Yuto was twelve when his world started to shift.
It began one quiet evening, the air heavy with early summer heat, when he passed by his parents' study and heard his mother's voice.
"I got in," Sora said, her voice tinged with a kind of breathless wonder. "The academy in Paris. They've accepted me. It's one of the top design schools in the world."
There was a pause. Then Daiki's low, grounded voice: "That's far."
"I know," she replied, quieter now. "But it's only for two years. Maybe three. Yuto can enroll in an international school while I study. It's… it's a chance I never thought I'd have again."
Yuto stood frozen outside the doorway, heart thudding. He didn't understand all of it, but he understood enough.
That night over dinner, his mother smiled gently, excitement simmering beneath her calm expression.
"We'll be moving to Paris at the end of the school year," she said. "Just for a while. I've been accepted into a design academy. It's something I've dreamed about for a long time."
Yuto nodded, but his appetite vanished. All he could think about was how to tell Hina.
The next day, after school, he found her in the Kazama garden where they always met, beneath the old cherry tree with the low-hanging branch she used to swing from. She was already there, still in her school uniform, tying her long hair up with a ribbon.
"You're late," she said, tossing him a mini can of peach soda.
He caught it. "Sorry."
"You okay?" she asked, frowning at his quietness. "You look weird."
Yuto sat beside her on the grass, the cool can untouched in his hand. For a moment, he couldn't find the words. Then he simply said, "I'm moving."
She turned to him. "Where?"
"Paris. At the end of term."
Hina's expression didn't change for a beat. Then she let out a short laugh, like she hadn't heard him properly. "Shut up. That's not funny."
"I'm serious," he said, eyes dropping to the grass. "My mum's going back to school. She got accepted into a design program. It's really important to her."
"Oh."
Silence settled between them. Heavy. Hina picked at the hem of her sleeve, jaw clenched.
"For how long?"
"Two years. Maybe longer."
Her eyes stayed on the ground. "So you're just… leaving?"
Yuto flinched. "It's not like I want to."
She stood suddenly, brushing grass from her skirt. "Well. Good for your mum, I guess."
"Hina…"
But she didn't let him finish. "It's fine. Go to Paris. I'll be busy anyway." Her voice was sharp, but her hands trembled. "I have karate, and school, and… other stuff. I won't even notice."
She turned away, but before she could take a step, Yuto grabbed her wrist gently, like he always did.
"I'll call you," he said softly. "Every week or every other day."
Her voice cracked as she mumbled, "People always say that."
"Then I won't say it. I'll just come back."
Her lips parted slightly. She didn't cry, but she didn't speak either.
Instead, she looked down and whispered, "You better."
*****
That evening, Sora visited the Kazama house to speak with Emi about the logistics of the move.
They sat together in the quiet sitting room, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. A tray of untouched tea sat between them, steam slowly rising as the weight of the upcoming departure settled into the silence.
"She's been quiet since Yuto told her," Emi said softly, cradling her cup. "She's putting up a brave front, but I can see it. Her eyes… they're different."
Sora sighed, stirring her tea though she wasn't drinking. "It's hard. They've been together since they were babies. This move… I didn't think it would hit her this hard."
Emi gave her a look, gentle but firm. "You didn't think? Or you tried not to?"
Sora smiled ruefully. "Both. I thought they'd be fine. That they're still young, and there will be email and phone or video calls. But then I saw how Yuto looked after he told her. It broke something in him."
"They're twelve," Emi said, setting down her cup. "But Hina's heart has always been older than her years. She won't say it, but that boy is everything to her. She doesn't know life without him."
Sora exhaled slowly. "Neither does he."
There was a moment of shared understanding, the kind only mothers could exchange. Then Sora rose, picking up two fresh cups of barley tea from the tray.
"I'm going to check on her."
Emi nodded. "She's out on the porch. Hasn't moved in an hour."
Sora paused at the doorway, glancing back. "If it were up to him, Yuto wouldn't go."
"And if it were up to her," Emi said softly, "he never would've had to."
Outside, on the back porch of the Kazama estate, Hina sat curled up against the railing, knees drawn to her chest.
Sora stepped out quietly and handed her one of the cups. "Barley tea. Still warm."
"Thanks Auntie Sora," Hina murmured, not looking up.
Sora sat beside her, letting the silence settle gently before speaking. "You okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You've always been strong," Sora said, smiling gently. "But you don't have to be around me."
Hina didn't respond right away. She took a small sip of her tea, then whispered, "Is it really just two years?"
"It's hard to say," Sora admitted truthfully. "But I promise you, it's not forever."
Hina stared down at the koi pond, her fingers wrapped tightly around the ceramic cup. "He said he'd come back."
Sora reached over and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek, the way she used to when Hina was younger. "And he will. Yuto's always kept his promises, hasn't he?"
A soft nod. "I just… I don't want him to forget everything. Us."
Sora's voice dropped, warm and unwavering. "He won't. He may be my son, but I know who really owns his heart."
At that, Hina finally met her gaze. Her lip trembled slightly, but she nodded.
"Okay."
Sora leaned in and kissed the top of her head. "We'll take good care of him until he comes home. And I'll make sure he remembers every little thing about you, even the time you stole all his pudding cups."
Hina laughed through her sniffles. "He still hasn't forgiven me for that."
"Exactly," Sora said, smiling. "How could he forget?"
*****
Two weeks later, Yuto was boarding a plane to Paris. He stood beside his parents at the international airport departure gate, clutching the handle of his carry-on bag.
"You'll be fine," Sora whispered, her smile gentle but tight. "And we'll be back before you know it."
Daiki stood to the side, calm as always, but his hand rested firmly on Yuto's shoulder, a quiet, grounding presence that said more than words ever could.
Emi and Ren had come to see them off too. Ren stood with arms crossed, his usual stoic expression in place, but his eyes lingered on Yuto longer than usual, and when they met, he gave a single, firm nod.
Emi, on the other hand, pulled Yuto into a soft hug the moment she saw him. "You take care of your mother, okay?" she said, smoothing down his hair. "Make sure she doesn't live on instant ramen."
Yuto managed a small laugh, but his eyes drifted past them, searching and hoping.
"She's not coming, is she?" he asked quietly.
Emi's expression softened. She reached out and gently touched his cheek. "She wanted to. But she's trying very hard not to cry. And if she saw you now…" Emi's voice lowered. "She's afraid she won't be able to let you go."
Yuto's chest ached, but he nodded. He understood. Hina had never been good at hiding her heart, and pretending she didn't care would have hurt more than anything.
When the final call came over the speakers, Emi reached over and gave Sora's hand a final squeeze. Nearby, Ren clasped Daiki in a rare brotherly hug, brief and firm.
Then Ren turned to Yuto. Their eyes met, and in that quiet space between them, Ren gave a subtle nod and said, "Do well."
Yuto and his family walked toward the gate. The girl he hadn't gotten to say goodbye to stayed with him, unspoken and heavy.
Hours later, once the plane was high above the clouds, Yuto reached into his backpack. He pulled out his book to read, but something else fell out.
A small, folded piece of paper. Faintly crinkled. He immediately recognized her handwriting.
With shaking fingers, he unfolded it.
"Come back stronger. I'll be waiting. Don't forget me."
Yuto stared at it for a long moment, then smiled, though a tight lump had formed in his throat. He read it once, twice, three times. Then carefully, he folded it again and slid it into the inner pocket of his jacket, pressing it against his chest.