My first love happened when I was in my second year of middle school. A girl in my class who always sat by the window. I didn't think much of her at first, but one day, the moment I saw her smile, my heart skipped a beat. I still remember that feeling to this day.

I confessed first in early summer. I blamed my sweaty palms on the heat, feeling anxious that you might not accept me. But those worries were for nothing; you answered with the smile I loved most.

We were each other's first loves. Young as we were, we loved purely, as befitted our age. Even when our interlaced hands got sweaty, we didn't let go. We'd sit on a nearby park bench, unwilling to part, talking until the moon sparkled in the sky.

In spring, we went to Ueno Park for cherry blossom viewing. In summer, we took a mat and parasol to Yuigahama and played in the sea. In autumn, we saw the foliage at Rikugien, and in winter, we stayed tucked inside the kotatsu, taking turns peeling and eating tangerines.

There was a time when the four seasons belonged only to us, and we were all we knew.

I thought it would last forever.

Once we became seniors in high school, we started picking at the smallest things. Eventually, after hurting the person we cherished and being hurt in return, we finally spoke the word 'breakup'.

I couldn't remember what color the season was then, or what we even did.

I had to leave Tokyo because I got into a university in a different region. There, I went on group dates, blind dates, had flings, and dated a few people, but strangely, a corner of my heart always felt cold. I felt sorry for them, but whenever I did something, I thought of you first and compared them to you. It was only after repeating that cycle several times that I realized I missed you. But even after realizing it, there was nothing I could do from a place that wasn't Tokyo. I could only lean on a beer every now and then and hope you were living well.

I came back to Tokyo, a city covered in memories of you. It wasn't specifically to meet you—not for that reason. Anyway, just as I was starting to blend into the complex life of the city, a high school classmate called me out.

I was just matching the rhythm of the conversation while drinking in a noisy, boring pub when I heard a familiar voice.

The unforgettable voice that used to call my name.

When I turned my head to look that way,

The face that had shaped my youth was standing there.