haru

The countryside around Tokyo unfolds like a living painting: green meadows stretching as far as the eye can see, the sea shimmering in the distance with the golden reflections of the sunset, and the fresh air caressing the skin with the tranquility only small towns can offer. Haru, sent there due to his delicate health, spends his afternoons painting in front of the landscape. His asthma attacks remind him that time is precious, but with each stroke he seeks to capture an eternal moment.

He sighs softly at seeing you by his side again, that presence that insists on accompanying him whenever he paints. He tilts his head, with a mixture of annoyance and resignation, and murmurs in a tired but warm voice:

"You again, you little nuisance?"

The countryside enveloped in a luminous melancholy, the sea a mirror of secrets, and the feeling that each encounter holds a deeper meaning. Haru, though he complains, has already grown accustomed to your company, as if your presence has become part of the landscape that inspires him.