blossoms

Chapter 1: the dream of the blossom

Beneath the canopy of a majestic cherry blossom tree, its branches heavy with delicate pink blooms, a small girl sat huddled on the soft, verdant grass. The air was filled with the gentle, fragrant perfume of the blossoms, their petals drifting lazily to the ground like whispers of comfort. The girl’s long blonde hair, meticulously tied into neat pigtails adorned with satin ribbons, cascaded around her tear-streaked face. Her silk dress, a delicate shade of pink, shimmered faintly in the dappled sunlight, but the beauty of her attire went unnoticed as she sat there, overwhelmed by her sorrow.

Her big blue eyes were brimming with tears, and her small, trembling hands clutched her knees tightly to her chest. The serene beauty of the cherry blossoms contrasted sharply with the intensity of her distress. The occasional soft rustle of the petals and the distant chirping of birds were the only sounds that punctuated the quiet of her sobs.

From the edge of the meadow, a boy appeared. His entrance seemed jarring against the backdrop of the picturesque scene. His black hair was a tangled mess, and his green eyes, sharp and apprehensive, scanned the scene with a mix of curiosity and unease. His clothes were worn and tattered, a stark contrast to the girl’s immaculate appearance, reflecting the hardships he had endured. The boy’s rugged exterior and grimy appearance stood in stark relief against the refined elegance of the setting.

He approached the girl cautiously, his footsteps hesitant on the grass. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, and his gaze was fixed on the ground, unsure of how to address the situation. After a moment of awkward silence, he finally blurted out, “What’s wrong with you?”

The girl’s response was a fresh wave of tears, her sobs growing louder and more pronounced. The boy shifted uncomfortably, his sense of helplessness evident as he struggled to cope with the raw display of emotion. He frowned, his inability to offer comfort apparent.

“Stop crying,” he said, his tone harsher than intended, more a command than a plea. “You’re such a crybaby.”

Her reaction was immediate and intense. The girl looked up at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of hurt and surprise. Her sobs crescendoed into a more desperate wail, her small fists pounding the ground in frustration. “You’re mean!” she shouted, her voice breaking with anguish.

The boy flinched at her reaction, his face flushing with guilt. He hadn’t meant to exacerbate her pain, but he was at a loss for how to remedy the situation. With a quick, apologetic glance, he turned and fled, his steps hurried as he disappeared into the distance, leaving the girl alone under the cherry tree.

Time seemed to stretch as the girl’s sobs gradually diminished. The petals continued to fall gently around her, and the soothing rustle of the tree’s branches became a calming backdrop. Just as she began to believe that the boy wasn’t coming back, he reappeared, his footsteps tentative and uncertain. In his hand, he held a small, simple flower—a daisy he had plucked from the edge of the meadow.

He extended the flower toward her, his expression a mix of defiance and shyness. “Here,” he said, his voice softer this time, almost hesitant.

The girl’s eyes fell upon the flower, and her tears slowly subsided as she reached out to accept it. A small, hesitant smile appeared on her face, gradually growing brighter as she cradled the daisy in her hands. The simple gesture seemed to have lifted a weight from her heart, and she wiped her eyes with her free hand, her previous sadness giving way to a gentle gratitude.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.

The boy shrugged, his awkwardness returning. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled, but his eyes betrayed a flicker of relief.

The two sat in silence, the tension between them easing as they shared this unexpected moment of connection. The cherry blossoms continued to fall around them, their soft landing on the ground accompanied by a light, soothing breeze that carried away the last traces of the girl’s distress.

***

Victoria Cross jolted awake, her heart racing and her breath coming in shallow bursts. The vividness of the dream clung to her, pulling her from the memory with a sense of urgency. She sat up in her opulent bed, surrounded by the finest silks and luxurious fabrics that draped her room in an aura of understated wealth. The dream—a tender, bittersweet memory—felt incongruent with the life of privilege and control she now led.

As she shook off the remnants of the dream, the door to her room opened with a soft creak. Several maids entered, their movements precise and practiced as they began her morning routine. They helped her out of bed, expertly preparing her for another day as the only daughter of the CEO of Cross Inc., a global multi-million dollar enterprise. Despite the grandeur of her surroundings, Victoria’s thoughts lingered on the simple, yet profound, memory of the cherry blossom tree.

One of the maids, noticing the slight furrow of concern on Victoria’s brow as she scrutinized her reflection in the mirror, asked, “Miss Cross, is everything alright?”

Victoria forced a smile, her gaze meeting her own in the mirror. “Yes, I’m fine,” she replied, though her thoughts remained fixated on the boy with the disheveled appearance and green eyes, and the moment they shared beneath the cherry blossom tree.

As she left for school, the memory stayed with her, a faint, wistful flicker of warmth in her otherwise carefully managed world. The disconnection between her current life and the simplicity of that dream left her with an unsettling sense of longing.

***

Across town, in a cramped, dilapidated one-bedroom house barely holding together, another figure was beginning his day. Jackson Reed woke with a start, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and running a hand through his messy black hair. The remnants of the previous night’s fight left him bruised and sore, but it was a familiar discomfort he had learned to endure.

He glanced over at his little sister, still curled up on the worn-out couch, and then at the scattered empty bottles on the floor, relics of his mother’s nightly indulgence. With a resigned sigh, he pulled on his leather jacket, the one constant in his tumultuous life, and donned his sunglasses to conceal the bruises that marred his face.

As he stepped outside into the cool morning air, he lit a cigarette, seeking solace in its familiar warmth. The image of the cherry blossom tree and the girl with the blonde pigtails and blue eyes flashed in his mind. It was a memory he hadn’t thought about in years, but it resurfaced with surprising clarity.

He shook his head, trying to dispel the nostalgic reverie. There was no time for reminiscing—his reality demanded his attention. Yet, as he made his way to school, the memory of that day, the girl’s tears, and the daisy he had given her lingered at the back of his mind, a forgotten promise he couldn’t fully erase.

And so, as the sun rose over the city, two very different lives began another day, each haunted by the same distant memory of a cherry blossom tree and a flower that once brought a fleeting smile to a little girl’s face.