The little girl leaned against the trunk of the trees, looking up hopefully.

“Haru? Are you there?”

There was a rustling sound, and the young man stepped away from the shadows. “You’re back.”

“You haven’t changed at all,” she laughed, noting his characteristic mask.

He tilted his head, studying her. “I can’t say the same for you.” For the little girl who stood before him was no longer a child. “You’ve grown up, I see.”

She smiled serenely. “It’s been five years, after all.”

He nodded, and just like before, held out his flute. “So then, shall we go?”

Still smiling, she reached out her hand and clasped the wooden instrument, and then allowed him to guide her once more.

She no longer ran the way she used to. Now, she walked slowly, taking in the beauty that surrounded her. Occasionally the wind would blow a stray petal through her hair, and she laughed, tucking it into her braid.

“Your hair’s grown so long,” he commented, casting her a glance.

“I promised myself I wouldn’t cut it until after I returned,” she told him earnestly. “Because,”—she giggled, and instantly he was transported to the past—“I’ve always wanted to weave the flower blossoms through my hair.”

“Such a childish dream,” he commented. “What will you do if they fall off? Or worse, wilt in your hair?”

She brushed his words aside with a wave. “Don’t mar my fantasies with that pragmatic attitude. Ever since I first set foot in this forest nine years ago, I had always dreamed of lying with my eyes closed in a field of flowers, with the sun shining on my skin and the wind blowing through my hair. It’s such a romantic image, don’t you think?”

“It’s slightly ethereal for sure.”

“Isn’t it?” The girl looked into the distance, where petals were floating through the air, carried by the wind. “But it’s very fitting, ne? For a Spirit of the Cherry Trees.”

He paused. “What do you mean by that?”

She tilted her head to the side and smiled. “I’ve become a woman now, don’t you think?”

It’s true, he knew, as he watched her pick up a fallen petal and twirl it into her hair. Their was no longer as big as it used to be. Like the flowers which filled the air and surrounded their beings, the little girl he once knew was finally beginning to bloom.

She stumbled yet again, falling and landing in the grass. It was her fifth time in as many minutes. Without complaint, she picked herself up and turned to him, giving an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry about that. I don’t seem to have the same balance as I used to…”

“Aki—”

“I’m fine. Really.” She turned away and started walking in slow, halting steps. “Let’s go. Where to next?”

“You’re ill, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question. Vague wisps of memory swirled in the furthest reaches of his mind; he recognized those symptoms. She turned to him. “The way you move—”

“Will I get better?” He stopped, looking at her. It had been years since he had last seen her cry. “Will I get better again? Just like last time, all those years ago?”

“I—” He took off his mask, placing it over her face. “Don’t cry...” Slowly he reached out his hand to pat her shoulder, but then at the last second, he drew it back.

The mask hid her true expression, but her words carried her emotion all the same. “You can’t touch me. I know that much, at least.”

His hand dropped to his side. “I’m a Spirit, after all. We don’t belong in the same world.” He paused, remembering all the previous times she had asked for an explanation. It was finally time to give it.

“To touch you would mean death for both of us.”

Aki sat at the kitchen table, absently the tablecloth. The soft clack of the front door told her that her mother had returned, and as she walked into the room, Aki looked up and smiled in greeting.

Standing took too much time and effort.

“Aki-chan, how are you feeling?” her mother asked. The worry crinkles that seemed to perpetually line her face were becoming more pronounced day by day; now every time Aki saw her, her stomach inwardly churned. Her mother was still too young to have so many wrinkles.

“Fine,” she responded automatically. It wasn’t the truth, but it wasn’t a lie. “Kaa-san, where is ojii-chan?”

“He went out today.” Her mother took out a cup and poured some tea. “He should be back soon, though. Why?”

“Nothing,” Aki mumbled, looking down at her hands. She flexed her fingers. What did it feel like, she wondered, to touch him?

Slowly she traced the edges of the table, following its smooth wooden grooves. The ancient tree from which it came, the patterns of its trunk and rings; everything about it was so predictable and….known. But he was unknown, from the origins of his name to the truth of his existence.

What had he meant by that?

“Aki?” Her mother asked. “Are you ready to go? You have rehab in half an hour.”

She then waited patiently as Aki struggled to get to her feet and follow her out the door.

Uchiyama Hisao stood alone in front of the gravestone. In his hands, he carried a bouquet.

“Cherry-Tree Guide Kouki, it’s been a while, ne? I’ve brought your favorite flowers back.” Placing them carefully on top of the small marker, he stepped back a few spaces and gave a quick bow of respect. “It feels like just like yesterday when we were running through that forest ourselves.”

He then closed his eyes and smiled serenely. “Those were some fun times, weren’t they? You and me, and all of our other friends, playing in that place from dawn to dusk. But then the war gradually took people one by one, till there was nobody left but us.”

He opened his eyes and stared wistfully at the sky. “To be honest, I didn’t want to leave, either. Even after all these years, that’s still my biggest regret.” In his mind, the image of his granddaughter flashed through his thoughts. “I should have stayed. As you got sick and gradually lost the ability to move, I should have stayed behind and taken better care of you.”

The lights in his eyes sparkled with water. “Do you know? Our Aki-chan has your disease, too. My one and only granddaughter is gradually wasting away, and once again, there’s absolutely nothing I can do to help her.

“Where is the Spirit of the Trees? Why isn’t he healing her anymore? Was it just a lie, after all these years?”

Hisao remembered the letters. He remembered receiving them in the barracks as the war raged on, receiving the letters that reminded him of home and of hope. He had reread them so many times, he had memorized the contents of every single one. Their words, both cheerful and lonely, were all written in the beautiful, though progressively deteriorating, handwriting of his best friend, as around him the field turned red with blood.

In the letters, Kouki told him about how he was getting better, how the Spirit of the Trees was healing his most loyal guide. And Hisao had believed him, truly believed that after the war ended, they would meet once more.

Then Japan surrendered and he came back only to find his town devoid of the youth he had once known. All the young men had come back forever changed, scarred by the horrors of war, and the women had aged beyond their years in worry and fear. There was nobody, nothing left of the childhood he once knew, and as Kouki’s okaa-san handed Hisao one last letter, he didn’t ask why his friend wasn’t there to give it himself.

The cherry blossoms of that summer were almost all but gone. Sitting under the largest trunk in the middle of the forest, Hisao had dug out the flute case hidden by the roots and taken out the instrument that had once belonged to his best friend. Closing his eyes and playing the first notes, he could have almost convinced himself that it was his friend and not he who played the bittersweet and nostalgic melody that then filled the air.

“Are you watching over us right now? I wonder…” In the present, a small wind blew through his hair, lifting the blossoms from their place and scattering their petals into the air. Hisao watched as they floated all around him. “Only you could have related to her pain. The words she needs to hear the most right now, I wonder what they could be?”

“Tell me the story about the Spirit of the Trees again,” Aki asked as her grandfather tucked her into bed later that night. Though she had recently turned fifteen, the recrudescence of the disease had triggered a bit of her old self back. It was as if some part of her implicitly believed that if she returned to her childhood self, her disease’s progression would reverse, too.

Her grandfather smiled, opening his mouth to begin a story he hadn’t recited in years. “In the forest outside of our house, it is said there lives a Spirit. Legend has it that whoever meets him will be cured of any disease…”

“Ojii-chan, did I really meet the Spirit?”

He paused. “Who knows?”

Aki shifted her head so that her eyes met her grandfather’s. “Have you ever met him?”

“No,” he responded slowly, after another pause. “I didn’t. But I’d like to think that my childhood friend did.”

“Your childhood friend?” Though her grandfather had often enjoyed telling her  the local myths and legends, his own past had largely remained private. But even without Haru’s opinions, Aki had long realized not to ask for what her grandfather wasn’t willing to divulge.  

“His name was Kouki,” Hisao now continued. His eyes were slowly glazing over, his mind once again being transported to the distant past. “Like you, he loved the play in the forest as well.”

Aki stayed silent, noting the past tense. It was the first time she had ever heard about him.

“He died young,” her grandfather said abruptly, and Aki jumped. Noticing this, Hisao softened his tone and continued, “But he died happy, I’m sure. I was told he had a smile on his face.”

“How did he...?” Aki whispered.

Hisao stared at his granddaughter sadly, and right away a plethora of explanations came to mind. He died in an accident. He died in the war. He died quick and painlessly. He—But Aki was no longer a child. Everyday he witnessed her struggling so hard, using up what was left of her once-boundless strength, fighting back with all she had. So he told her the truth, blunt and to the point. “He had a disease. Just like you. He had your disease,” he repeated, “and died shortly before his eighteenth birthday.”

To her credit, Aki’s face did not change. “I see,” she merely said, and as she turned away, Hisao reached out and grabbed her shoulder.

“Don’t give up hope,” he urged her. The girl met his eyes. “Because it’s not over yet. This fight, it’s only just begun.”

The next year she returned with crutches. Haru waited patiently by the edge of the trees as she slowly made her way over to him.

“You look pretty,” he commented, glancing at her. “The yukata suits you.” 

Aki blushed. “Thank you.” She looked down, and then back up. “No flute?”

“You’re old enough now,” Haru smiled, taking off his mask. “And plus, since today is the first day of the Obon Matsuri, I thought I’d take you. Do you want to go?”

Aki gasped, eyes wide. “Yes!” Then a thought struck her. “But how would you manage to get through the crowd without being touched?”

“Like this,” Haru joked, holding up plastic gloves. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be careful.”

 Aki’s eyes further widened as he pulled out a small silk sash. “I thought today we’d link ourselves with this instead. Hold out your hand?”

She giggled as he tied the small cloth around her wrist. “It’s like going on a date!”

“This is a date,” he teased, and she stopped laughing, her eyes meeting his. He smiled. “Shall we go?”

She nodded, hiding her smile, and the two set off.

“Thank you for taking me out today,” Aki told him gratefully. Around them, the sun was beginning to set. “I was really happy. Especially since...” Her voice trailed off and she glanced down at her crutches. It wasn’t too hard to understand her implicit message, and Haru frowned.

“Don’t think that. It didn’t bother me at all.”

“I’m sorry—”

“What are you apologizing for? Stop that. Aki, this isn’t like you.”

She bit her lip, knowing he was right. But there was no way he wasn’t bothered. The pace with which they walked through the crowds, with him leading the way while she slowly trailed behind him, the pitiful stares of the passerby and the open pointing fingers of the younger children, the frightening moments when she nearly fell but he couldn’t catch her—the idea that none of it bothered him, it was impossible.

She had diligently worked on her rehab exercises, willingly met with her doctor once every two weeks, dutifully done all she could to get better. But the fact that she couldn’t, the fact that after all her efforts, the most she could do was delay the inevitable end was sometimes too painful to bear.

“I had wanted...” she began softly.

Haru, who had been walking ahead, turned back. “Huh?”

Aki looked at the forest that surrounded them, the falling flowers that now gently floated down from the higher branches to the ground below. With one hand she reached out and grasped a petal. Soft and silky in her palm, for a moment she held it close to her face, breathing in its familiar, memory-invoking scent. “Nothing.”

They had reached the edge of the forest. Aki leaned on her crutches while Haru untied the sash. “So you’re leaving tomorrow?” he asked.

She nodded. Though there were still a few weeks of summer left, her mother was flying them out to America for treatment the next day. As much as Aki grasped this hope of recovery, a small part of her also secretly wished that she could have stayed longer by Haru’s side. But then she quickly dismissed the thought.

“Would you call me selfish if I said that I would’ve wanted to spend more time with you?” Haru quietly asked.

Her eyes shot up. But in the darkness, Haru’s expression was unreadable. Aki felt her chest clench.         

“When you say things like that, it makes me want to hug you,” she said in a joking voice.

“So do it.” She looked at him, but he had turned away and put the mask back on his face. “I’m serious.”

The next summer they met, both implicitly knew it would be the last time. As her grandfather wheeled her to the edge of the forest and leaned over to talk to her, Haru silently watched from his perch in the trees.

He never knew for sure exactly when he came back each year. As with the daily unpredictability of the seasons, his reappearances only coincided with the autumnal blooming of the cherry blossoms. But he knew that she watched the reports on TV, and thus for the last few years she had always walked over to the trees when the time was right, and there he would be, waiting for her.

How must she feel this year, he wondered, watching as her grandfather walked back to the house alone, about no longer being able to walk over to the forest by herself?

He raised his flute to his lips, preparing to blow the first notes of a song. Somehow, playing the familiar melodies always calmed his heart when the nostalgic feelings resurfaced. It was a way to cope.

“Haru?”

He lowered the instrument and jumped down. “I’m here.”

Aki gazed at him from her sitting position in the wheelchair. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you play,” she said softly.

“Then I’ll play a concert just for you,” Haru smiled, handing the flute over to her as he grabbed the steering handles of the wheelchair. “Shall we go?”

“No, stay here,” she insisted, surprising him. She didn’t turn around. “I.... I don’t want to go to the forest like this.”

“What do you mean?”

“It hurts too much,” she said, her voice quiet. “Whenever I come back here, I always remember the days when we used to run around this place, exploring the forest together.” Haru gripped the handles more tightly. “I want to go back to those days.” Aki held the flute to her face, hunching her shoulders. “I want to go back to the days when you and I both held the opposite ends of the flute, like this, and—,” She paused, turning it over slowly with her hands. “Had it always been this small? I wonder.”

“You’ve grown up, Aki.” He was stating the obvious, but he didn’t know what else to say. Just like the first time they met, she was crying and he had no idea how to console her. But this time, handing her the flute would no longer work. “It’s impossible to go back to the past. To return to how things used to be.”

She sniffed. “I don’t want to grow up! Why can’t I stay the same,  like you? Why is it that every year I grow older and weaker, but you remain unchanged?”

“I’m changing, too,” he said quietly, looking down. “Ever since I met you, I’ve been changing, too. Bit by bit. No one remains the same forever.”

Aki remained silent, still looking away. “I wanted to smile, you know. When ojii-chan wheeled me here, I told myself to smile.” A small sob escaped her. “But after seeing you again, why is even this so hard to do?”

With one swift movement Haru took off his mask and gently placed it on her face. Tilting his head towards her, he leaned his forehead against the cool surface and took a breath. “Shh,” he said in a hushed voice, and she stopped moving. “Don’t cry.”

With slow and careful motions, he took the flute from her and raised it to his lips. Taking another breath, he stood up and closed his eyes.

Behind the mask, Aki’s eyes widened as the familiar notes of the haunting melody filled the air. “Ojii-chan used to whistle that song,” she said, her voice muffled by the mask.

Haru nodded, still playing. He knew. He remembered.

Minutes passed with no words exchanged. Feelings too deep, anguish too raw, memories too vague to be communicated vocally were expressed through music, conveying everything they couldn’t voice out loud. As the song drew to a close, Aki opened again.

“My father died when I was very young,” she abruptly began, and Haru was reminded of their first encounter. “I don’t really remember him very well.” Behind her mask, her expression was unreadable. “But they say he had my disease.”

Haru put the flute down.

“Sometimes I wonder—would he have been healed, had he come here first?” Aki now took off the mask and held it in her hands, cradling it. “Just like how I was, back when I was six.”

Because then maybe he wouldn’t have had passed the genetic disease to her.

It wasn’t a science, this place. She was sure she would never know why she had seemingly recovered the first time, or why the disease then struck back within years after she left. But that didn’t stop her from wondering, from pondering the impossible.

She imagined she found solace in dreaming about what could have been.

“Hey... Haru? I have a request.”

“What is it?” At that moment, did he know? Deep down, he must have realized. What she was feeling, the things she wanted, and the impossibility of it all.

“Just more time...” With one hand she clasped the mask to her chest as with an effort, she turned around to look at him. “I want to run through the forest the way we used to. Together.” She took a breath. “Holding hands.”

Haru inhaled sharply.

“Just once,” she pleaded, looking up at him. He stared into her eyes and instantly regretted it. It was so hard not to cry when her spirit was clearly on the verge of being shattered forever.

“I-I can’t,” he stammered, hating the way his voice betrayed his feelings. “You and I both know what will happen if we touch, even just a little—”

She broke eye contact and hung her head, hiding her face; nonetheless, the droplets of water that fell onto her lap did not escape his glance. And his heart wrenched even more.

He wanted to reach out, grab her sleeve, pull her up; he wanted to run through the forest with her, hand on cloth and cloth on hand—it wasn’t real touching for sure, and thus maybe it would’ve been okay—but one look at their present situation and he knew it was hopeless. Her wheelchair sat at the forest edge, lovingly pushed there by hands that weren’t hers; too weak to even control the machine herself, let alone stand up and run with him, she was but a shadow of the former girl he once knew. The little six year-old who had gotten lost in the forest all those years ago, and the little girls who had returned with each passing year—none of them were her. Or rather, she was no longer them.

“I know.” And then she said no more.

A wave of emotion washed over him. Regret, frustration, hurt, defeat—too raw, too heavy, too painful to be his, it was speechlessly overwhelming. But despite it all, at the very core of it all, it was also too real, too familiar. It was impossible to merely emphasize.

Because he remembered going through the same thing.

Vague images flitted through his mind. A young man lying in a field of fallen petals, too weak to move and too listless to care.

Alone. He was going to die all alone…

What had been the reason again? The reason he had gone out.

Ah. He remembered. It was to collect his flute. He wanted to clean and wrap it up, and then bring it back to his house. His mother would know whom to give it to.

The edges of his world were going black.

Wait, no! It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He still hadn’t properly said good-bye to Hisao yet. They had promised each other that they would meet again after the war.

Must…reach…him…

The sun was so bright. So blindingly bright.

Just give me more time, please. Another chance, please! I want to live. I want to live! I don’t want to leave yet—

Colors were blurring, fading into each other. The trees blended with the blossoms, the grass with the sky, the black edges of his vision mixing with the brilliance of the sun—zooming in, focusing on his half-closed eyelids faster than he could formulate the thought.

Is this what it feels like to die?

Someone was coming towards him, hands outstretched, calling out his name—could it be?

Kouki sat up and smiled. Leaning forward and closing his eyes, he reached out to grab those hands and—

—clasped them into hers. “Aki,” he breathed, sending a warm rush of emotion and power through his fingers as his hand touched hers. “Aki, wait.”

She looked up, eyes widening as she realized what he was doing.

What he had done.

“Just once, then. Let’s run through the forest together.” Gently, he lifted her from the wheelchair and set her on her feet, giving her the briefest of moments to adjust. And then he was off, racing through the forest with her by his side. Hand in hand they flew through the trees, running so fast she could feel the wind blowing into her face, whipping her hair, setting her free. Muscles long unused began to twitch; first a smile, then a laugh. It had been years since she last felt like this, so light, so young, so carefree.

“Haru,” she cried, turning to him as the wind blew her tears away. “Haru, I’m so hap—”

Shimmering wisps were blowing past his face. Cherry blossom petals scattered by the wind erupted like white lights; following their movement with her eyes, in her heart she already knew what she would see. Starting with their intertwined fingers and now rapidly streaming through his arms, Haru’s skin was glowing, sparkling, transforming into a blinding white. Bit by bit he was dissolving, fading away into the petals which now blossomed from their hands.

Haru had turned at her sudden gasp. Following her gaze, for a moment he, too, looked shocked, but then his features relaxed into a small, resigned smile.

They stopped running. The rushing wind slowed and died down, leaving behind a small gust that tangled through the last loose strands of their hair.

“Haru...” What could she do? The things she had long wanted to say, the emotions she had been waiting years to convey; now at the most crucial moment, words failed and she found herself reflected in his eyes as his body fast disappeared. Her outstretched hands grasped the air as his transformed into petals, and she slowly closed her fists.

“Aki,” he whispered, and even his voice was sounding faint, “did you have fun?”

She nodded, eyes prickling with tears.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good.” She stepped closer. “Listen, now I have one last request. Do you think you can...”

The wind had picked up again and was now swirling faster, scattering the petals further and further apart. With one jump she threw her arms around his torso, tilting her head towards his. With a final whoosh, his body dissolved in an explosion of petals, and she fell forward, collapsing on her knees with her arms clasped to her chest. Remnants of the flowers gently floated down around her, casting her in a sea of their deep fragrance.

Until we meet again.

“Mm,” she sniffled, wiping her eyes. With her other hand, she opened her fist and drew it close to her face, breathing in the last hints of the flower enclosed within.

“If I wait here for you, will we meet once more?” Closing her eyes, she laid down in the middle of the petal-stained grass and smiled into the sky. The wind caressed her face and the last of the blossoms settled, carrying unspoken messages beyond the trees.

I’ll be waiting.

A few hours later, her body was discovered by the local police. Lying in a sea of fallen flowers with a peaceful smile on her face, at first she had almost been mistaken for sleeping.

No one could explain the excessive quantity of fallen petals this early in the season, nor could they understand how she, an invalid girl with advanced symptoms of Duchenne’s muscular dystrophy, had ended up alone in the middle of the forest, hundreds of meters away from her abandoned wheelchair.

No one would ever know the whole story, but that night, as Hisao was getting ready for bed, he paused for a moment to look at his dresser. Propped next to the photo from his younger days with Kouki was another picture he had taken with his later family: his daughter and his granddaughter. Now, one more object rested with his photos. For lying only a few feet away from Aki had been the Japanese flute Kouki once owned, and as Hisao turned off the lights and closed his eyes, he realized that he inexplicably knew the answer.

In the end, his granddaughter had been cured after all.

A/N: [8/6/12.Monday morning] Sorry for the long wait! A combination of a massive writer's block, a computer crash, and procrastination caused me to write the first half back in like June, and then the last half in like 3 days last week. It's kind of funny how motivating deadlines can be. That said, I have to get up in 5 hours and I'm in for a hell week, so this really isn't the best day to be cutting back on sleep. So good night and I hope this update met expectations....somewhat? It's a very rough draft because I had no time to edit (literally finished it during work), so I'll come back and edit it ASAP. If you give feedback before Friday, I'll read it and incorporate it into the revised version. Thanks for reading!

A/N: [8/15/12.Wednesday evening] Finally finished updating my edits! Gah every time I opened this document, I revised something. But no more. I need to stop OTL. Hopefully I made it in time before this entry got judged lol. Thanks again to all the people who liked this story even before I polished it, and for those who read it afterwards, I hope you liked it! Comments always welcome ^^