The morning park was still wrapped in the quiet remnants of sleep. A young man walked slowly down the path, accompanied by a black Shiba Inu. On one of the benches lining the walkway, she was always there—hair neatly tied back, an old paperback in her hands. Each time she turned a page, a soft scent of lavender drifted on the breeze.
They exchanged greetings for the first time on a chilly morning at the end of March.
“Good morning,”
he said, summoning his courage. She looked up, surprised, then gave a shy smile.
“Good morning.”
From that day on, their greetings became a daily ritual. No more, no less—but to the young man, it became a cherished sign marking the start of his day.
As the days grew longer, the park grew lush and green, and the morning light gently filtered through the trees. When the dog stopped beside her bench and wagged its tail at her feet, she would smile and gently pat its head. The young man gradually began to recognize the titles of the books she read and realized that the lavender scent came from her preference.
One day, the sky suddenly darkened. Clouds rolled in, and rain began to fall out of nowhere. The young man scooped up the dog and ran under a large tree nearby. She was already there, her slender coat damp, droplets falling from the tips of her hair.
“That was a surprise,”
he said, catching his breath. She nodded slightly.
“But… I kind of like passing showers. The air clears up, and it feels like the world resets itself.”
Her voice was quiet, mixing with the sound of rain and settling in his heart. The patter of raindrops on leaves, the scent of wet earth, and the lavender lingering in the air made time feel as if it had stopped.
“What’s his name?” she asked.
“Kohaku. Because of his amber-colored eyes.”
She crouched down and patted the dog’s head. Kohaku squinted with contentment, wagging his tail. Their shared smile was soft and effortless.
The rain gradually weakened, and light streamed through the gaps in the clouds. She put her book away in her bag and stood up.
“Will you be here again tomorrow?”
He hesitated for a moment, then nodded with a smile.
“Yes, just like always.”
From then on, greetings became conversations, and conversations turned into promises. As the seasons changed, so did the distance between them—gently, gradually closing. When she changed her perfume, the young man noticed immediately. But when she returned to lavender, something deep inside him felt at peace.
That morning, under the tree in the passing rain, a story quietly began. And it still continues—gently, like a flower blooming, slow but certain.
