When Flowers Wither

chapter 1

"Give me back the tricycle Takeshi" the girl complained, struggling with all her strength with her classmate to get back the red school tricycle. The two had been fighting for a few minutes over it in the colorful schoolyard.

"No, you've played with it enough, Hikari. It's my turn now!" the angry boy replied, trying to snatch the tricycle from her tiny hands.

Ever since that morning, Hikari had been riding the tricycle. Takeshi had watched her the whole time, wanting to ride it himself without any success, since the girl wouldn't let him. His mother had always told him to be patient and that things would come to him. Violence brings nothing, because things should be communicated, not solved with slaps—but his father always got what he wanted when he applied a bit of force. The two versions didn't match.

Takeshi had asked her several times to take turns, but she refused, and after the third time he got fed up and decided to get what he wanted by force. His father always got what he wanted thanks to violence, so why could't he? It wasn't his fault—it was Hikari who was being mean.

Takeshi began aggressively trying to pry the little girl's hands off the tricycle.

Hikari started crying loudly to catch the attention of the adults. She knew that one way or another, they would side with her. Her behavior worked immediately—because the teacher arrived running, worried.

"Kids! What happened? Are you hurt?" she asked, checking each of the children for injuries. The woman was new and hadn't yet learned how to handle things in kindergarten, and she feared something might go wrong.

"Takeshi wants to take the tricycle from me," Hikari whined, pointing at Takeshi, who was holding the tricycle firmly.

Teacher Sato exhaled in relief, placing a hand on her chest, and looked at Takeshi reproachfully.

"She's been using it all day! Then I asked her many times and she kept saying no!" defended the dark-haired boy, indicating his classmate.

"That's not true!" lied the girl, faking a cry.

The teacher sighed—clearly she was underpaid to look after these kids who were fighting over trivial things. She crouched down, adjusting her white dress, and looked at both children, who were clearly angry and frustrated.

"You're both in the wrong," she said with a smile, looking at both of them.

"Takeshi, you can't resort to violence when you're in trouble," she continued, looking at Takeshi, who felt singled out and looked at his feet, regretting his actions—he didn't want to become like his father.

"Hikari, you have to learn to share, or else people will find you unpleasant," the teacher gently stroked the girl's arm, who by then had stopped sobbing.

"Have you ever heard the story of Pope Runo and Pope Rano?" she asked enthusiastically—she liked teaching morals to kids via little fables.

Both shook their heads.

"Pope Runo and Pope Rano, friends for a long time, were both on a train. Pope Rano had a very heavy suitcase that he struggled to carry. Pope Runo noticed his difficulty and told him, 'I'll help you with the suitcase—it won't hurt anyone if we take turns!'" she told proudly, enjoying the pun, then cleared her throat sheepishly. "This is to tell you that in life we must share to help each other," she smiled at the kids.

"Make up now, what do you say?" she suggested, taking both their hands, wanting them to squeeze.

"I'm sorry," said the girl immediately "I should've shared" she looked at Takeshi in the eyes before quickly averting her gaze. Takeshi was surprised by those words—he didn't expect her to recognize and apologize for her behavior, but he also realized he hadn't been fair to her.

"I'm sorry too," he apologized, also avoiding her gaze—he hated admitting his mistakes; it felt humiliating.

"You can play with the tricycle now," Hikari indicated the tricycle still in the boy's hands and smiled at him.

"We can take turns," Takeshi replied, smiling shyly, putting into practice the teacher's advice.

Hikari laughed and looked at the teacher, who nodded for them to continue playing.

Takeshi got on the tricycle and Hikari began pushing him, and both started laughing.

The teacher stood up and watched them with satisfaction, knowing that from that day on a great friendship would blossom between them.

Mika and Rekka joined the group in elementary school.

It was the first day of school and both were terrified; they held hands, afraid they might be separated at any moment. Luckily they would be in the same class since there were no other sections in the small school, and their parents didn't want to send them to two different schools.

Mika and Rekka were monozygotic twins and therefore identical.

All the classmates kept staring at them in confusion—never having seen something like this—and pointed at them, commenting to their mothers: "Look, Mama, those two are identical." "Mami, is it normal that they look like that?" Some children burst into tears, confused or scared.

The twins were used to this kind of reaction and had learned not to take it personally.

"You are unique, and that's why people stare," their mother always said when Mika began to cry because she felt judged.

Rekka saw Mika start to sob—she suffered a lot because of those comments despite their mother's approach. Rekka squeezed her hand and looked determined.

"It'll be okay, don't worry," she said.

"Wow! You're identical twins! So cool!" a girl approached. She had long dark hair down to her waist.

"I have friends who look like each other—they're twins... omo—" she forgot the word.

"Omozydotic!" exulted Mika, happy to remember the term.

"Omozygotic," Rekka corrected her, annoyed.

"It means we're identical," Mika said timidly.

"Yeah, but it doesn't mean we're the same!" Rekka continued proudly—their mother had taught her how to handle the situation.

"We have different traits—Mika has a mole on her temple, I don't; also, my hair's shorter. And our personalities are different too," Rekka said, always happy to clarify things—she didn't like always being confused with her sister.

Hikari nodded, noticing Mika's mole so as not to mix them up.

"My friends also have different traits; after a bit, you get used to it," she said, looking at both girls.

"I'm Hikari," she smiled.

"I'm Mika," the girl introduced herself, smiling back.

"I'm Rekka," said the twin proudly.

"Over there is my best friend Takeshi," Hikari pointed at a boy sulking in a corner, clearly not wanting to be there.

"Come, I'll introduce you to him!" she exclaimed, taking Mika's hand. Rekka and Mika looked excited and nodded, happy to have already made some friends.

Matías joined the class a few months later, in November.

He had just moved from America with no notice, from one day to the next.

He was still suffering from jet lag, but despite that, his new parents wanted him to start school immediately so he wouldn't fall behind in anything.

Matías didn't object. He couldn't. He didn't want to go back.

He didn't yet speak Japanese well; he had a tutor who would translate dialogues for him and help him with school in general until he became independent.

He was scared. He didn't know how to behave.

He was afraid he wouldn't fit in with his peers—they had already formed a group. How would he manage? Despite everything, he didn't complain; he just had to push through.

As soon as he entered the classroom, he saw all the classmates staring at him, surprised by his obviously non-Asian appearance.

When Matías met their gaze, he grabbed his shirt, embarrassed.

"mɪnɐsãɴɴɵɴɐtɐɾɐʃīīkɯɾɐsɯmèèɭƭɵmɐţɪɐŝ͡ɯŝãɴɵʃɵːkɐĩʃɯmɐsɯɐmɛɾɪkɐkɐɾɐkʲɪmɐʕƭɐnɐkɐʝɵkɯɕɯtɛkɵɵðɐsɐɪ." The teacher spoke and everyone looked at him with great attention, then looked at Matías, nodding.

"He's introducing himself," the tutor whispered in his ear. Matías nodded.

"ŧɐƙɛɕɨnɵŧɵnɐɾɨɲɨsɯɐ͜ŧ͞ɛɪɪɨdɛ̛sɨɵ," he continued, pointing to an empty desk and looking at him.

Matías understood that he was being told to sit there, and he walked over and sat down.

The tutor remained there talking with the teacher.

Next to him was a dark-haired boy, clearly bored, who was playing with a pen. But as soon as he saw Matías, he smiled faintly and nodded.

Matías smiled back—he didn't know how to interact. "I'll be friendless," he thought. But it didn't matter.

"ʙ͠ɒ͜ɾ͢ɛ͡ʊ̸ɐ̶ʂɨ͟‑͠ŧ́ɐ͢ƙ̴ɛ͟ɕ͢ɨ̛," said the boy, turning to him.

Fear. Matías looked confused and pretended to understand, smiling.

"ɐɳɐʈɐʍɐ͟... ɳɐɳ͢mɒɛ͜ɾɨɳɵ̃̃̃̃̃...?"

It was a question. The boy was waiting for an answer.

Matías looked at him and realized then that from that moment on, everything would be different. No more Spanish. No more mom.

Nothing would ever be the same. Everything had always changed too quickly.

He felt tears running down his face. He tried to wipe them, he couldn't show weakness—and despite his efforts, the tears kept coming. He felt his classmates' gazes on him. The tutor saw it too and ran to him.

"Let's step out for a moment, okay?" he said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

Matías nodded, trying not to sob further.

They both rushed out of the classroom.

"Don't worry, feeling like this is normal. At first it's always a bit hard, but after a while you get used to it," the tutor said after a moment outside of the class, handing him a tissue as Matías was still crying.

"I don't want to be excluded from the class," he sobbed, grabbing the tissue and blowing his nose sadly.

He had always been afraid of being alone—it was a constant fear.

"Don't worry about that. You just need to work on the language and you'll have no problems. I'm sure in a month you won't have any more issues. As for writing, your classmates are more or less at your level, you'll catch up quickly," the tutor tried to reassure him, giving him a gentle pat on the back.

"I practiced some basic phrases yesterday, to at least communicate the minimum, but they didn't help," Matías said, discouraged.

"We're still at the start of the day! Don't get discouraged so quickly—trust me, soon you'll use them," the tutor said, amused by how delicate and innocent children could be.

Matías nodded.

"You're right, thanks," he said, taking the tissue and showing it to him.

They sat in a chair until they heard the bell ring for recess.

A few seconds later, Matías saw some kids, including his desk neighbor, leaving the classroom running and laughing.

"Your classmates are lively," the tutor noted with a smile, watching them walk away.

Matías looked at them with envy—how he would have loved to be part of a group. It had never happened in his life because of the constant changes he had to face every year.

The two of them quietly returned to the classroom. Mizuki—when he reached his desk—took out his notebooks and put them away.

A few minutes later, his classmate returned lively, together with his friends. He looked toward Matías, and his eyes lit up; he said something to his companions and they headed toward him.

He noticed a girl holding something behind her back. Were they planning a prank?

He started talking enthusiastically to his tutor while the others giggled behind.

The tutor smiled at the kids affectionately and looked at Matías.

"He said they have a surprise for you."

Matías didn't even have time to process what was being relayed when the girl revealed what she was hiding.

It was a postcard with a drawing and a note.

Matías took it shyly.

"Welcome to Kita Shō!"

It had a big message and a drawing of the five of them (him included) holding hands.

Matías immediately noticed it was written in Spanish, not Japanese.

Did they really go through the trouble... for him?

"They said someone here, a janitor, is Spanish just like you and they asked him how to write it. They felt bad that you didn't understand the language and thought you might feel uncomfortable, so they wanted to make you feel a little at home," the tutor explained kindly.

Matías smiled, moved.

It had never happened like this.

Someone actually cared about his well‑being.

"Thank you," he said—one of the only words he had learned was that one.

"I'm Takeshi," the boy said, smiling at him.

"My name is Matías," he replied awkwardly—not yet able to pronounce words well.

He looked at the tutor for confirmation he'd said the phrase right, and the tutor nodded and clapped his hands.

"Mika," he said, pointing at the girl who had given him the drawing; she had long black hair down to her waist and smiled shyly.

"Rekka," he pointed to the twin with shorter hair, she was holding Mika's hand. Were they the same person? He didn't ask.

"Hikari," he said finally, pointing to a girl with chestnut hair with reddish highlights.

Matías smiled—he'd managed to understand all their names—and nodded.

"Do you want to play with us?" Takeshi asked, looking at the tutor and waiting for an immediate translation.

"He asked if you want to play with them," the man translated kindly.

Matías nodded, because he knew one thing children share: play.

Takeshi smiled and took his hand, and the five of them ran toward the playground, laughing.