Hanahaki: a disease caused by unrequited love which causes the victim to cough up flower petals.
This book is a series of one shot stories featuring Hanahaki Disease
Not every story has a happy ending.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, charact...
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It started on the day that the new neighbors moved in when you were just eight years old. You had two distinct memories from that day, and in your mind they were completely unrelated. The first was that a moving truck had pulled up next door while you were sitting on the porch waiting for something to happen.
It was a sweltering summer day and although it was before noon you could already feel sweat building beneath your shirt, your messy hair pulled into a ponytail to keep it out of your face. Your knees were bruised and bandaged, marks of your reckless personality in childhood. The summer was dragging and it was getting deafeningly boring and you sighed, resting your chin in your hand and just watching the cars pass. That was when the truck pulled up. You watched it roll slowly into the driveway next to you, perking up with interest as people began to get out.
When a boy about your age clambered down from the van, his black hair sticking out all over and his own knees clean and perfect unlike yours you stood from the porch, watching him carry a backpack into the house. You were afraid of nothing at that time, so you bravely crossed the yard and hovered near the front door of the house, waiting for it to open again. When it did, there he stood, the little boy your age. He was the same height as you and you just blinked at him in interest for a moment before grinning widely.
"Hi! I'm eight and I live next door! Can you come play?" You asked him excitedly.
"Uh...lemme ask my mom," he replied, seeming a bit more shy than you were. You waited impatiently on the porch as he ducked back inside and then came out, smiling. "Okay she said yes!"
"Yay!" You said, jumping down from his porch in one leap. He followed you slightly more cautiously, taking the steps one at a time. "What's your name?" You asked him.
"Park Jimin," he replied.
The other memory from that day was from later in the evening. You and your new friend Jimin had played until the sun set, running around the yard and exploring the park nearby as you showed him everything his new neighborhood had to offer. When your mom finally called you home for the night you had waved to each other, and the huge grin that split his face and made his eyes turn to crescents made a happy stirring flutter in your chest.
After dinner your mom forced you to take a bath, and you had put on your pajamas and climbed into bed when suddenly you didn't feel great. You began to cough and thought you might be sick so you scurried to the bathroom, quickly followed by your mother who held your hair back as you dropped to your knees, leaning over the toilet. She rubbed your back soothingly, assuming you had picked up some kind of stomach bug. But as you coughed and gagged it wasn't the expected vomit that hit the toilet water, it was a handful of white flower petals.
When they were out you sat back on your heels, feeling relief in your chest as you panted and wiped your chin. Your mother had peered over your shoulder at the contents of the toilet and absolutely lost it.
