The dinner passed uneventfully, marked by quiet conversation and the soft sounds of cutlery against porcelain. Sasaki and Midori had cooked far too many side dishes, the result of the four children enthusiastically harvesting tomatoes, potatoes, and lettuce from the garden. Himari carefully avoided every dish that contained tomatoes. After eating and resting for about forty-five minutes, everyone gathered once more in the living room. Himari was the last to arrive.
During the time she had spent alone in her room, she had finally noticed something—something subtle, yet crucial—about the messages she had sent to Yuma.
From what the Fujita family had told her, Yuma had left their messages unread. Yet her case was different. He had not stopped reading her messages; he had only stopped replying. Each message she sent bore two blue ticks, not grey ones. If there was one constant presence in Yuma’s life, it was her.
Himari continued to message him regularly, despite his silence. She still greeted him every morning and every night. Sometimes, she sent photos—a cute chocolate cupcake from a well-known bakery, a new chocolate bread she had recently tried, a rare snow globe she had found online. At other times, she sent stickers: reminders to take care, wishes for a good day, warnings about bad weather. She was certain of one thing—she was still within Yuma’s circle.
Yuma’s heart was not made of steel. It had not hardened completely. He had only forced it to be that way so it would stop hurting.
After listening to everything they had tried, Himari finally understood where they had gone wrong.
When she spoke, every pair of eyes in the room was fixed on her, filled with anticipation. They wanted to change things with Yuma, and they were clinging to the hope that Himari’s words might show them how.
“You know,” Himari began calmly, “everything you tried—initiating conversation, cooking his favourite food, inviting him out, being the first to message him—it didn’t work because you took the wrong first step.”
Open mouths, blank stares, and hands scratching heads that did not itch were the collective reactions of both the Fujita and Kitahara families.
“Those steps,” she continued, “are things you do later.”
Confusion deepened.
“What you needed to do first was say one word—one word he needed to hear. It was vital. And you never said it.”
“That one word,” she went on, “is the starting point. From there, it spreads, slowly reaching the deepest place. Only after that can anything truly change.”
One word.
No matter how hard they racked their brains, nothing came to mind. Himari did not rush them. She had no intention of spoon-feeding the answer. Even if she ended up giving it to them, they needed to struggle first.
Eventually, the determination on their faces faded. Himari smiled faintly. At least they had tried.
“Let me ask you something,” she said. “What you did to Yuma—was it right or wrong?”
“Wrong!” everyone answered at once, including her own family.
“Then,” Himari continued smoothly, “when you do something wrong, what should you do?”
The answers came immediately.
Himari grinned. A second later, realisation dawned on their faces.
“Oh.”
“That,” Himari said simply, “is your first step. Apologise.”
“What if he doesn’t forgive us?” Haruma asked quietly.
“That mindset is wrong,” Himari replied without hesitation. “Whether he forgives you or not is not the goal. The goal is to admit every fault you made and seek forgiveness—without conditions.”
“Do not expect him to forgive you immediately.”
“If you are truly serious about making things right, then show him your determination to make it up to him.”
“Yuma has always been the one reaching out. Even when you pushed him aside, he still stepped into your line of sight. Don’t you think that, at least once, you should be the one to take his hand first?”
“Yuma never said anything. He chose to swallow everything. To endure.”
“One apology will never be enough, but it is still the first step. Tell him exactly where you went wrong. Do not justify your past actions.”
“What happens next belongs solely to Yuma. Whether he gets angry, continues to distance himself, or chooses to forgive you—only he has the right to decide.”
“It won’t be easy. Rejection, hesitation, being shut out—that will be his natural reaction. If you were bitten by a cat too many times, you would fear cats too, wouldn’t you? If someone was never seen even when they stood in plain sight, even they would eventually stop hoping to be noticed.”
“Trust, hope, love, wishes, reconciliation—you need to earn all of it. Yuma will not give it freely anymore. Maybe once, he would have. But not now. Not unless you desperately chase after him.”
“Take the first step,” Himari concluded. “Watch the flow. Learn the pattern. Adjust. Know when to pull back—and when to step forward.”
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