The two ahead weren’t strangers—they were shadows from junior high, old “friends” she wished stayed buried. She’d hoped distance would cover that past like snow, yet the wind kept uncovering it.

The tallest girl facing Maya Hanazaka wore a high ponytail; Chiyoko Asakusa’s sun-browned skin held a bright, athletic glow, like midday light on bronze. The shorter, short-haired girl was Ayame Kusunoki, her manner soft as spring water, the friendly type.

Neither looked hostile at first glance, their smiles like painted masks. Yun Shi watched from the side, a quiet silhouette under eaves, wondering why they stood with the yuri girl, and why the air felt like old rain.

“How are you here?” Maya raised her eyes at last, her voice tight like a drawn bowstring.

“We thought high school meant no more chances to meet,” Chiyoko said, laughing warm as noon, “yet here we are, Ayame and I, running into you—what a coincidence.”

“You didn’t even tell us which high school you applied to,” Ayame added, light as willow leaves. “We figured you chose a nearby one. That uniform’s Rakuyoku High School, right? It’s a good school—so lucky you got in.”

“So, what do you want.” Maya’s tone stayed wary, a knife kept sheathed yet cold.

“Come on, Maya, don’t be so stiff,” Chiyoko coaxed, smile bright as chalk on a board. “We were classmates—give us that much face.”

“I don’t have anything to say.” Her words fell like stones, sinking without ripples.

“Little Maya, we still remember those days, so—” Ayame started, her voice thin as a reed flute.

“Enough. I’ve forgotten. Back then, except Mizuki, no one accepted me. You were the same.” The memory bit like frost along a scar, pain old but sharp.

Her blunt truth stopped them like a sudden gust; their mouths shut, eyes flickered like candles in draft.

Yun Shi stayed in the shadows, heart tight as a fist, reading the cracks. There was a feud braided deep, something Maya couldn’t forgive, thorny as wild briars.

“Little Maya, don’t be so resentful,” Chiyoko said, trying to smile through rain. “We’re friends. And if you hadn’t exposed the truth—that you’re a lesbian—would we be like this?”

“—!” Maya’s pupils drew tight like needles; her body flinched, shoulders trembling like leaves in a cold wind.

“Little Maya being a lesbian—honestly, I was shocked,” Ayame said, voice gentle and cutting like a petal on ice. “I never imagined that adorable little Maya only liked girls.”

Maya’s fists clenched until her knuckles blanched, teeth grinding like grit between stones, as if holding back a storm.

“Tell me, little Maya,” Chiyoko asked, no more jokes in her tone, the gaze dim as twilight. “Are you really a lesbian?”

That small shadow of disappointment pierced her like a pin; Maya’s breath broke, the stare felt like needles under skin, hard to bear.

“Back in third year, your orientation got exposed,” Ayame said, her words slow as dripping rain. “I wished it was fake, yet it turned out true. Maya, why be so foolish? You’ll have to pick a man someday—how long can this last?”

“I…” Her voice fluttered like a moth near a flame, scorched at the edge.

“Or do you insist on liking girls?” Chiyoko pressed, brows tight as storm clouds. “Do you think there’s an end for you? Japan has no same-sex marriage law.”

“I know…” Her answer was a drowned whisper, like ink bleeding in water.

“Knowing and still forcing it?” Chiyoko snapped, anger flaring like summer thunder. “Stop, Maya. Your lesbian love won’t have results. No one shares it, no one wants to stay with you. No girl will like you—do you want to be a social freak?”

Her shout slammed into Maya like a door in wind; she froze, words locked in her throat like stones.

“Chiyoko…” Ayame tugged her sleeve, anxious as a sparrow on a branch. It was the first time she’d seen her friend this fierce.

“Ayame, move,” Chiyoko said, shaking off her hand like dew. “I need to teach her a lesson.”

“But Chiyoko, Maya isn’t wrong. This feels bad…” Ayame’s plea frayed like old silk, barely holding.

“You still don’t get it?” Chiyoko’s temper burned like dry grass. “Letting her go will lead to trouble. I’ll pull her back. A girl liking girls is nonsense! You think people will accept that? I’m doing this for her.”

She shrugged off Ayame and reached for Maya, fingers hooking like steel claws to drag her close.

“I can’t help it. Yes—yes, I’m a lesbian, so what!” Maya slapped Chiyoko’s hand away, voice hoarse like a crow in winter, face twisted in pain.

“I really don’t like men. Touching one makes me nauseous—I want to bleach myself a hundred times,” she cried, clutching her head like it throbbed. “What’s good about men? Filthy, smelly, gross, and lewd. Girls are clean, fragrant, and cute. Why must I like men? Can’t I decide my own life?”

She held herself as if defending a flame in wind, every word a tight, shivering spark.

“Maya, stop it already!” Chiyoko grabbed her shoulders, hands heavy as iron, voice shaking with heat. “I told you, this leads nowhere. Look how people see you. Since you confessed to Mizuki, listen to what they call you—lesbian. Is that normal? You’re a girl—your orientation is clearly wrong. Why won’t you wake up?”

Maya struggled like a fish on a line, trying to break free, but Chiyoko’s grip pinned her like stakes in hard ground.

“Enough, Chiyoko!” Maya’s eyes flashed, wet as rain. “I truly have zero interest in men—truly. Touching a boy’s hand makes me gag. A boy’s flirting makes me sick. A boy’s smile feels lecherous. But girls are different; they’re cute. I know what I am. I accepted being a lesbian long ago. Why do you keep forcing me!”

“All right, little Maya,” Ayame urged, voice pleading like a soft drum. “Chiyoko’s thinking of your future. I don’t want to watch you sink here. Give up liking girls. Your parents won’t let this continue—won’t they force you to marry one day?”

“You… even you deny me, Ayame…” Her hurt spread like ink on rice paper, dark and widening.

“I’m doing this for you!” Ayame’s words sharpened like frost. “Don’t you see how classmates look at you? It’s the gaze for an odd thing, not a normal person. Enough—wake up. That version of you is a pervert.”

“I won’t…” Her refusal was a stubborn ember, glowing in ash.

“Little Maya!” The call cracked like a whip in open air.

Watching them pull and break, Yun Shi’s chest tightened like a fist under a cloak; her lack of calm was no lie, her pulse a war drum.

Maya Hanazaka was a yuri girl—a lesbian. Everyone knew; Yun Shi just hadn’t paid it much mind. Maya lacked many friends at school; a few close girls knew her orientation and chose respect, gentle as shade. Yet some gazes still pricked like thorns—mostly from a handful of boys.

Yuri, lesbian—society’s easy labels say it’s a crooked love, a sickness to cure, words cold as winter stones. But love is free air; it moves like wind, not owning borders.

Is liking someone of the same sex a sin? Is opposite-sex love the only road? No. The world’s full of same-sex couples like stars in a broad sky. They love a person, not flesh alone; they guard a heart, not just a body.

People don’t understand; they think such nerves break nature’s rule, calling it a mind’s disease, their judgment blunt as a dull blade. Where there’s pressure, there’s pushback—free spirits fight like waves for a law that honors same-sex marriage.

They face misunderstanding and side-eyes like winter sleet, yet they struggle for a clear ideal, for their happiness to be acknowledged—there’s no fault in that flame. Men or women, they’re the wind’s children, born to choose.

Then why does a changing society that warms to gay men still frost over lesbian women? Can’t women stand with women, can’t they own their sunlight?

Maya Hanazaka was a woman denied, her name weighed down like a leaf pressed in a book.

It shouldn’t be this way. This one thing can’t be shut away. Liking girls isn’t strange; it’s a blossom among blossoms.

So—

Yun Shi stepped forward, her stride clean as a blade through grass, walking toward the knot of hands and tears.

“Stop.” Her voice fell cold as moonlight, stilling the air like ice on water.

The three turned their heads like sunflowers to a sudden shade; Maya saw that familiar silhouette and went still, breath held like a bird in the hand.

“Let go of Maya Hanazaka.” Yun Shi didn’t waste words; she moved in with a sweep like breaking bamboo, slapped Chiyoko’s hand aside, and drew Maya to her like shelter in rain. Chiyoko and Ayame stared, stunned, eyes wide as lanterns.

“Yun Shi…” Maya’s voice softened, feeling the warm, soft hand in hers like cotton. Yun Shi had left—so why was she here?

“Hey, who are you!” Chiyoko snapped back, her shout sharp as flint, this stranger slicing in from nowhere.

“We’re leaving.” Yun Shi didn’t answer, pulling Maya’s hand toward the open path like tide pulling from shore.

Maya hesitated, then tore free, anger flaring like a red flag. “Why meddle with me! This isn’t your business—it’s my problem!”

“…” Silence pressed like fog; Yun Shi’s eyes stayed steady, deep as a well.

“Enough, Yunshi Bianqi,” Maya shouted, self-loathing burning like bitter tea. “I don’t want your pity. You know me—this is who I am. I’m bound to be alone for life. Why do you care!”

Chiyoko and Ayame froze, their minds spinning like windmills. The uniform said boy; was this Maya’s boyfriend? The thought flickered, then died like a spark in rain.

“I’m a yuri. Is that reason enough.” Yun Shi didn’t lower her voice like before; she spoke in her true tone—clear and feminine, a bell in morning mist.

Maya stared, stunned as if lightning had traced a name on stone; her ears rang with the impossible.

“Like you, I only like girls,” Yun Shi said, her calm like a lake under stars. “Yes, I’m a lesbian. So what.”

Maya’s shock wasn’t just shock; it was the sky torn open, and she stood there speechless, heart thudding like a drum.

Yun Shi turned, her gaze cutting back at the two like a winter blade. “You think girls liking girls is weird, right? You can’t accept lesbians. Then curse if you must. Stare all you want.”

“Uh…” Ayame’s mouth opened, voice lost like a leaf swept away.

“Who said no girl likes girls?” Yun Shi’s tone stayed level, firm as stone. “I’m a lesbian who likes girls—so what. Maya Hanazaka dares to face herself, to admit she’s yuri, and to stand for her heart. At least she meets the mirror.

“And you?” Her words came like paired strikes—clear, measured, hard. “You call yourselves friends, yet never consider a friend’s feelings. What kind of friends are you?

“You’re just deceiving yourselves to dodge the same odd gaze. Strip it down, and it’s simple—selfishness dressed as concern, a mask over a fearful heart.”

Yun Shi’s ruthless words hit like sleet; Chiyako and Ayame stood there mute, as if frost sealed their tongues.

“Yun Shi...”

Bleak eyes slowly found light; Maya stared at the girl before her, as if a dawn broke, memories sparking like fireflies.

“I don’t care what Maya is—queer, lesbian, even a so-called criminal. To me, she’s irreplaceable, my one-and-only friend.”

Back then, she stood before Maya like a lone pine in storm, unafraid of the crowd’s doubt and blame, shielding Maya Hanazaka.

Asked why, she said, “We’re friends.”

Yes—so simple. So absurd it was almost a joke.

Yet it moved Maya to tears like sudden warm rain; it let a girl face her desire, and shaped the Maya of today.

Then another person stepped out, the same way, standing before her like a second lantern in night.

“Yun Shi...”

“Don’t mind them. They won’t even believe, let alone respect, a friend. No need to tangle. Maya Hanazaka, hold your path. Come.”

She took Maya’s hand again and walked on as if the world were empty, brushing past Chiyako and Ayame like wind over reeds.

No fuss, no leftover dust; simple and effective, they faded from the two girls’ sight.

Feeling that softness in her palm, warmth seeped through Maya like spring water; her eyes blurred before she noticed.

She did nothing but follow that small, slight back; she spoke no words, only trailed the shadow like a tether.

The hand was cold, winter-cold, yet when it touched Maya it burned gentle as a winter sun—warmth that rose from the heart, only now.