All Yuuna wanted was a moment of quiet.
Weary from the noise of city life, she found herself booking a flight to a southern island—a tiny place so remote it didn’t even appear on most maps. White sand, emerald seas, birdsong, and the sound of the waves—all of it slowly melted the restlessness in her heart.
While wandering a narrow island path, led by the sea breeze, she stumbled upon a small café. Bougainvillea bloomed along the wooden terrace, creating a scene where time itself seemed to stand still.
The café was run by a man named Kaito.
He looked to be around Yuuna’s age. With a gentle, reserved smile, he blended effortlessly into the island scenery. His movements as he brewed coffee were careful and calm. He didn’t speak much, but there was a quiet sorrow in his gaze that lingered in Yuuna’s mind.
She returned to the café the next day. And the day after that.
“One letter arrives every year around this time,” Kaito said one afternoon, almost to himself.
“No name, no address. Just a single short note inside: ‘If we can meet again next year.’”
“From who?”
“I don’t know. But this is the seventh year now. Always the same day, the same handwriting.”
It sounded like the story of someone still waiting for someone else. But Kaito had never read the contents of the letters. He simply placed them gently on display and looked at them from time to time.
“If I read it… it might feel like it’s over. Getting the letter has become a part of the rhythm of life.”
His words carried the presence of someone unable to let go of the past. Yuuna didn’t press him further.
As her trip neared its end, the café was filled with the scent of the sea breeze and a hint of damp summer air. As she prepared to leave, Kaito handed her a small envelope.
“This is for you.”
Inside was a photo of the island—and a handwritten note.
‘Your arrival brought a new scent on the sea breeze. Thank you. Whenever this island comes to your mind, this café will always be here, waiting.’
Yuuna read the note over and over, then tucked it close to her heart.
Life in Tokyo resumed, seemingly unchanged. But in quiet moments, memories surfaced—the red of the bougainvillea, the sound of waves, and the look in Kaito’s eyes.
One morning, Yuuna dropped a letter into a mailbox. No name, no address. Just a single line.
‘If we can meet again next year.’
