I called you Tsubomi when we first met, when spring was young, and the cherry blossoms still clenched their fists. Tsubomi—蕾, a bud, something waiting to bloom. You had a way of standing, arms folded behind your back, as if holding onto a secret. We sat on a stone bench, drinking amazake from paper cups, the warmth pressing against our palms. When you handed me my cup, your fingers trembled slightly, and I told myself it was from the wind.

I called you Hana in the summer, when the cicadas screamed and the air smelled of wet pavement. Hana—花, flower, something in full bloom. We sat on your balcony, peeling the skin off peaches, the juice slipping down our wrists. You held my chin with two fingers and wiped a drop from my lip. The night was thick, our yukata clinging to the sweat on our backs. I told you, you are so beautiful when you laugh. You said, I laugh the same way every season.

In autumn, I called you Kaze, when the persimmons ripened and the river carried red maple leaves downstream. Kaze—風, wind, something that shifts, something that cannot be held. We stood at the train station, our shadows stretched thin under the paper lanterns. You held my wrist when I turned to leave, and I thought, maybe I had misheard the way your voice curled around my name. You asked if I wanted to share a persimmon, splitting it open with careful hands. The flesh was sweet, but there was something bitter underneath.

In winter, I stopped calling you anything at all. I saw you on the other side of the bridge, your breath forming soft ghosts in the cold. The river was half-frozen, the koi moving sluggishly beneath the ice. I thought of your hands, of the way they once pressed warmth into mine. You turned away before I could raise a hand to wave.

The wind still carries your name to me, sometimes. And every time, I wonder if you ever learned the one I never had the courage to give you.

 
Asmi Mahajan is an emerging writer who finds reading and writing to be deeply cathartic. Beyond the written word, she enjoys café hopping, experimenting with new styles of matcha and bubble tea, and practicing calligraphy and brush pen lettering. Whether it’s through ink or experience, she’s always looking for new ways to express herself.