Chapter 1: Arrival of Petals
Hana Moriyama pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the train window, watching Japan's eastern coast blur into misty green hills. Her manuscript lay unfinished in her bag—a confession of every doubt she had ever felt. Tokyo had chewed her up and spit her out: deadlines she couldn't meet, relationships she couldn't salvage, a burnout that tasted like stale coffee and regret. Now she was headed to Tsukihana, a town so small it didn't even appear on the glossy tourist brochures, but rumored to have cherry trees that bloomed under the full moon, whispering secrets to those who would listen.
When she stepped onto the rickety wooden platform, the air smelled of damp earth and wood smoke. A lone stationmaster—an elderly woman in a faded happi coat—bowed and pointed down a narrow lane lined with lanterns carved from hollowed gourds. Each bore a single kanji: 月 (moon), 花 (flower), 風 (wind). Intrigued, Hana followed until she reached the River Song Inn, its slanted roof sagging like a tired sigh. Inside, the innkeeper—a plump man named Igarashi—welcomed her with a steaming mug of plum tea. "You have come for the whispers," he said, voice gentle as falling petals. "Wait for the moon."
That night, wide awake, Hana wandered outside. The full moon hovered low, its silver glow filtering through blossoms that danced on the breeze. She clutched her notebook to her chest and tiptoed toward the riverbank, where the trees formed a natural alcove. When she paused, the world hushed: only the soft ripple of water, the distant call of a nightingale—and then, faint as a sigh, a hushed breath in Japanese.
"Help me."
Startled, Hana spun around. No one stood there. She strained to catch the sound again—another whisper, like petals brushing against each other: "Remember …"
A shiver ran down her spine. She lifted her pen and wrote on the empty page: Under the cherry moon, our voices become wind. And in that moment, she decided: she would chase these whispers, even if it meant haunting her own heart.