The rain tapped lightly against the windowpane, a steady rhythm that filled the quiet of the small dorm room. The scent of earth and city lights drifted in through the slightly ajar window, mixing with the faint aroma of instant coffee. Haruto sat cross-legged on the floor, a stack of notebooks and old sketchpads around him like a circle of forgotten memories.
He wasn't looking for anything in particular—just tidying up his space, trying to create order in the growing chaos of their university lives. Between club meetings, assignments, and fleeting hours spent with Aiko, clutter had gathered like dust in the corners of their days.
He picked up an old astronomy notebook, one he hadn't opened since the early days of first semester. Its pages were worn, some dog-eared, others scribbled with equations and midnight thoughts. As he flipped through it, something soft fell from between the pages and fluttered to the floor.
A folded piece of paper, aged and slightly yellowed, with the edges worn thin.
Haruto blinked.
He bent down, slowly picked it up, and opened it with care—as if afraid that time would crack it in his hands. His breath caught as he recognized the handwriting.
It was Aiko's.
A note, written during their final year of high school. He remembered now—how she had slipped it into his astronomy notebook before exams, just as a surprise. He had never read it. In the rush of studying and entrance stress, it must have stayed hidden between the constellations and formulas, waiting patiently for this moment.
His eyes scanned the paper.
Haruto,
You probably found this by accident while studying again, didn't you?
I wanted to say something… but it's always so hard in person. So here's a note. A simple one.
I'm proud of you. Even when you're quiet, even when you're tired, even when you try to hide it… I see how hard you work.
You look up at the stars like they'll answer all your questions. Maybe they will someday. But right now, I just want to be one small star in your sky—always there, even when you can't see me.
I'll be cheering for you, no matter what. Always.
—Aiko
The room faded for a moment, his heart overtaken by the quiet weight of her words. He held the note to his chest, letting its warmth bloom inside him. The version of Aiko who wrote it—hopeful, shy, full of unsaid love—felt as real as the one who now shared his Tokyo days and laughter.
He stood up abruptly, grabbed his jacket, and stepped into the rain.
The city was a blur of umbrellas and lights, but he moved through it with purpose. It didn't matter that he had no umbrella. The rain felt like a cleansing thing, a baptism of old memories finding their way into the present.
He found her in the art studio—a quiet corner of campus she often escaped to when the world got too loud. She was bent over a canvas, paintbrush dancing with soft strokes. Her hair was tied up in a loose bun, strands falling over her cheek, her expression lost in thought.
Haruto stood there for a moment, watching her. It was strange, the way time stretched when love filled the silence.
She turned, sensing him.
"Haruto?" she asked, surprised. "You're soaked—what are you—?"
Without a word, he stepped closer, pulling the folded note from his pocket. It was slightly damp now, but the ink remained.
"You remember this?" he asked, his voice low.
Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. "That's—where did you—?"
"You left it in my astronomy notebook," he said, smiling gently. "I never saw it… until today."
Aiko blinked rapidly, a flush rising in her cheeks. "I wrote that so long ago. I—I didn't think you'd ever find it."
He stepped closer, took her hand.
"I found it at the perfect time."
She looked at him, searching his eyes for something—perhaps embarrassment, perhaps amusement. But all she found was sincerity. And love.
"It meant a lot," he added. "It still does."
Aiko looked down, her fingers curling around his. "Back then… I was scared you'd never know how much I cared. Words always got stuck in my throat."
"You didn't need to say anything," he murmured. "You were always there. Like the note said. My star."
Her eyes shimmered, and she gave a soft laugh. "You're quoting me now?"
"Only the best parts," he replied.
The rain drummed softly on the windows, music to their reunion.
"I want to write you a note too," he said suddenly.
She tilted her head. "Now?"
He nodded, reaching for a scrap of paper on the table. With Aiko watching curiously, he scribbled down a few lines, folded it, and handed it to her.
She opened it slowly.
Aiko,
Thank you for being the quiet light in my darkest skies.
Thank you for seeing me even when I was invisible to the world.
Thank you for your heart—for every word you were brave enough to write, and every moment you stood beside me.
I love you.
—Haruto
When she looked up, her eyes were misty.
"I'm keeping this," she whispered, pressing the note to her chest.
"Promise me you won't forget it in a sketchbook," he teased gently.
"I won't," she said, pulling him into a hug.
And in the warm silence of the art room, surrounded by unfinished paintings and the sound of rain, two hearts rediscovered something quiet and eternal—a reminder that love, once written, never truly fades.