On the first day of spring break, Yui sat on the veranda of her grandmother’s house.
Her mother had said, “You should relax somewhere with different air once in a while,” so she had reluctantly come to this countryside town. The cell signal was weak, and she could barely keep in touch with her friends. She spent the first day simply watching the hands of the clock move.
But there was one special place in her grandmother’s house.
The veranda.
Facing south, it was always filled with gentle spring sunlight. Every afternoon, a single cat would appear, curl up beside Yui, and fall asleep.
His name was Chiro. Once a stray taken in by a neighbor, he was moody yet friendly, and whenever Yui spoke to him, he would sometimes answer with a soft “meow.”
“Chiro, the wind feels warm today.”
As she spoke, Yui reached for the sketchbook on her lap. She had always loved drawing, but recently, school and cram classes had pushed that joy to the back of her mind.
After coming to this house, she began drawing again. Not only landscapes or Chiro’s form—but also scents and sounds, expressed through lines and colors.
For example, the smell of the wind became a pale blue.
The distant laughter of children became tiny yellow circles.
And Chiro’s warmth on the veranda became an orange spiral.
Days that looked like nothing was happening slowly began to fill with color on the paper.
One day, her grandmother brought green tea and said quietly:
“Yui, your drawings are so gentle. Looking at them makes my heart relax.”
“R-really?”
Yui smiled, half embarrassed.
“When you sit here, you notice that a different wind blows every day. The scent of cherry blossoms, the smell of earth… and at night, you can even smell the stars.”
Grandmother narrowed her eyes softly as she spoke.
Life on the veranda flowed slowly.
One night, Yui woke to the soft sound of rain. She stepped out onto the veranda. The scent of rain hung low over the wet garden, and the night was quieter than usual.
Chiro appeared silently and sat at her feet.
“Hey, Chiro. Nothing happens here every day… so why does it feel so peaceful?”
Chiro said nothing—just purred deeply.
On the last day of spring break, Yui opened the final page of her sketchbook.
“Today’s wind feels a little lonely.”
She murmured, drawing lines of blended pink and gray. Her grandmother stood quietly behind her.
“Come back in summer. Chiro and I will be waiting.”
Yui nodded.
On the train ride home, flipping through the sketchbook, she thought:
Even in days where nothing seems to happen, small miracles are always there.
The smell of the wind.
The warmth of a cat.
The taste of Grandma’s green tea.
They remain, gently glowing inside the heart.
