By the time the annual Hanatomo Festival arrived, the grove bore new life: sprouting buds and tender leaves. Lanterns swayed among branches, glowing like fireflies. Stalls lined the riverbank: candied strawberries, goldfish scoops, games of chance. Hana and Ren wandered hand in hand, their laughter mingling with the festival drums.
At the wishing booth—a simple altar draped in pink silk—villagers tied wooden plaques bearing hopes. Hana carved, "I choose love." Ren carved, "I choose joy." Together they hung them side by side, two vows tethered to the same branch.
Then a troupe of drummers summoned festivalgoers to the moonlit dance. Ren pulled Hana into the circle; at first her steps wavered, but under the lantern's glow and Ren's steady gaze, she found her rhythm. Their dance was a duet of two hearts rediscovered, spinning petals around them like confetti.
As the final drumbeat faded, Ren bent low. "Hana Moriyama," he said, voice trembling, "will you stay here—with me—beyond the whispers?"
Hana's chest tightened. She had a life in Tokyo: responsibilities, empty walls, a future waiting for her words. But none of it felt real now. "Yes," she whispered, "I will."
The crowd cheered. Lanterns drifted into the sky, carrying their promise upward to the cherry moon.