When Ren opened his eyes on the first morning of January, the ceiling of his bedroom was painted in brilliant, pale gold.
The winter sun had risen over a town blanketed in undisturbed white. Outside his window, icicles hung from the eaves like rows of crystal needles, dripping slowly in the bright morning light.
Ren lay motionless beneath his quilts for ten minutes, his hand resting over his chest. His heart was beating with a slow, steady, radiant warmth that he had never known in his seventeen years of life. On his lips, he could still feel the phantom ghost of her kiss: the soft, trembling heat of her mouth, the taste of cold snowflakes melting between them, and the fierce, sweet certainty of her whisper in the dark: I love you so much it scares me.
He smiled, a wide, foolish, helpless grin that reached into every corner of his face.
He rolled over, picked up his phone from the nightstand, and found a message sent at eight-fifteen in the morning:
Good morning, Ren. Happy New Year. I woke up and looked out the window, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of another year starting. Are we still going to the shrine?
Ren typed back with fingers that felt light and eager:
Good morning. Put on your thickest socks. I'll meet you at the clock tower at eleven.
At ten minutes before eleven, Ren stood in the station plaza.
The New Year's Day atmosphere was quiet, gentle, and festive. Elderly couples in dark wool coats were boarding the local buses, and families with children in bright padded jackets were walking toward the temple district.
When Shiori emerged from the residential crossing, Ren felt that familiar, breathtaking hitch in his lungs.
She was wearing her soft cream coat, her dark hair pinned back with a small silver hairclip shaped like a winter plum blossom. Her plaid scarf was wrapped loosely around her collar, leaving her flushed cheeks and smiling lips exposed to the morning sun.
She walked straight up to him. She didn't hesitate; she didn't look down at her shoes.
"Happy New Year, Ren," she said, her voice clear, musical, and completely devoid of the old, trembling hesitation.
"Happy New Year, Shiori," Ren replied softly.
Before he could even pull his hands from his pockets to offer a greeting, Shiori reached out.
Her bare, warm fingers slipped deliberately into his, sliding between his knuckles until their palms met in a firm, natural clasp. She didn't hide their hands inside a coat pocket this time. She held his hand openly in the bright morning sunlight, right in the center of the station plaza, her eyes crinkling with a quiet, defiant pride.
Ren looked down at their joined fingers, and then up into her radiant face. His heart swelled so full of tenderness it felt like it might burst through his coat.
"Look at you," he smiled, his thumb gently squeezing the back of her hand. "Holding hands in broad daylight."
"I decided my New Year's resolution," Shiori said, tilting her chin up with a playful, teasing smile. "No more hiding."
"Best resolution I've ever heard," Ren agreed, his smile matching hers as they turned toward the eastern hill.
The local shrine, dedicated to the guardian spirit of the mountain, sat at the top of a long stone staircase flanked by ancient cedar trees.
As they climbed the snow-dusted steps together, their breath rose in small white plumes against the dark green canopy. The air grew rich with the fragrance of burning cedar wood, sweet roasted chestnuts, and the bitter, cleansing smoke of incense drifting from the great bronze cauldron in the courtyard.
The shrine grounds were filled with neighborhood residents in festive spirits. Near the main hall, a large wooden pavilion was serving steaming cups of sweet amazake, the warm, fermented rice drink filling the crisp air with an aroma of honey and malt.
They joined the line of worshippers waiting before the offering hall.
Above them hung the thick straw rope of the shimenawa, adorned with white paper lightning zigzags that fluttered gently in the mountain breeze.
When their turn arrived at the offering box, Ren reached into his pocket and pulled out two polished five-yen coins, their circular centers catching the sunlight.
"Five yen for good fate," he whispered, pressing one into her palm.
Shiori held the brass coin between her fingertips. Together, they tossed the coins through the wooden slats of the offering box. The coins landed with a soft, hollow clatter against the cedar base inside.
Ren took the thick woven hemp rope and pulled twice, sending the bronze bell overhead chiming with a deep, resonant tone that vibrated through the cold mountain air.
They bowed deeply twice.
Then, they brought their palms together before their chests, clapping twice in unison, the sharp sound echoing off the timber shrine walls.
With their eyes closed and their heads bowed, they stood in silence.
Ren did not pray for top scores on the upcoming university mock exams. He did not pray for wealth, or success, or an easy life. In the quiet darkness behind his closed eyelids, he prayed with every fiber of his being:
Thank you for letting me find her on that bench. Please give me the strength to protect her. Let me be the one who stands beside Shiori through every storm, every winter, and every year until we are old and grey.
Beside him, Shiori kept her hands pressed tightly together, her lips moving around a silent, sacred vow:
Thank you for sending Ren across the grass. Thank you for making him notice someone who was invisible. Please let our hands stay joined like this forever.
They bowed one final time in reverence before stepping back from the offering hall.
"What did you wish for?" Ren asked as they walked down the gravel pathway toward the fortunes pavilion.
"If I tell you, it won't come true," Shiori retorted, though the soft, secret smile playing on her lips told him everything he needed to know. "What about you?"
"I wished that you would always like my hojicha tea," he teased.
"Liar," she laughed, bumping her shoulder playfully against his.
At the paper fortune booth, they paid a hundred yen each, shaking the wooden cylinder until a numbered bamboo stick slid out of the tiny hole. The shrine maiden handed them two rolled paper strips from the wooden drawers behind the counter.
They walked over to a quiet stone bench beneath an ancient pine tree, sitting close together to unfold the crisp white paper.
"What did you get?" Ren asked, leaning in until his shoulder pressed against hers.
Shiori unrolled hers first. At the top of the slip, printed in bold red kanji, were two characters: Daikichi (Great Blessing).
Shiori gasped softly, her eyes widening in delight. "Great blessing! I haven't gotten a great blessing since I was eight years old!"
"Read the love section," Ren prompted, his voice full of curiosity.
Shiori looked down the column of small print, reading aloud with a voice that softened with every syllable:
"Under the waiting person: The person you wait for has already arrived. Do not doubt; your hearts are already entwined."
A brilliant, lovely blush spread across Shiori's cheeks. She looked sideways at Ren, her eyes shining with tender amusement. "It seems the shrine gods know all about you."
Ren unrolled his own paper. His fortune read: Kichi (Good Fortune).
He scanned down to the relationship guidance at the bottom:
What is cherished must be held with steadfast courage. Endure the winter chill; the spring blossoms are already forming beneath the snow.
Ren looked at the paper, and then reached across to wrap his fingers around Shiori's hand again, lacing their fingers together in the sunlight.
"I will," Ren murmured, speaking to the paper and to the girl beside him. "Steadfast courage."
They bought two steaming paper cups of hot amazake from the wooden stall, sipping the sweet, thick drink as they walked down the mountain steps. The hot liquid warmed their throats, the sweet ginger notes chasing away any lingering chill from the morning air.
On their walk back toward the neighborhood, they took the familiar detour down the quiet slope toward the municipal park.
The park lay bright and peaceful in the afternoon sun. Over by the maintenance shed, Kohaku was sitting on the wooden steps of his bunker, basking in a wide patch of golden sunlight, licking his front paw with meticulous care.
When he saw them approach, the calico cat gave a loud, cheerful trill, trotting across the snow to rub his chin against their shoes.
Shiori knelt down, opening a small plastic container she had packed from home: pieces of simmered salmon from her family's New Year's feast. Kohaku dug in with unbridled joy, his notched ear twitching in rhythm with his purring.
Ren and Shiori stood beside each other, watching the cat eat.
The weathered wooden bench behind them was dusted with dry white powder, but the amber sodium lamp overhead looked quiet and benevolent in the daytime light.
Shiori turned to look at the bench, and then looked up at Ren.
"One year ago today," she whispered, her voice carrying the memory of old, vanished ghosts, "I spent New Year's Day locked in my bedroom, staring at the ceiling, wondering how many more days I could force myself to wake up."
Ren wrapped his arm around her shoulders, drawing her firmly against his side, resting his chin against her hair.
"And today?" he asked softly.
Shiori looked out across the snow-covered park, and then turned her face up to meet his gaze. Her eyes were bright, clear, and radiant with a peace so profound it seemed to fill the entire winter sky.
"Today," she whispered, leaning her head against his chest, "I can't wait for all the years ahead."
They stood together in the New Year's sunshine, holding on to each other, listening to the quiet purr of the cat in the snow.
The winter was still cold, but the light had arrived.
And it was never going out.