Observing Saki in that moment, I contemplated the idea to respond with a dramatic “Wow!”, pretending to be shocked, and maybe even losing my balance. However, I merely entertained the idea and couldn’t bring myself to act upon it.
“I was surprised, but… my reaction wasn’t great, was it? I apologize for that,” I admitted, feeling a tinge of regret.
In response, Saki vigorously shook her head side to side and reassured me, “No, not at all. I saw the expression on your face, usually so composed, as if you had been caught off guard in a surprise attack.”
“Did I really make that face?” I questioned, a hint of disbelief in my voice.
“Yes, you absolutely did. That expression is etched in my memory,” Saki replied, her shoulders shaking with laughter. While I didn’t perceive myself as cool or caught off guard, I kept it to myself and embraced her infectious smile.
Though Saki typically portrayed herself as an exemplary student, she occasionally delighted in engaging in such childlike antics. Perhaps this was the true essence of Saki.
“How long were you hiding?” I asked, reaching out to pluck a leaf that had settled on top of her head.
“Just a little while,” she responded, her voice filled with playfulness.
As I presented her with the leaf, her eyes widened, and a blush of embarrassment colored her cheeks.
“Are you not going today?” I asked, curiosity piqued.
Usually, Saki would be seated by the spring, but today, she had chosen to be in the vicinity of the forest, where she could still catch a glimpse of the spring.
“Today, it rained all day, didn’t it? The area around the spring got quite muddy, so I couldn’t go there,” she explained.
“It rained all day?” I repeated, taken aback.
“Yes, it was a light rain on and off throughout the day. Perhaps you didn’t notice,” she suggested.
“I suppose… I didn’t realize,” I confessed.
While I had been taking a look around Arashiyama this afternoon, I had no recollection of any light rain. Had it started after I returned to Grandma’s house? I gazed up at the sky. The blue moon continued to hang in the dark expanse. The delicate clouds veiling the full moon added to the enchantment of the night.
I mustered the courage to speak as my gaze remained fixed on the moon.
“Saki, umm…”
“What is it?” she responded, her tone filled with curiosity.
“How long have you been waiting here… for him?”
It was a sudden and probing question, even though I was aware of that. But I couldn’t help but ask.
On the days when rain prevents her from reaching the spring, does she still wait for her first love in this forest where she can catch a glimpse of it?
In the dimly lit forest, I could hear rustling leaves and the occasional cicada, a soft symphony not too overwhelming. In a place like this, all alone for such a long time?
With such thoughts swirling in my mind, I couldn’t resist asking.
“For six years,” she replied.
Six years ago, she was just eleven, a sixth-grader.
“Have you been waiting for your first love all this time?” I inquired.
“Yes. Although he never came to see me,” she revealed.
“Did you both promise to meet here?”
“No, there was no promise. I simply fell in love at first sight when I met him here. So, I’ve been hoping that if I stay here, I’ll see him again.”
Ah… As Yuuya mentioned, it was true. Saki had halted time for herself. She resided in a dreamlike realm akin to a fairy tale, consumed by love for six long years.
“Saki, would you like to go out?” I proposed.
“Huh?”
“Yesterday, you took me out and showed me around, remember? I had a great time, and I’d like to return the favor today.”
“Return the favor?” Saki responded, looking at me intently.
I continued, undeterred by her surprise, “Let’s also leave a letter for that person.”
“But… I don’t have a phone. I only have the number of the dormitory, so I can’t go too far…” she hesitated.
As Saki’s voice faded toward the end of her sentence, I realized her predicament.
“You don’t have a phone?” I inquired, trying to comprehend.
“Hinata Dormitory doesn’t allow cell phones,” she explained with a tinge of resignation.
“I see. Then, just write down my number. Here, I’ll give it to you.”
I might have come across as forceful in my insistence.
“Wait, hold on…” Saki started to say, but before she could fully process her thoughts, she took out a piece of paper and a pen from her bag. She wrote down the number I provided. I took the paper from her, asking, “Can I borrow your pen too?”
“Y-yeah,” she stuttered, lending me her pen.
With the pen in hand, I added a word to the paper. Once finished, I return the pen to Saki and took the plastic umbrella she’d been holding. I walked toward the spring, ignoring Saki’s voice in the distance calling my name.
On the wooden board above the spring, I placed the transparent umbrella and slipped the note beneath it. It would catch someone’s attention immediately. This spot, basked in the brilliance of the blue moonlight — the perfect place to make our message visible.
“So, shall we go?” I asked Saki, who appeared bewildered upon returning from the spring.
Though I tried to maintain a calm exterior, deep down, I worried she’d refuse or find it bothersome, but I had something I wanted to share with her. I yearned to spend quality time together.
Perhaps my intense emotions reached her, as she smiled, seemingly resigned.
“It’s boring to stay here without you, right…? Okay. Let’s go,” she exclaimed, and I internally celebrated with a mental fist pump, as I ran through the forest with my muddy sneakers.
“Keiichi-kun, why are we running?” she asked.
“Hurry up! The night is coming to an end,” I urged.
The blue moon continued to watch over us.
“It’s been a while since I last came to the urban area,” Saki remarked as we left the forest and walked for a while.
“Is that so?”
“I think the last time was when I was ten. It was the final visit I made with my mother,” she reminisced.
It had already been seven years.
“Has it changed?” I inquired.
She looked around at the town and replied, “Yes, it has changed a lot.”
“I agree.”
Her voice held a gentle tone as she gazed at the familiar town with warm eyes.
I’m glad I brought her here. The city of Kyoto suited her better than waiting by the spring.
“There weren’t any buildings like this before, and even this old shop has a completely different atmosphere. It’s stylish and beautiful. I wonder if it was rebuilt…”
As she spoke, my eyes caught sight of a sign that read, “Welcome to Hannari, Kyoto.”
“Hannari…” I mused.
I remembered the first time I heard that word; I didn’t understand its meaning, so I asked my grandmother. Hannari was a Kansai dialect term, signifying elegance, brightness, and glamour.
Elegant, bright, and glamorous… that’s her. The word hannari fit her perfectly. She embodied elegance, possessed a radiant personality, and naturally exuded glamour.
I couldn’t help but envision Saki in a kimono. I was sure she would look stunning. When I thought of women in Kyoto, the immediate association was with kimonos. However, I realized that this perspective may have stemmed from being an outsider. With her fair skin and slender figure, Saki would indeed have been exceptionally beautiful in a kimono.
As I indulged in this mental image, my stomach growled loudly.
Is this a joke? Why now? I grumbled, annoyed by my sudden hunger.
Saki, sitting beside me, squinted her eyes and inquired, “Are you hungry?”
Was it so amusing that it made her want to cry? I wished I could vanish into thin air. Concealing my anxious feelings, I casually replied, “It seems so,” as if it were someone else’s problem.
In truth, I wasn’t overly hungry; it was simply my stomach making its presence known.
“There’s a delicious croquette shop nearby. Would you like to go?” I suggested.
“Croquettes? I love them. Let’s go!” she agreed.
We proceeded south along Arashiyama Street and turned left in front of Tenryū-ji Temple, where we found Nakamura-ya with its inviting brown sign. As I approached, the shopkeeper greeted us with a warm welcome.
“How many croquettes would you like, Saki?” I inquired.
“Just one,” she replied. I purchased three croquettes and handed one to Saki.
“Have you ever tried these croquettes before?” I asked.
“No, this is my first time on this street,” she responded.
“I see. This isn’t the main street, so I wouldn’t have noticed it either if my grandma hadn’t told me,” I said.
“They look delicious, don’t they?” Saki remarked, her eyes fixed on the freshly fried croquettes.