The soft rustle of wind danced through the open window, carrying the scent of spring. Light spilled across the wooden floor of the small apartment, brushing over scattered sketchbooks, mismatched mugs, and the soft fur of a sleeping black cat curled up on the windowsill.
Mimi stirred beneath the covers, eyes fluttering open as golden morning light kissed her cheek. She turned her head — and there was Itsuki, still asleep, one hand loosely curled around Mimi's. Her dark lashes flickered against her skin, lips parted just slightly.
It had been over a year.
A year since the hospital. A year since fear had cracked open their lives. Since they stood at the edge of something terrifying and chose, together, to leap into love.
Mimi smiled and reached to brush a strand of hair from Itsuki's face.
She still couldn't believe this was her life.
They lived in a cozy, sunlit apartment tucked into a quiet neighborhood. It wasn't grand, but it didn't have to be. The world outside could burn down to ash and as long as they had this — each other — that would be enough.
Itsuki stirred. Her eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the light. "Morning," she whispered, voice laced with sleep.
"Morning," Mimi replied softly.
They lay like that for a moment — eyes open, hands intertwined, heartbeats steady.
"I had a dream," Itsuki murmured, "that we were growing flowers in the rain."
Mimi chuckled. "You're always dreaming about poetic things."
"I guess I can't help it." She shifted closer. "But it felt real. Like we weren't running from the storm anymore. Like we were dancing in it."
A silence followed — not uncomfortable, but full of meaning.
Mimi finally said, "Maybe we are."
They got up together, padded barefoot to the kitchen, and made breakfast in soft morning light. Mimi cooked eggs while Itsuki brewed coffee. The cat meowed lazily and rubbed against their legs.
After breakfast, Mimi pulled out her sketchbook and sat at the window while Itsuki curled beside her with a book of poetry. They didn't talk much. They didn't need to.
Later that week, they went on a picnic in the park — just the two of them, a basket of strawberries, and a thermos of iced tea. They lay side by side on the grass, eyes tracing clouds.
"Do you ever think about how far we've come?" Mimi asked, breaking the quiet.
Itsuki turned her head. "Every day."
"I used to think I'd never feel okay again. Like I'd always be stuck in that place."
"But you're not," Itsuki said gently. "We're not."
"I know," Mimi smiled. "You were the light I never saw coming."
Itsuki's gaze softened. "We both carried storms inside us."
"And we survived them," Mimi added.
"We did more than that," Itsuki said, brushing her fingers against Mimi's. "We bloomed after them."
Mimi blinked, heart catching. The way Itsuki said it — no fanfare, no dramatics. Just truth. Simple and powerful.
"Is that what this is?" Mimi whispered. "Blooming after the storm?"
Itsuki smiled. "It's exactly what this is."
They leaned into each other again, lips meeting gently — not desperate this time, just full of peace and love.
Years passed.
Mimi graduated with her art degree, hosting her first exhibition downtown. Her drawings were filled with soft smiles and starlit skies, hidden meanings and bold colors. In one corner hung a large canvas of two women standing under a sky split by lightning, their hands entwined, flowers blooming around their feet.
Itsuki became a published author, her first poetry collection titled After Rain, We Bloom. It sold quietly, passed hand-to-hand, heart-to-heart. It wasn't a bestseller. It was something more — a lifeline to those who needed it.
They adopted a dog.
They grew old furniture into lived-in comfort.
They celebrated birthdays and anniversaries with quiet joy.
Some nights were still heavy. Some memories still knocked at the door. But they answered them together now, side by side, never alone.
And on one late evening, years into this life, they sat by the balcony, a string of fairy lights glowing around them.
Mimi rested her head on Itsuki's shoulder. "You remember when everything felt like it would fall apart?"
"How could I forget?" Itsuki smiled.
Mimi looked up at her. "But we didn't fall apart."
"No," Itsuki said, kissing her temple. "We bloomed.