Petals on the Wind
The gate to the park still creaks the same way it did four years ago, a small metallic sigh that greets us like an old friend who never learned better manners. I hear it now as Khushi pushes through first, her fingers already reaching back for mine before the hinge finishes complaining. Some things, I think, never need to be asked twice.
"You're doing the thing," she says, not looking at me, though I can hear the smile tucked into her voice.
"What thing?"
"The quiet thing. Where you go somewhere else in your head and I have to drag you back."
"I'm right here." I lace my fingers through hers, feel the familiar notch where her knuckle presses against mine, worn smooth by years of exactly this. "Just admiring the view."
"The trees haven't changed that much, Tae."
"I wasn't talking about the trees."
She laughs — that low, surprised laugh she still gives when I say something unguarded, as if four years hasn't been long enough to convince her I mean every word. The sound settles into my chest like sunlight finding a gap in the curtains. Above us, the cherry blossoms hang heavy and pink, so full they seem to bow under the weight of their own beauty, and a light wind stirs enough…
