Dear Susato,
It's spring here in Japan, and the cherry blossoms are all in bloom. I hope you are in good health!
No, that's too formal. Su would never laugh at you, but her eyes would crease in that way you've memorized so well over an entire decade...
Dear Su,
Can you believe it's spring already? The cherry blossoms are everywhere this time of year! I walked by where you live the other day, when I was coming home from the lab, and the tree in your backyard actually managed a single flower this year.
It looked lonely up there.
I feel the same way sometimes. Mother's wonderful, obviously, but it's quiet without you around here. Professor Mikotoba always looks a bit down.
Oh, if only I had a camera, it looked just like the pattern on your kimono — do they let you wear that in Great Britain's courtrooms? I hope they do. I know it's always been your dream to work there with Asougi-san! Even if Englanders aren't really known for their hospitality...
Which didn't make me think of anything, because it was a typical cherry blossom, and cherry blossoms famously don't symbolize anything like death or transience or acceptance of fate or
You should tell me how the trials are going over there! I'm no judicial assistant, but they must be so exciting! I bet you've swept everyone off your feet already, haven't you?
Is that why you haven't written yet?
...
I miss you. We all do. Your father — Professor Mikotoba, I mean — invited me to lunch with your grandmother, did you know? I didn't even realize she knew what my name was.
She's really proud of you. Don't tell her I told you that.
Professor Mikotoba says you're doing wonderfully, and he has the utmost faith in you, and you've been in contact with him a few times, but you're too busy these days to write letters. I guess I just have too much free time on my hands... The lab work has been slow ever since Dr. Wilson 'retired,' but I heard the military might be commissioning us for something new next month. It'll be a nice distraction, at least. I think about you far too often these days.
Anyway, I know you're busy and I won't make this letter too long, but write back when you have the chance, okay? Don't go forgetting me!
Sincerely,
Haori
Love,
Haori
You gently slide the letter into a plain beige envelope. It'll disappear into the post office box later, just like all the others.
You should seal the letter shut.
You fetch the hanko stamp from your drawer and press it carefully over the flap. There: a perfect circle, inside which are two overlapping arrows.
The red ink looks so... permanent. It dries in an instant, as proven when you run a finger over it.
You can't draw on top of the seal, that would mystify the post office workers. But you sketch a small bunny on the blank part of the envelope flap, and giggle a little at your handiwork. You think Su would like it.
Would she?
It's almost — instinct, carried from another life. It feels so natural, when you lean forward and brush your mouth against the seal.
One kiss. A silent promise. I will wait for you.
You draw back, and stare at the envelope, and stare at your hands, and realize.
Oh.
Well, that's going to be — inconvenient. But you can't stop the shaky grin that forms on your face. It's nice to be in love.
You can't draw on top of the seal, that would mystify the post office workers. But you sketch a small bunny on the blank part of the envelope flap, and giggle a little at your handiwork. You think Su would like it.
Would she?
(While you're feeling buoyant, you also doodle a small heart next to the bunny. You don't want to burden Susato with knowledge of your feelings, but you also feel like screaming joyously into the sky, so this seems like a reasonable compromise.)
Later that day, you drop the envelope (now stamped) off at the post office.
It feels a little like — like you've lost something, something important. But you hum a sweet melody all the way home, one that Su taught you, and it almost makes up for it. An undefined ache. Something you've overlooked somehow.
You look out to the ocean, and wonder how Susato is doing.
Come home soon, you whisper, and the sea echoes.