?” the girl asked.

“Older than you,” the boy merely replied. “By a lot.”

“Today’s my sixth birthday,” the girl continued, having evidently decided that the boy was trustworthy.

“Oh? Watch your step.” The girl had stumbled again, falling into the grass. Without complaint she picked herself up again, and the two resumed walking.

 “Say, what’s your name? Mine is ‘Akizakura.’ ‘Aki’ for short.”

Underneath his mask, the boy smiled. She was named after the autumn cherry trees that surrounded them? “That’s a beautiful name.”

“So what’s yours?” She was looking up at him, trying to see the face behind his mask.

“We’re here.” He abruptly stopped walking, and she glanced towards the front. Her eyes widened.

“Ojii-chan! That’s ojii-chan’s house!” Immediately letting go of the flute, she broke into a run, heading towards the first familiar sight in what felt like hours.

Then she remembered her manners, and quickly turned around. Cupping her hands to , she shouted her thanks, which he acknowledged with a nod and wave. But as he turned to leave, she asked one more thing:

“If I come here again, will we meet once more?”

He remained silent.

There was a small commotion behind her; in the house, the lights had flickered and now a woman was running out.

The girl turned back to him and blinked at his fading image. “I’ll return tomorrow with a thank-you gift! So come back, okay?”

“There is no boy around here who fits that image,” ojii-chan said thoughtfully. “Perhaps he was merely passing through?” But his twinkling eyes seemed to suspect otherwise.

“He knew the way home,” Aki argued energetically, kicking her feet up and down against the chair while her mother bandaged some cuts.

“How is that possible? Did you tell him your address?” she asked, concerned.

“No,” Aki shook her head. The two adults exchanged looks, and then her ojii-chan turned back to her.

“Aki,” he began, “Do you want to hear about a local legend?”

“Tou-san,” her mother started to complain, but he hushed her. Aki squealed.

“A story?” She loved fairy-tales. She loved them for their dashing princes and beautiful princesses, their magical elements, their happy endings. Though she was too young to comprehend love, she readily listened to and accepted their romantic notions of a happily-ever-after and dreams-come-true.

“Not just any story,” her ojii-chan said, clearly enjoying her attention. “A special story, one that pertains to the very forest of trees you see outside our window.”

Aki’s eyes widened. “You mean where I just was today?”

“That’s right. Story has it that in the forest lives a Protector, a Spirit if you will, of the Trees. Not only is he the reason the blossoms here bloom longer than everywhere else, but he is also responsible for their magical properties.”

“That’s just talk,” Aki’s mother said, exasperated, but the man hushed her again and then leaned towards the girl.

“It’s said,” he whispered conspiratorially, “that whoever meets him can be cured of their illness.”

“Like colds, the flu, that sort of thing?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Tou-san,” the woman said sharply. “That’s enough.” He finally acquiesced to her request, but not without leaving a final comment:

“See if you can find him again, that mysterious friend of yours. I’d like to meet the guide who brought you home.”

“You really came back.” The boy leaned against the tree, arms crossed.

The girl stared at him for a moment. Then she rushed forward, arms outstretched—“You’re here!”—only to be stopped at the forehead by the end of his flute again.

“What did I tell you about not touching me?” he asked, exasperated. But there was no real anger in his voice. “Is your okaa-san alright? She was really worried yesterday—”

The girl grabbed his flute, looking eagerly at him. “How did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That yesterday I was separated from kaa-san.” He tilted his head, looking at her. “Are you a Spirit?”

He didn’t move. “Why do you ask?”

“Ojii-chan said you might be one,” she explained, peering at him. “So are you really?”

“You’re not scared of me?”

“Why should I be scared?”

He was silent for another moment, contemplating. “Let’s go for a walk, shall we?”

“So what’s your name?” she asked yet again, after a few minutes of exploration and sightseeing. Spirit of the Trees or not, her companion knew a lot about the forest and its exquisite beauties, with its autumn cherry blossom trees and various vegetation that bloomed across the patches of grass. Through his guidance, she was able to witness a side of nature very few got to see, and despite her youth, she grasped and appreciated this revelation. But that wasn’t to deter her innate curiosity about her tour-guide and fast developing friend.

The boy sighed, realizing he couldn’t hide it from her forever. “I don’t remember.”

“You don’t remember your name? Why?”

“It’s been too long,” he replied.

“Then let’s call you ‘Haru,’” she decided pragmatically.

He stopped walking, surprised. “‘Haru’? But that’s a girl’s name!”

“Well, I’m Aki, so it only makes sense that you’re Haru,” the little girl said in a reasonable voice. “Fall and Spring, the two opposite seasons.”

He shook his head, amazed at the absurdity of her logic and the assurance with which she gave it.

“Whatever…”

And so passed the rest of the month. Every day after school, Aki would come to the forest and meet up with Haru, who, though still occasionally protesting against the name, found his companion listening less and less to his complaints. The stubbornness and persistence of a six-year old, he would groan, while she merely laughed and grabbed her end of the flute, ready for the day’s adventures.

“Why do you wear a mask?” she had asked one day.

“No particular reason,” he had mumbled, giving his characteristic vague answer that revealed nothing.

“Can’t you take it off?”

“If I want to.”

“So why don’t you?”

“Because I don’t feel like it.”

The girl would pout, but he, refusing to be swayed, found quick ways to divert her attention.

By now, the trees’ blossoms were nearly all but gone.

“Today’s the last day you can visit me,” he told her at the end of the month. “I won’t be coming back tomorrow.”

She had already long learned to stop asking questions. But still, she couldn’t resist one more. “Will you be back?”

He gave a small nod. “Next fall.”

She brightened. “Really?”

“Really.”

True to his word, Haru was back the following year.

“You’re here!” Aki cried, running over to him with open arms.

He avoided her, and as she prepared for another attempt, he blocked her with his flute. “No touching, remember?”

She pouted. “Why?”

“Because you’ll be scared,” he replied.

“Scared of what?”

“Of what you’d see,” was his vague explanation, and before she had time to ask any further, “So shall I show you some new places today?”

Aki clasped her hands together. “Yes!”

As they walked through the forest, held together by the flute, she turned to him. “While you were gone, I tried exploring the forest by myself.”

“Oh?” Under his mask, his lips curled in amusement. “Were you able to find anything?”

“No!” she exclaimed, momentarily frustrated. “I tried to look for all the sights you had brought  me to see last year, but I kept on getting lost…”

“That’s because only I can show you the way,” he teased, and she frowned.

“You’re still wearing the same mask as last year.”

“I am.”

“Why do you always wear that mask?”

Haru lifted it slightly, allowing her to see the smile that had formed on his lips. “Because it allows me to be anybody.”

“Anybody?”

“Anybody,” he agreed. “Anybody you want me to be.”

“Then today, will you be my friend?”

“That, I already thought I was,” he retorted, but as his mask was still partially lifted, this time, she caught his smile.

“Aki-chan, when will you introduce your friend to us?” ojii-chan teased.

Aki paused from her way up the stairs. “He still refuses to meet anyone else.”

Her mother pursed her lips. “Is this boy really trustworthy? You don’t even know his real name.”

“Relax,” ojii-chan laughed, as Aki excused herself and bounded up the stairs. “Don’t you see? Our Aki-chan’s doing a lot better nowadays.”

“It’s the air and environment of the area,” her mother reasoned. “It’s doing wonders for her health.”

“Or perhaps she’s really met the Spirit of the Trees,” her grandfather mused.

The woman sighed. “Give that up, will you?”

“Just continue to let her play in the forest,” the old man advised her, casting a glance at a photo sat on his dresser. “I’ve lived here for over fifty years. I know about the wonders of this place. She won’t be harmed.”

Her mother sighed. “As long as she doesn’t get hurt playing by herself in there…”

“Of course she’s not by herself. She’s got that friend of hers, hasn’t she?”

“Are you going away again this year?” Aki stood at the base of the tree, having followed his melodic notes to their original source. But before she had time to glimpse his face, he had already hurriedly put on his mask and leapt down from its branches.

“Yes. But I’ll be back next year.”

“Why do you only appear during the fall?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.” Aki pouted and crossed her arms. “You tell me so little about yourself.”

He laughed, surprising her. “There’s nothing to say. I have barely more memories than what I’ve  shared with you. I’m entitled to keep the few remaining ones private, aren’t I?”

“Are you the Spirit of the Trees?”

“What do you think?”

“Why don’t you ever give me straight answers?” she complained. “You show me all the secrets of the forest, but you still remain the biggest mystery of them all.”

He tilted his mask slightly, allowing her to see the smile that graced his lips. “I’ll tell you next year.”

“I’m back now,” Aki announced, one year later.

“You’ve gotten taller,” her masked friend replied.

“Really?” She was pleased.

“Just a little bit.”

“Kaa-san says it’s because I’m not falling anymore. My legs have gotten stronger. So now I can continue growing up like everyone else.”

“Oh?” There was a slight hint of interest in his voice. But the moment quickly passed, as he jumped down from his tree and held out his flute. “Shall I take you somewhere new today?”

“Still in the forest, right?” Even after two years of living near its edge, her fascination remained strong and its secrets still continued to be elusive. Try as she might, she never could rediscover the beautiful places he had shown her. It was as if the trees themselves transformed only when he was around.

She glanced at him. “You don’t seem to have changed.”

“No, I haven’t really.”

“Why are you still wearing the mask?”

“Don’t you think it makes me look more like a Spirit?”

She paused, realizing he was answering her question. “You’re weird.”

In response, he merely chuckled.

Today, he took her to a colorful field of flowers. She squealed, still very much a child, and immediately set about collecting a bouquet. He stretched himself in the tall grass and rested his head on his hands.

Presently she came over. “Haru?” He didn’t respond. “Are you sleeping?” When he still didn’t move, she hesitantly put her flowers down.

“It’s okay if I just touch his mask, right?”

Her hands slowly, uncertainly reached over, hovering centimeters above his face. A light wind blew, as if wordlessly egging her on, and she lowered her fingers against the cool wooden texture of his mask and gently lifted it.

His sleeping face was serene, a peaceful smile tilting his lips in the slightest indication of a smile. The flush of his cheeks was the palest shade of pink as he breathed, and Aki sighed with relief. He was human. Then his eyes flew open, causing her to squeal with fright and quickly slap the mask back down into his face; as he yelped and rolled over, Aki covered in shock and squeaked, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to look! I was just curious—”

“Ow,” he groaned, sitting up and readjusting his mask, rubbing the side of his face, “Did you have to slam it down so hard?”

“I’m sorry! But,” she averted her eyes, muttering, “You were only pretending to sleep, weren’t you?”

He tilted his head and leaned on an elbow. “I looked normal, didn’t I?”

She looked down.

“It wouldn’t hurt for you to take it off every once in a while, you know…”

“Haru!” she called. “Haru? Are you there?”

Laughing slightly, he appeared from behind a tree. Due to its sheer bulk as well as the dangling blossoms, he had remained perfectly camouflaged within its canopy of color. “You don’t come running over trying to hug me anymore.”

“Of course,” she pouted. “I’ve learned my lesson after the first three years.”

 He tilted his mask slightly, revealing a grin. “And you don’t ask about my mask anymore.”

The girl gave a knowing smile. “Because I know you’ll show me when you’re ready.”

“You have so much faith in me.”

She shrugged. “My ojii-chan thinks you have healing powers.”

“Do you?”

She paused, honestly contemplating the question. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

“What does that mean?”

The girl grinned, liking their role-reversal. “I’ll tell you at the end of the month, okay?”

He laughed again, recognizing the tactic. “You’ve learned, I see.”

“Today, I’d like to celebrate hanami, the tradition of flower-viewing, with you,” she said seriously a few weeks later.

“Interesting. In the past, you had always liked to run around or play tag through the trees. Could you really be maturing now?”

She snorted in appreciation of his comment, but then quickly sobered up. “I’m leaving soon, that’s why.”

“Oh?”

“Kaa-san wants to move back into the city,” she explained. “Now that my health seems okay, she wants to look for a higher-paying job there. We’re moving in the spring.”

“Ah,” he acknowledged. “So today’s the last day we’ll see each other.”

The girl nodded, having already realized the same thing. Today would be the last day the flowers bloomed, and with it, the Spirit of the Cherry Trees would also be making his final appearance for the year.

For that was what he was, even though he never quite acknowledged it directly. No one admitted it, not even the girl, but throughout the years she had learned how to forge a friendship based on very little knowledge and a lot of trust.

“After we view them, let’s go for a run and play tag,” she said. “Just like in the past years.

“But this time, can you take off your mask?”

She was strong. As she weaved through the trees, dodging in and out of the forest of trunks, she sprinted freely and never fell. Occasionally stopping momentarily to wave her arms and taunt her chaser, the little girl, now ten years old, laughed and played like any healthy child of her age.

Haru, noting this, smiled. A faint memory pricked the back of his thoughts, and for a moment, he stopped moving, trying to remember it. Somehow, she reminded him of himself, of a past that he could not completely recall, and yet simultaneously was unable to forget. More than once, he found himself dreaming through her.

“Ha-aru-u,” she now taunted, “I bet you can’t catch me!” And then, still smiling, he shook his head and gave chase.

“My ojii-chan would still like to see you,” she said at the end of that day. “Won’t you go meet him? Maybe he can play with you in my stead.”

The boy hesitated, unsure how to explain. He put his mask back on. “Somehow…I don’t think I should.”

“Why not?” She was unhappy. But she no longer cried now.

“It’s complicated.”

“Haru…”

“Your ojii-san has a painful past,” he said, his expression hidden behind his mask. “I don’t want him to be reminded of it.”

“What do you mean?”

He sighed. “That sort of thing…” He paused, deciding if he should say any more on the topic. “That sort of thing…isn’t something the Spirit of the Cherry Trees can answer.”

The girl nodded, sad but resigned. As the two of them reached the edge of the forest, she turned to him, hand still on her end of the flute.

“So I guess this is good-bye?”

“Yes.”

“Good-bye, then, Haru.”

“Good-bye, Aki.”

The girl let go of the flute and stepped away, giving him a cheerful wave. “When I grow up, I’ll come back for sure. So this won’t be a permanent good-bye.”

“Oh?”

“Wait for me, okay? Haru.” She stood, hands clasped behind her, and tilted her upper body forward in a brief parting bow. “I’ll come back soon, I promise.”

He gave a nod. “I believe you.”

Haru watched as she turned and ran back towards the house, never once looking back. As her ojii-chan stepped out to greet her, an interesting, ominous premonition washed over him. Hidden safely in the trees and behind his mask, he sensed he would see her again, sooner than she planned for.

But there was no one to tell, and in the settling darkness of the forest, the blossoms slowly began to fall.