Green plums cannot become lovers.

In the brief moment of waiting, the melody of "Beyond Memory" transitioned into a gentle yet slightly melancholic interlude. An and Asuka spoke casually, their voices calm: "The music in your shop is very pleasant."

Ryoko Miyazono paused slightly as she tied a ribbon, then a genuine smile spread across her face: "Yes, it's a piece by a musician named 'Asuka.' My husband and I both love his music; it's quiet, powerful, and warm... The feedback from customers has been great since we put it in the store."

As she spoke, she handed over the packaged cake, saying, "Especially this song, every time I hear it, I feel very calm, as if even the most difficult things can slowly pass."

Anhe Feiniao took the cake box, feeling the cool touch of the cardboard on her fingertips.

He paid and nodded politely, "Thank you, the cake looks delicious."

"Welcome to visit again." Ryoko Miyazono bowed slightly.

An and Asuka walked out of the cake shop carrying the small paper bag printed with the shop's logo. The afternoon autumn sun shone on them, bringing just the right amount of warmth.

He didn't turn back, walking straight towards the tram stop not far away. His heart was beating steadily in his chest, but a complex emotion was brewing deep inside—the relief of knowing her parents were safe, the heartache seeing the weariness in her mother's eyes, and a sense of certainty that he had finally found the right place.

He didn't rush in. Over the next few days, like any other customer who stumbled upon this delicious cake shop, he would "stop by" at different times after school.

Sometimes he would buy a cake, sometimes just a few croissants or macarons. He would change his choices each time, and while paying, he would occasionally exchange a few words with Ryoko Miyazono or the father of a girl who was sometimes in the shop. The conversation was limited to compliments on the desserts or casual greetings about the weather.

He observed the shop; business seemed good, but he could see the heavy burden on the owner's brow. His albums played on a loop in the background; besides "Beyond Memory," "Forever With You" and "Hotaru no Hikari" were also frequently heard.

When Ryoko Miyazono mentions the music of "Asuka", her eyes always soften. It's not just an appreciation for an artist, but more like finding some kind of support and comfort in these melodies.

On their fourth visit, it was a drizzly evening. The shop was nearly empty. An and Asuka bought a chestnut cake. Miyazono Shuichi was tidying the shelves, while Miyazono Ryoko was settling the bill behind the counter.

The melody of "Always With Us" flowed quietly in the somewhat empty shop. While An and Asuka waited for their change, they brought up the music again.

“Every time I listen to this piece, I feel full of hope.” He looked at Ryoko Miyazono, his tone as natural as if he were talking about the weather.

Ryoko Miyazono looked up, her gaze falling on the boy's calm face. Raindrops outside the window traced winding patterns on the glass, and the warm yellow light inside the shop made his features appear exceptionally soft.

For some reason, this time, a vague sense of familiarity suddenly swept through her mind. It wasn't because of his appearance, but rather a certain... aura? Or perhaps it was the profound understanding in his eyes when he mentioned the music?

“Yes,” she replied softly, unconsciously pushing the change away. “Especially lately… things have been tough at home, and listening to this music always gives me a bit more courage.”

As soon as she said it, she paused slightly. She seemed to have said too much to a stranger, a young customer who looked like a student.

An and Asuka took the change but didn't leave immediately. He paused for two seconds, his voice softer than the sound of rain, yet clearly reaching Miyazono Ryoko's ears:

“In difficult times, music and memories may be the best companions. Some promises and hopes, like these melodies, will never disappear, even across time and distance.”

Ryoko Miyazono was completely stunned, staring blankly at the boy in front of her.

His eyes were clear and calm, as if he had simply uttered an ordinary remark.

But those words—"promise," "hope," "future"—were like tiny needles, gently piercing a long-forgotten corner of her heart.

Four years ago, the snow in the small town, her daughter's stubborn yet pale face, and the boy who watched them walk away... those images she deliberately suppressed and didn't want to think about suddenly became clear, accompanied by the gentle melody of "Forever With You" flowing in the store at this moment.

Her lips trembled slightly as her gaze lingered carefully on the boy's face.

Eyebrows and eyes... facial contours... that composure beyond his years

An almost impossible guess, accompanied by a tremendous sense of absurdity and a faint expectation that even she herself dared not believe, suddenly seized her heart.

An and Asuka didn't wait for her response. He picked up the cake, nodded slightly to her, and, as always, turned and left.

The copper bell rang again, and the rain and mist outside, carrying the chill of autumn, rushed in for a moment before being shut out again as the door closed.

Ryoko Miyazono stood there, motionless for a long time. It wasn't until Yoshiyuki Miyazono walked over and called out to her in confusion, "Ryoko? What's wrong? Is there a problem with that guest?"

She slowly shook her head, her gaze still fixed on the closed glass door, as if she could see through the rain to the tall, blurry figure disappearing around the street corner.

"...No, it's nothing."

She heard her own voice sound somewhat unsteady, "I just felt... that guest seemed to have said something very unusual."

In particular, it stirred up barely perceptible yet real ripples in her long-dormant heart.

Outside the window, the autumn rain in Tokyo continues to fall, soaking the vast city and also the promises buried deep beneath time, about to break through the soil.

Meanwhile, in another corner of the city, in a hospital ward, Kaori Miyazono was wearing headphones, listening to that album on repeat, a smile on her lips, her amber eyes gazing out the window at the hazy world through the rain, softly humming along.

When Anhe Asuka pushed open the glass door of "Ma Fille" once again, the brass bell on the door rang out with the same clear sound as always, but the air inside, bathed in warm yellow light, seemed to hold a subtle tension that was different from the past.

He walked toward the display case as he had done before, his gaze sweeping over the exquisite desserts. Ryoko Miyazono stood behind the counter, not immediately offering her usual professional smile and greeting.

She simply watched him quietly, his steady steps, his handsome profile, and those overly calm yet all-seeing eyes. The vague sense of familiarity she'd felt over the past few days, the meaningful words he'd spoken, and the melodies her daughter often hummed to the window… all these clues collided and intertwined repeatedly in her weary yet clear mind.

This time, she could no longer dismiss it as a coincidence.

Just as An and Asuka had chosen a raspberry tart and were about to speak, Miyazono Ryoko took a deep breath, as if using up some long-suppressed courage. Her voice was soft, hesitant, yet exceptionally clear as she uttered that long-forgotten name:

"...Anhe-kun?"

Time seemed to stretch out infinitely at that moment. The background music flowing through the cake shop was the ending of "Hotaru no Hikari" (Light of Fireflies), the last clear note slowly dissipating in the air, leaving behind a lingering silence.

An and Asuka paused slightly in mid-air as they were about to hand over the banknotes. Then, they looked up, their gazes calmly meeting Miyazono Ryoko's complex expression, which was tense, inquisitive, and filled with disbelief.

The corners of his mouth slowly turned up, forming a shallow yet incredibly genuine arc. There was no surprise or awkwardness in that smile, only composure.

"Hello, Aunt Miyazono."

He spoke, his voice steady and gentle, just like that snowy day four years ago, but now devoid of youthful naiveté and immature, replaced by the composure of a young man: "Long time no see."

Clang—

Ryoko Miyazono accidentally knocked over a small sugar jar while wiping a silver cake spatula, making a soft, crisp sound. But she had no time to pay attention. Almost instinctively, she took a half-step back, her back gently resting against the shelf behind her, her wide eyes reflecting the boy's clear face.

Shock, realization, a hint of panic, and a complex sense of guilt accumulated over the years intertwined and shifted on her face.

After a long while, she finally found her voice, which was dry and carried a bitter smile: "As expected... it was you, child."

It really is him.

The boy her daughter had longed for for four years, the child she had once arbitrarily demanded "keep your distance" and even scolded, the "flying bird" who had brought solace to countless people with his music and was now standing right in front of her... had transcended time and distance, and reappeared in her life in such a calm and incredible way.

“Hmm,” An and Asuka nodded gently, placing the chosen raspberry tart on the counter. “It’s been a long time, Aunt Miyazono.”

This simple greeting was like a key, unlocking the floodgates of memory. Ryoko Miyazono seemed to see again the snow in the town four years ago, her daughter's bright eyes as she ran headlong towards the street corner, and she saw herself as a young girl, standing in the doorway, uttering those cold words to this stubborn boy.

A wave of guilt washed over her, making her throat tighten.

She took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, as if trying to expel all the heavy memories of the past. When she spoke again, her voice was much calmer, carrying the weariness and relief that comes with life's experiences: "Yes... really, it's been a long time."

A brief silence filled the space between the two, as the soft background music in the shop changed to another jazz piano piece that was not known to the audience.

An and Asuka gazed at the woman before them, who had aged considerably. The fine lines at the corners of her eyes and the bloodshot veins in her eyes silently spoke of the hardships she had endured over the past four years of caring for her seriously ill daughter.

He tilted his head slightly, his tone still gentle, but asked a question that went straight to the point: "Are you... still blaming me?"

He paused, then added more clearly, "Is it my fault for taking Xiaoxun around all those times? Maybe... I increased her burden and harmed her health?"

Ryoko Miyazono was stunned. She hadn't expected the boy to ask such a direct question, his tone devoid of accusation, only calm inquiry. This, ironically, completely melted the last bit of ice in her heart.

"Haha..." She suddenly chuckled softly, a laugh that contained self-deprecation,感慨, and above all, a sense of relief after a heavy burden had been lifted.

She shook her head, meeting An and Asuka's gaze with composure: "I don't blame you anymore, I stopped blaming you a long time ago."

She picked up the sugar jar and gently straightened it, her movements soft, as if she were organizing her thoughts.

"Thinking back carefully, I... actually had no reason to blame you. Xiao Xun's illness was destined from the start. Her body was like a time bomb; no one could say for sure when it would get worse."

The reason I treated you that way was simply... simply because I was too scared and too powerless. I needed to find a place to vent my fear and anxiety, and you just happened to be there.

Her voice grew softer yet clearer: "In fact, now that I think about it, I should thank you."

An and Asuka's eyes flickered slightly: "Thank me?"

“Hmm.” Ryoko Miyazono nodded, her gaze drifting to a small photo frame on the corner of the counter—a picture of Kaori Miyazono smiling brightly in a park last summer when she was briefly discharged from the hospital.

"The doctor said that for illnesses like Xiao Xun's, mindset is very important. A positive and optimistic attitude can sometimes slow down the progression of the disease more than medication. And Xiao Xun... all these years, no matter how much pain she's in, her eyes always light up whenever she mentions you, the music you played together, or those promises."

A gentle yet bittersweet smile curved her lips: "'Anhe will definitely remember the promise,' 'He said he would find me soon,' 'His new song is so beautiful, I'll play it for him when I'm better'... She had said these words countless times.

It was these hopes and dreams that sustained her through the most difficult treatments time and time again. The doctor said that, given her original condition, she might have died two years ago... but she has persevered until now. You deserve credit for that.”

Asuka listened quietly, and something hard in her chest seemed to slowly melt away and turn into a warm current in response to Ryoko Miyazono's candid words.

The smile on his lips deepened, and his voice softened: "Is that so... Thank you for telling me this, Aunt Miyazono."

Hearing the "thank you," Ryoko Miyazono felt a little embarrassed. She waved her hand and said, "You silly child, I'm the one who should be thanking you... I was too hasty back then."

“I don’t blame you.” An and Asuka shook their heads, their eyes sincere. “Really. I can understand your fear and protective instincts as a mother.”

His understanding and tolerance only made Ryoko Miyazono feel more guilty and relieved.

She gave a wry smile: "The more you say that, the more I want you to blame me... But it's all in the past now."

"In that case, Auntie, could you grant me a request?"

"What...request?"

"I want to see Xiao Xun."

An and Asuka didn't mince words, stating their purpose directly, their gazes fixed firmly on Miyazono Ryoko, "I know she's in the hospital right now. I want to go see her. Is that alright?"

Ryoko Miyazono's expression froze instantly. She lowered her head, her fingers unconsciously tracing the edge of her apron, her mind in turmoil.

Let her daughter see him? She could almost imagine how happy her daughter would be. But... her daughter's condition wasn't stable right now; wouldn't excessive emotional excitement have a negative impact? Moreover, after four years apart, would this reunion be a comfort or another kind of shock to her daughter's heart, which had been waiting so long?

Reason told her she should refuse, or at least wait until her daughter was better. But looking into the boy's clear and determined eyes, remembering her daughter's daily expectations, and the music and words that sustained her daughter... she found herself unable to say "no."

She remained silent for a long time, so long that An and Asuka almost thought they would be rejected again.

Finally, she raised her head, her eyes filled with complex emotions, but she nodded gently, her voice barely audible: "...Okay."

Saying those two words seemed to have exhausted all her strength and allowed her to let down her last defenses.

Inside the hospital

Kaori Miyazono leaned against the raised headboard, holding a sheet of music that she had flipped through a few pages of but hadn't touched for a long time, her gaze fixed on the window.

The afternoon sunlight of autumn streamed through the glass, casting a pale golden halo over her pale cheeks and light brown hair. The ward was quiet, save for the regular, low ticking of the monitoring equipment and the faint background noise of the city in the distance.

Boom!Boom!Boom!

A sudden knock on the door interrupted her thoughts.

She assumed it was her mother bringing her afternoon supplies as usual, or a nurse coming to change her dressing, so she didn't turn around immediately, but simply hummed in response to indicate that she was awake.

The footsteps stopped beside the bed, unlike her mother's gentle footsteps or the nurse's brisk steps. The footsteps were more steady, carrying a strange sense of familiarity, as if stepping on a rhythm deep in her memory.

Then, a voice rang out.

Not too tall, not too short, it has shed the last traces of its naivety from four years ago, becoming more clear-headed and composed, yet carrying a familiar feeling that transcends time and is unsettling.

"Xiao Xun".

The word "simple" is like a pebble thrown into a calm lake.

Kaori Miyazono froze.

The sheet music slipped silently from her hands, the pages scattering and landing on the pristine white sheets. Slowly, incredibly slowly, she turned her head, her amber pupils dilated slightly in shock, catching the silhouette of the figure standing by the bed—tall and slender, backlit, his face somewhat blurred in the halo of light, yet his features, his contours, and his serene aura were all clearly visible.

Time seemed to flow backward at that moment, then surged forward in an instant. Four years of separation, the torment of illness, countless longings and waits, all compressed into a violent contraction of the heart.

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She just stared wide-eyed, unblinking, as if the phantom would vanish in the blink of an eye.

Outside the window, a golden ginkgo leaf drifted down gently, gliding across the glass, as if marking the first silent footnote to this reunion that spans a long winter and spring.

Time seemed to stretch out, to stand still.

The ticking of the monitors in the ward, the distant sounds of traffic outside the window, even the dust floating in the air, all seemed to be muted. In Kaori Miyazono's world, only that figure standing by the bed, backlit, and that gentle "Kaori" that touched her heartstrings remained.

Her eyes widened, his silhouette reflected in her amber pupils, going from blurry to clear, then from clear to misty due to the rapidly accumulating moisture.

Four years, more than 1,400 days and nights, the memories repeatedly chewed over in the hospital bed, the expectations tightly held in the pain, all the emotions accumulated in countless nights listening to his music and silently shedding tears, at this moment, like an ice river suddenly thawing, surged and overwhelmed all the dams of reason.

Am I happy? It's like my heart is instantly filled with warm sunshine, illuminating every pale corner of the ward, and even my fingertips are slightly numb from this sudden and immense joy.

Are you moved? Like a traveler who has trekked through a long wilderness and finally sees the smoke rising from an oasis, that longing that seemed unattainable has actually crossed time and distance and landed steadily in front of her.

Do I want to cry? My throat feels like it's blocked by something hot, my nose is sore and sore, and his image in my vision starts to sway and blur.

Those weren't tears of sadness; they were the body's only honest expression when the joy was too intense and the emotions too overwhelming.

She opened her mouth, trying to call out "Anwa-kun" in a light voice as usual, or call him "Asuka" as she used to do when she was being affectionate, but her vocal cords seemed to be frozen, and she could only make a faint breathy sound.

Tears welled up before she could speak, rolling down her thin, pale cheeks without warning, leaving wet, cool marks.

She hurriedly raised her hand to wipe it away, but the more she wiped, the more it spread. In the end, she could only cover her eyes in vain with the back of her hand, and her shoulders began to tremble slightly uncontrollably.

The moment An and Asuka saw her tears, their hearts felt as if gripped tightly by an invisible hand, a bittersweet ache. He stepped forward and gently sat down beside the bed, not daring to touch her, but simply extending his hand, palm up, quietly opening it before her. It was a silent invitation, a gesture of reassurance.

After a long while, Kaori Miyazono's sobs gradually subsided. She lowered her hand, revealing a pair of eyes that were red from crying, yet surprisingly bright, with tiny teardrops still clinging to her eyelashes. Instead of taking his hand, she extended her slightly trembling fingertips and carefully, as if touching something fragile, gently touched his fingertips.

A real, warm touch.