On the morning of her retirement, Aya walked toward the school with a sense of quiet tension.
Today marked the end of her twenty-year career.
The sight of students at their desks, the laughter echoing through the hallways, the feel of chalk gliding across the blackboard—knowing it was the last time made her chest tighten.
As she stepped into the classroom before homeroom, the students suddenly rose from their seats.
“Thank you, Sensei!”
Applause filled the room. Colorful decorations hung from the walls, and bouquets of flowers adorned the desks. Aya’s eyes widened in surprise, momentarily speechless.
“This is a surprise from all of us!”
One of the class leaders beamed.
Aya swallowed back her emotions and whispered a heartfelt “Thank you.”
Just then, the classroom door creaked open.
“Hello, Sensei.”
The familiar voice made Aya turn.
Standing there was Kazuya—one of her former students from ten years ago.
Now an adult, he carried only faint traces of the boy she had once known.
For a brief moment, her heart skipped a beat.
Kazuya had disappeared from school just before university entrance exams. He had left without a word, leaving only unanswered questions behind.
“Why are you here…?” she asked.
Kazuya smiled.
“I heard you were retiring, and I couldn’t miss your last class.”
In his hand, he held a single white carnation.
As the lesson began, the students, energized by Kazuya’s presence, were livelier than usual. He joined in their conversations, laughed, and even raised his hand to participate, as if he had never left.
Watching him, Aya felt an unexpected warmth of nostalgia.
At one point, their eyes met.
Kazuya smiled meaningfully, and something stirred within her.
At the end of the lesson, she stood before the blackboard, where she had written “To the Future.”
“As a teacher, I was supposed to guide you all. But in truth, I learned so much from you. Keep moving forward in your own way.”
The students, some with tears in their eyes, rushed to her side. The classroom filled with applause and laughter, yet amidst the noise, Kazuya silently stood up and approached her.
“This is something I never got to say back then.”
He held out the white carnation. His gaze was steady, unwavering.
“I’ve always been grateful to you, Sensei. When I left school, it was your words that helped me find my way.”
Memories rushed back—Kazuya, lost and struggling with his future, and the conversation where she had tried to encourage him.
She had never known until now how much those words had meant.
“…Thank you, Kazuya.”
She accepted the flower with a genuine smile.
That evening, as she stepped out of the school gates for the last time, Kazuya called out to her.
“Sensei—no, Aya-san… May I call you that from now on?”
Aya was taken aback but smiled softly.
Kazuya’s eyes no longer held the uncertainty of a boy—there was only the firm resolve of a man.
“Yes… That’s fine.”
His smile deepened.
“I hope we can meet again sometime.”
Those words, spoken so simply, carried a quiet strength.
It was a gentle push forward, a reminder that her life was not ending here—only changing.
Kazuya had shown her that beyond farewell, new stories awaited.
