Chapter 10: The Girl Beneath the Blossoms
Two weeks passed.
Two weeks without Hikari's voice, without her soft laughter in the quiet hours, without the warmth of her hand in his. The house was quieter now—not in the way homes usually go quiet, but in the way something sacred leaves, and all that's left is the space it used to fill.
She was gone.
The last spark had flickered out.
The funeral was held on a cloudless morning.
Cherry blossoms fell like rain.
Kyoshi stood at the back of the ceremonial hall, eyes hollow, hands clenched. His suit was too tight. His throat felt scraped raw. Around him, people cried softly—friends, classmates, distant relatives.
But he didn't move.
He didn't cry at first.
Not until they brought the photo forward.
It was a picture from Kyoto. One she'd asked him to take. She was smiling, wind in her hair, standing near the red torii gates of Fushimi Inari.
Alive.
Unbreakable.
Kyoshi fell to his knees.
He didn't care who watched. Didn't care who whispered.
He broke.
Loud, ugly sobs tore out of him as he pressed both hands to his face, the sound echoing off the wooden walls of the ceremonial space. The kind of grief that had nowhere to go. The kind that couldn't be soothed.
"She's gone," he whispered, voice cracking. "She's really gone…"
A teacher gently knelt beside him. "You can come forward. Say your final goodbye."
He rose, trembling, and approached the casket.
Inside was her urn—delicate, white porcelain, etched with cherry blossoms.
He set down a folded paper.
Inside was his final sketch of her.
Sleeping peacefully under starlight.
Outside, they scattered her ashes just as she asked—by the Kyoto riverbank. He made the journey alone, holding the urn against his chest like it could still warm him.
He opened it with shaking hands, wind tugging at his coat.
And as the ashes flew into the river, he whispered:
"I hope you find a sky where no stars ever fade."
Kyoshi returned to Sogen College, but something inside him had changed.
He still carried his sketchbook.
But now it was full.
Every page bore pieces of her—moments frozen, laughter caught, sorrow etched in charcoal.
And on the final page, written in careful ink, were the last words he said aloud before closing the book forever:
You were my brightest spark.And even in the dark—I'll carry your light.