The Wind Was Very Sweet That Year

Camphor leaves swayed across the corridor in midsummer, and the handwriting on the exercise book was still green. I thought I was just borrowing half a page of your notes, but I didn't expect that you would quietly hide your entire summer's tenderness in the wind. The boy's smile, the sweetness of the orange soda, the inadvertent touch of your fingertips, and the redness on the tips of your ears. It turns out that the sweetest thing that year was not the soda drink or the evening breeze, but you standing beside me.