Over the next week, Hana and Ren worked side by side in the grove. By lantern light, she recast old poems into fresh verse; Ren carved their Japanese cadence into driftwood slices. They shared meals of onigiri and miso soup on red-lacquered picnic tables, laughing over spilled rice and stolen bites of sakura mochi. But beneath every smile lingered an unspoken ache: Hana's fear of failure, Ren's quiet guilt for abandoning his art when grief had overwhelmed him.
One evening, Hana found a hidden notebook tucked beneath Ren's easel. Its cover read in faded gold leaf: Tsukihana Chronicle. Inside was a story, as old as memory—a legend that every full-moon bloom held a spirit's vow. Lovers separated by fate could whisper beneath the cherry moon to span both time and distance. But those who listened too long risked hearing only echoes of loss.
Hana felt a tightening in her chest. "Did you know about this?" she asked.
Ren traced a finger over the legend's final line: "When two hearts unite under the whispering blooms, they must choose: arms of love or chains of memory."
He closed the book gently. "My grandmother believed love could transcend death. But I'm not sure I agree."
Hana swallowed. "Can we write our own ending?"
He hesitated, gaze drifting to the moonlit petals. "Only if we're brave enough to face our past."
That night, as they parted beneath the trees, Hana pressed Ren's hand. "Then let's be brave together."