“Hey, I’ve got something to show you!” Shinoa grabbed my hand, dragging me up the up the hill. “I wanted to do something for you, since I know a few kids here in Japan have been giving you a hard time.” He stopped three fourths the way up the hill and turned around, grabbing my other hand.
I looked into his eyes for a moment, then looked away, tears already forming and threatening to spill over. It wasn’t a weakness I was about to let him see. He took one hand and placed it on my cheek, gently turning my face back toward him, but I kept my gaze cast down.
“It’s alright, I’ve gone through it too, back in Korea.” His thumb swiped under my eye, where a lone tear had leaked through. “Now, back up the hill.”
He lead me the rest of the way up, slower this time. Because of that, I could also smell the growing scent coming from the top, where a sakura tree stood. A light breeze came through, and dozens of the fragile pink petals fluttered down as we reached the top.
Under the dark, flowering branches, a small picnic blanket was set. On top of it, paper plates were weighed down with what looked like smooth river stones. Beside the blanket was a basket, shut, but still emanating delicious fumes.
“This… It’s a… Oh what’s the word…?” The scene reminded me of something I read, probably on one of my well made fun of research sprees, but the term wouldn’t come to mind. Shinoa only chuckled, although I know he admired the fact that I, an American, was so interested in a culture vastly different from the one I had grown up with.
“Hanami!” I had almost jumped as I said it, proud of myself for single handedly remembering the word I was searching for. “A flower viewing!” With a smile, Shinoa grabbed my hand again and lead me to the blanket.
He removed and set aside both the rocks, then grabbed the basket, setting it between us. “I think you’ll like what I packed.” It was cryptic, but he didn’t keep me waiting long. Opening it, he reveal that he not only packed both chopsticks and forks, but also a basil pesto pasta I was fond of, as well as what looked like homemade ramen. The last little container appeared to contain deviled eggs.
I looked at him, and smiled. He couldn’t have chosen a better time to do this. Between all the tests we had just taken, and the same few students who held residual anger towards Americans, I’d be stretched thin.
“Thank you. I needed this.” I kissed Shinoa on the cheek, causing him to blush, then put food on both of our plates.
We ate- not once picking up the forks- in a comfortable silence. Everything was just so serene, in our hanami beneath the sakura tree. Even once we had finished, the two of us just sat and listened to the breeze in the branches, with Shinoa’s hand atop of mine.
