YOU'D BE SURPRISED how little Japanese and dismal efforts from a translator app could take you exactly where you needed to be.

For me, it was the Higashinaruse Village. Population: 2,363. Restaurants: One. Restaurants open when I arrived: Zero.

My stomach grumbled as I wandered the streets looking for a convenience store, vending machine, street food seller—anything. But there were none in sight. The residential area stretched throughout the village, where it seemed like everyone was still asleep. The only sound other than my grumbling stomach came from this shaking door to my left that seemed like it was about to burst op—

Welp, there's no seem about that. A figure stumbled out of the door with force.

"Are you okay?" I exclaimed in Japanese as I knelt beside it with outstretched hands. It turned out to be a male figure who looked to be my age.

"I'm okay," he replied in Japanese with a groan. Then, "Something-something-ramen-something-are you okay?"

Too much Japanese, too fast. The only thing that transcended the language barrier was his obvious worry over me. He was the one who just fell backward onto concrete after crashing into a sturdy door. I should be worried about him. Not the other way around.

Actually, why are we worrying about each other at all?

I spied the concrete scratch on the side of his hand to his arm. I knew I had a first aid kit somewhere, but, again, why was he my concern?

First things first, I was pretty sure I heard him say ramen. It could just be an auditory hallucination due to hunger, but still. I had to ask. I took out my phone and opened the translator app.

"Ah. You're a tourist. I was saying," he leaned over to peek at my phone and read what I typed, "something about ramen. That's right." He chuckled. "Hungry?"

"Starving. If you could point me to—"

"Follow me."

"Oh, no, I wouldn't want to intrude on your morning."

"Nonsense. I'm headed there already. Let me take you as a thank you for helping me."

What's he talking about? He'd gotten himself up while I was distracted by the mention of ramen. Plus, he was helping me up right now. With a smile on his face.

Wow. Dimples. It looked good on him.

My stomach grumbled as I tried to decline again. He chuckled and urged me to follow him by grabbing the handle of my carry-on luggage. I should've insisted on rolling it myself. But, hunger. Fatigue. Devil-may-care. 

At least when they find me, people would know I didn't simply follow a stranger for his dimples and baritone voice. They'd know that my stomach begged me to do it.

He stopped in front of a ramen shop on the corner of a building. The signage wrapped around two sides of a building with the entrance on the corner, giving the illusion of a large trapezoid space area inside.

"My best friend owns and runs the place," he explained while unlocking the padlocks. 

In other words, not abandoned? Score! 

"I help him sometimes when he needs a day off. Come on in."

It was a quaint ramen shop. There was only space for one table seating three on my left, a low bar for four on my right, and a bar setting for five in front of a glass-covered kitchen.

"Give me a few minutes. Is curry rice okay?"

"Yes, anything. Thank you."

Note to self: try not to sound desperate next time. IF there's a next time. This one could put arsenic in the curry rice, and there'd be no more next time for you, reckless one.

He disappeared behind the cherry blossom curtains that shielded the rest of the kitchen. I set one chair down from being upside down, then decided to set all the chairs down. I know he noticed this because his eyes roamed the place when he returned. He thanked me, then set our food down on the bar facing the street.

"It smells delicious!" I couldn't help but squeal. He prepared volcano omelet rice with curry flowing down and pooling around the rice like lava. "Thank you so much! You're my hero."

"Not Hiro, I'm Kazuki Kinomoto. You?"

"Oh, I didn't mean Hiro. Hero, because you saved me from dying of hunger."

His eyes rounded, and we both laughed. "I understand. What's your name?"

"My name is Sakura Morida," I replied slowly in Japanese.

He smiled and indulged in my conversational Japanese. "Nice to meet you, Morida-san."

I tipped my head in a small bow. "Nice to meet you, Kinomoto-san." Very nice to meet him indeed.

"Itadakimasu."

"Oh. Itadakimasu," I repeated timidly.

Besides asking for directions, I've already used most of my Japanese vocabulary. Thankfully, we ate in silence. And as if Kinomoto knew my predicament, he initiated the conversation in English. It was superficial things—age, job, what brought me to this village, length of stay. But I was still afraid it would reveal too much. I steered him into telling me about the village instead.

"A lot of tourists visit Kurikoma Pass. Mato Park's popular for its Sakura trees. Fuduo Waterfall. Do you like manga? There's a museum nearby."

There's an energy about him. The way he expressed excitement was infectious. I wasn't here to tour more than Higashinaruse. My destination was the ramen shop that was still closed. I was going to order a tonkotsu ramen, sit by the window, and watch the Sakura tree dance with the wind like Grammy did when she was my age.

I was maybe going to visit her childhood home. If I don't chicken out.

Kinomoto appreciated my curiosity. If I seemed momentarily distracted, he didn't notice or let on that he did. If anything, he took it as a challenge to maintain our eye contact for longer than the last. It was...freeing.

Those eyes looked at me without pity. No poor orphan Sakura. No parents. No grandparents. No siblings.

That smile. The way his hair framed his face. The callouses on his hands that suggested he played the guitar...whoa. I had to stop thinking about him like this. Immediately.

I refocused on our conversation. He'd moved on to the topic of our bucket lists. "Please don't say to see the Sakura trees because you came here in season for that, so you already know it's going to happen," he said. "Tell me something else."

"But I do want to see a Sakura tree up close."

"And you will. Come on, tell me something not so obvious."

I took a deep breath in, ready to tell him when an elderly couple walked in. They woke up too early, went outside for a walk, and saw the lights on. Kinomoto was more than happy to serve them earlier than usual.

"I shouldn't take too long," he assured me. "Do you want some tea while you wait? And think about your bucket list. Crossing something off your list would make your stay even more memorable."

I chuckled. "Go ahead. I'm good here. Do you need my help with anything?"

"There's not much to it. I'm hand-pulling noodles. My friend prepared everything else last night. He gets obsessive-compulsive sometimes. I'd teach you, but I still have to relearn it first myself."

"That's okay. I can watch first."

I gulped. That wasn't a good option to offer. How was I supposed to watch him make ramen? He looked good just sitting here. What would he look like doing something that I love to do? At that rate, I'd fall in love with this stranger.

"Or I can hand you things you need," I offered instead.

"You can sit back and relax. You must've had a tiring journey. You were on the last train?"

"It has been a long night. Are you sure I can't help you?"

"I'm sure. Rest, and we can have ramen by the time the sun rises. Unless you'd be more comfortable in your accommodations? Sorry, I don't know why I didn't think of that first."

I had an idea why. From how Kinomoto looked and sounded flustered, I could tell my dimpled hero was just as attracted to me as I was to him.

"Do you need help getting there? I can—"

"I can wait to go there," I said hurriedly. "I mean, I haven't tried your ramen yet." I smiled to hide my anxiety. I haven't exactly confirmed my accommodations.

"Good. Uh, rest. I'll be back."

He moved about the kitchen, gathering the ingredients and materials he needed for the noodles, while I settled into the table on the other side of the shop. I wished I could say I had enough energy to sneak peeks at him hand-pulling noodles, but the fatigue wore in.

THE NEXT THING I knew, Kinomoto was nudging me awake and helping me to the bar stools by the window.

The elderly couple had left. The sky had brightened, rays of sun illuminated the road, and oh my. Directly across the street, a lone Sakura tree stood. My jaw dropped.

"Sakura is beautiful," Kinomoto whispered, or something to that effect. It was Japanese, but I understood it. And I knew he was talking about the tree because I just woke up from a two-hour nap, after a four-hour flight, seven-hour train ride, and what, an hour of wandering the streets?

Nevertheless, my heart skipped a tiny beat when he said my name with those words.

I cleared my throat and breathed in deeply. "It smells delicious. And yes, the Sakura tree is very beautiful."

He cleared his throat too. Was it dry in Akita, and I just noticed?

I savored the tonkotsu ramen and let my mind wander as I watched the cherry blossom tree. It danced with the wind, and falling flowers slowly faded from view.

"You almost can't tell that there's a bench underneath it," Kinomoto's voice broke into my thoughts as he took the bar seat on my right.

"Bet this is still the better view."

"Yes," he said. "It is."

You know that feeling when someone's looking at you? I wanted to see if I'm not imagining it, but I couldn't.

"Thank you," I said, willing my vision to remain fixed on the tree in front of us.

"For what?"

"This was on my bucket list. Eat tonkotsu while watching a Sakura tree...you made it happen even when you didn't know."

"This can't be it. It's too easy."

"It means so much, Kinomoto...san."

"There must be other things."

Were there? Other things on my bucket list disappeared when Grammy passed. There was no one to dream with or do things with. So what's the use of a bucket list?

"I'm sorry for your loss, Morida...san."

"I didn't mean to say that out loud."

"Then I didn't hear it," he said quickly. Then, slowly, he added, "If I did, I would just say that I'm here to listen. If you want to talk about her. Or anything at all."

It was the best thing I've heard so I thanked him. After a while, I told him that I didn't know where to start.

"What was she like? Wait, hold that thought."

He brought us warm sake. How sweet. The sake. This guy.

"Okay, so Grammy Morida."

"She made homemade tonkotsu. It wasn't her favorite. It was my Grandpa's. He's been gone for almost a decade, but did that matter? No. She still made the broth. Every other week. From scratch."

"Did she make it by herself?"

"I helped. I had to. It was a family recipe." I smiled at the thought. "We cook not by measurements but by tasting the food. So I couldn't tell you how, but I know it's the best broth in the world."

"That's pretty amazing."

I nodded.

"What else did she like?"

"Traveling. Road trip here and there. We rarely left the country after my Grandpa passed, but before that, we went everywhere. Time travel," I chuckled. "She loved love, and she made sure I knew not to settle for anything less than the love she had. Grammy still told stories of Grandpa like it just happened yesterday. Whenever I spend the night with her, it's like I travel to the times she lived. It's...I miss her terribly."

"She lives in your heart. She's with you everywhere you go."

I gulped down the ball in my throat. "The Sakura's her favorite. I didn't get it. It was just a namesake, but now that I see it from here...it is pretty. But it's no oak."

"Well, this particular one in front of us has a legend that could convince you. Maybe."

"Oh? Please, do tell."

"It's said that couples who become official or engaged by this Sakura tree will always find their way to each other, and they will stay together for a really long time."

"A really long time," I parroted. "Not forever?"

"That's how I've always heard it. People don't know what happened to the couple after they left. I guess they only know that they got together and stayed together for a really long time?"

"What couple?"

"Didn't I tell you about the couple?"

"No."

"I'm not good at storytelling."

"And it has to be this Sakura tree, not any other one?"

"No, it has to be this one or your relationship will be doomed to last only a short time. Or a long time, but not a really long time."

We laughed at that.

"Is it one of your bucket list items to better at storytelling? You can practice with me. I'll help you. Tell me about the couple who got together and left, and what they have to do with the Sakura tree. Onegaishimasu (please), Kinomoto-san."

"1943. Sakura was the eldest of four children. Her youngest sibling was not two when their father passed. Her mother was still breastfeeding, so Sakura volunteered to go to Tokyo and find a job. Luckily, it didn't take long for her to get hired at a café. That's where she met Hiromitsu. He doesn't drink coffee, but his friends dragged him in. And that was it. It was love at first sight. He went to see her. Every day. He'd sit in her section, and read the newspaper until she clocked out."

"Otherwise known as stalking."

"Should I not tell the rest of the story?"

I zipped my mouth and threw away the key. 

He smiled. "The cold forgotten coffee on his table is the last one she cleared away every day until finally, she agreed to go out with him. Little did they know, that while they were getting to know each other, a marriage was being arranged for Hiromitsu. When they found out, Sakura had already fallen in love with him too. She was heartbroken, but she didn't want Hiromitsu to fight with his family, or give up his inheritance and connections. So she went home to Higashinaruse. Hiromitsu only knew the name of the village that she was from and not much else. He set out for the village and went door to door looking for her."

My hand flew to my mouth at Mach speed, but it did nothing to cover my loud gasp.

Kinomoto chuckled. "Everyone has the same reaction. But Higashinaruse is a small village. Even smaller back in the 40s. It didn't take him long. Maybe three or four days? Most of the town refused to talk to him or were doubtful of his story. But a few of them helped him in the end. When he found her, he didn't have much time left on his leave. They spent all the time he had left together. Except for one morning. Hiromitsu disappeared for a few hours and came back with a Sakura tree. He found passed by a demolition site outside of town that misplaced some trees. He picked up the Sakura tree and planted it across the street from her house."

"You mean this particular Sakura tree across the street from us."

"Yes."

"But you said 'across the street from her house'."

"Yes, her house is to the left of the shop. Upstairs too. She had a perfect view of the tree. She looked outside every morning, noon, and night, waiting for Hiromitsu to return. And one day, he did. He proposed to her underneath the tree. She said yes. Then, they left the village. And the legend was born."

"I thought Sakura trees only live for 30, maybe 40 years?"

"That's why the legend is about this particular one. It hasn't been replaced in 80 years. Who knows how long it was alive before then?"

"This is..."

"What did you say your favorite tree was?"

"I prefer the oak tree. It lives for 300 years," I answered mindlessly.

"This Sakura tree could live up to 300. It's already defied its odds."

"It's picky, only blooming for two to four months. Normally living on for about 40 years. Imagine someone who can love someone even if it only shows itself for four months and leaves you after 40 years... It's mind-boggling."

He looked at the Sakura tree pensively and said, "That's true love, I think. When you love someone even through the times when they don't show their best self. Everyone else comes to see them during those four months, but you love them for longer than that. Even longer than the 40 years you get to have with them. When you love someone, a lifetime will never feel like enough. Not even two, or three, lifetimes."

When I shifted my eyes from the tree to Kinomoto, I realized he was already looking at me. How long had he been looking at me?

"That's beautiful, Kinomoto-san."

Oh goodness.

My breath caught. I was only vaguely aware that my lips had parted. His eyes held mine just a moment ago but now have lowered to my lips.

We were drawing closer to each other when a man walked into the shop noisily. "Oi, Kazuki! Let's eat before the lunch rush!"

I thought he would immediately jump away. Instead, he raised his injured hand to hold my cheek, and I closed my eyes at the warmth of his touch. He briefly connected our noses and breathed me in, before he let go and paid attention to the man that entered.

"We have hours before the lunch rush. But sure, man, we'll eat if you make something."

"Me? You're the one in the kitchen today."

"You're the chef here."

"And who's we?"

"This is Sakura Morida. Small world, isn't it? This is Hiroshi Seki, owner, and chef."

Both of us mumbled, 'Nice to meet you' in Japanese.

"What do you mean by a small world, Kinomoto-san?"

"Morida isn't very common around here. But you have the same name as Hiro's grandmother's sister."

"It's you," Hiro said accusingly.

I greeted him shyly. "Hi, um, cousin."

"Cousin?" Kinomoto exclaimed as he looked back and forth between Hiro and me. "You're the one who wrote—"

"I'll make us lunch," Hiro interrupted. "You're going to help me, Kazuki."

"Yes, boss."

"Can I help with anything at all?"

"No," Hiro snapped.

Well, that was rude. Or maybe he's an abrupt person?

Judging by the way Kinomoto's brows drew close, it was more likely that my cousin was not pleased to see me.

"Uh, can you help set up some tea?" Kinomoto asked.

"Of course. I can do that."

I can smile at him too, to put him at ease.

So I did.

HIRO SCOWLED throughout lunch. Kinomoto was almost worried about sending us off to his house together.

"It can't just be me since Kinomoto-san also asked if something's bothering you." I started on him as soon as we reached the living room, and he explained that his grandmother was napping. "So what's up with the permanent scowl on your face, cousin?"

"You're some cousin," he muttered.

"What?"

"I said, you're some cousin. You don't write or call for as long as you've been alive. Then, you write a letter just last week mentioning that you want to come by. Soon, you said. No dates whatsoever, so I had to be prepared for any day. I cleaned, shopped for bedding, etc. All that after I already worked an entire day at my shop. You're not even here for half a day, and you've tainted my shop with your flirting with my...my best friend."

"What do you—oh. Oh!"

"What 'oh?' No 'oh.' You can't possibly understand."

"I'm sorry, Hiro. But I don't think that Kinomoto-san...because he was...we were...I'm sorry."

"So you're an expert on him after knowing him for a few hours?"

"Of course not. I don't know. Maybe he goes both ways. You'll never know unless you tell him."

"I'm not going to tell him."

"But how will you know?"

"I can't lose him."

"But you don't really have him now, do you?"

"You shouldn't have come."

"I needed to."

"Why?"

"It was just she and I, Hiro. Now that she's gone, there's no one else. I needed to be here and feel like...like there's a connection still."

"We're connected by our hearts. She'll always be with you."

"Your best friend said the same thing. But I need to—"

"I understand."

To a certain extent, he did.

Hiro's parents immigrated to the US with his siblings, and he remained with his grandmother. "I can't imagine not having her around," he said.

My tears flowed like water from a broken dam. Hiro didn't hesitate to hug me.

That's how his Grammy found us in the living room.

A NOTE LAY on the floor outside of my bedroom when I woke up that night. It was from Hiro, asking to meet me by the Sakura tree when I woke up.

We spent the afternoon getting to know each other over tea. His Grammy was eager to hear stories about her sister because they'd only exchanged a few letters before she passed. I wanted to keep talking, but my eyes had other plans. She was kind enough to encourage me to sleep.

I freshened up and made my way across the street. Earlier, we spoke about a faint marking of Grammy's initials on the tree. I wouldn't mind hunting for it myself, but it'd be nice to have Hiro with me. It's only been a week. I'm not used to being alone yet.

I almost hugged Hiro from the back from all my excitement. Instead, I tapped him on the shoulder. Good thing too, because when he turned around, I discovered it was Kazuki.

As inconspicuous as I could manage, I looked over to the shop in search of Hiro. He stood by the entrance of the shop with his arms crossed and one leg bent to the wall he leaned on. He shrugged, smiled, and headed inside.

I smiled back at him, and then at Kazuki. He was distracted enough by telling me about the tour he planned for me tonight and the next day.

"I hope it's not, ah, weird that we met here," he said sheepishly. "Since you know about the legend and...I don't know why Hiro insisted—"

"It's not weird. It's all good."

He beamed at me. "Shall we?"

I nodded and followed him to his car.

It's not like we became official underneath the Sakura tree, but our story's not over yet. And who knows? Maybe my grandparents' story isn't just a legend; but also a heritage.