The early spring sun is barely over the horizon when he sets out. He starts at the old high school track. He's early - she won't be here for nearly an hour. That's time he needs. He stoops by the gate, their old meeting place, and pulls a piece of paper with a flower taped to it from the pack he takes from his back. On the note are two words "follow me," and a set of directions. He tapes the note to the gate in turn, zips up the pack, and sets out at a lope, out of the track and field area, down the road, and out the front gate of the campus. He runs easily, pacing himself. A mile and a quarter later, he stops long enough to pull out another note. This one says "get on the bus!" Along with a flower, there's a route map taped to it, with a stop circled in red. He posts it at chin height on a lampost, waits a few minutes, then boards the bus when it arrives. Twenty minutes later, he steps off of the bus, opens the pack, and tapes another note and flower to a telephone pole by the side of the road, next to the bus stop. This one says "Say hi to your mom!" Just in case, he's attached a tourist map of the neighborhood with a route drawn in in red pen. He takes off running again. An easy ten-minute jog takes him to the door of an unpretentious house in the suburbs. He knocks and waits. He doesn't have to wait long. The door opens and a pretty woman in early middle age steps out.

"Today?" she asks.

He nods.

Her face breaks into a smile and she gently pulls him him into a hug. He hands her another note and flower. She nods, steps back.

"Good luck," she says, gravely.

He nods, and sets out again, moving at the easy lope of a habitual runner. On the hills, a dull pain in his chest makes him think of the scar over his heart, reminds him that every day is precious, and most especially this one. It's a long run, and that's not an accident. He's thought this through. He wants her to have a chance to run hard here, to stretch out and push herself a bit. It'll make things easier later, he thinks. In his pocket, his phone beeps. He pulls it out, reads the message, grins, types a short reply, and puts it back in his pocket. When it rings a minute later, he ignores it.

Please, he'd written. It's important.

The sun is well up in the sky by the time he reaches the gate. He pauses, opens the pack, and places the last note and flower.

You know where, it says. We'll be waiting.

Up the tree-lined drive he jogs, gravel crunching under his feet, smelling the fresh scent of greenery and a faint hint of flowers and growth. At this hour, the cemetery is almost deserted. After a few minutes of hunting, he finds the grave he's looking for.

Ibarazaki, reads the headstone.

Out of the pack he pulls a different set of flowers - lillies this time, two bunches. One he places at the grave, the other he sets down on the pack. He takes a deep breath, walks carefully over to face the gravestone head on, and bows respectfully. He's got a question to ask.

She wonders what he's playing at. The note on the fence takes her to the bus stop all too quickly. She moves fast, much faster than him, the carbon fiber blades of her prosthetics clicking rhythmically against the pavement. She's just in time to catch the bus into town. The bus driver looks a bit surprised when the pretty blond holding a flower climbs the stairs up into the bus on prosthetic runner's legs, graceful lengths of curved steel and carbon fiber bolted together. She has to pause to balance a bit on each step - these legs aren't really built for climbing stairs.

Where we began, the note had read. Unless you count the collision in the hallway. She'd smiled at that. Then, Follow me. It's important.

Riding the bus, she has time to think. She wonders what's going on - they're not even a day into their vacation. She's a bit upset. She'd been looking forward to running on the old track again. Running with him, like in the old days when she'd been the star of the track team and he was a brand-new transfer student with heart trouble. Lost in thought, she nearly misses the stop. She has to call out to the bus driver, who glances sidelong at her legs again as she steps down to the sidewalk. There, just above her head, is another note and flower.

She's confused. They're not supposed to go to her mother's house until later in the week - this was supposed to be their first real vacation together, back from university to see the old school and visit her mother. She's not sure exactly what to do with this one either, so she carefully folds it together with the other two and tucks it into her waistband. The flowers cause a little awkwardness, but she eventually figures out how to tuck them into the crook of her arm where they won't slow her down. She runs a few more minutes, then turns in at the familiar gate. She has to knock - she didn't bring her keys to the track this morning. The door pops open. Clearly her mother has been waiting for her.

"Good morning, dear," she says, smiling widely. "I'm so happy to see you!" Her eyes are shining just a bit more than normal.

The young woman moves to step past her into the house, but her mother unaccountably blocks the way. She brings her hand out from behind her back holding another note and flower. Apparently he's even enlisted her mother in his little game.

"I'm to give you this," she says, handing them over. She glances down, but doesn't immediately recognize the route, except that it looks rather long.

"Do you know what's going on?" she asks her mother, a puzzled expression on her face.

Her mother shakes her head. "I believe you're just going to have to find out yourself, dear," is all she says.

Nonplussed, she sets out up the street. After a few minutes, she opens up into a long, ground eating lope, and a fierce grin grows on her face as an extra sparkle gleams in her eye. She runs hard, legs pumping, steel feet clicking down in rapid staccato on the pavement. She moves like a mechanical gazelle, all long legs and grace, her body swaying gently in a smooth, economical motion as she pushes herself, sweat beads forming and running down her spine, listening only to the sound of her breathing and her heartbeat in her ears. Her surroundings fade to insignificance as she loses herself in the run. She's a creature of speed, and running is what she was born for.

She drops out of her reverie as spots the note taped to a wrought iron gate, and her stride hitches as she realizes where she is. She wasn't paying attention, but she knows this place all too well. Her good mood evaporates, replaced with suspicion and the slightest touch of dread. Hesitantly, she reads the note. She knows where he means, of course. I'll be waiting.So he's here. They've got a difficult history on this subject - she's still not entirely comfortable having him in this aspect of her life, but it's either go in or walk away from here, from him, and that's unthinkable. After a minute, she hesitantly makes her way through the gate and trudges up the hill, uncertain and confused. She finds him easily. He's kneeling in the grass by the gravesite, a physics text in his hand. As she approaches, he looks up and puts away the book, standing up and taking a few steps forward. He looks nervous, which only heightens her own anxiety.

"What are you doing here?" It comes out more accusatory than she meant. Her eyes are drawn, unwillingly, to the headstone where her father's name is graven into the stone in small, neat characters.

He meets her eyes as she looks back. His gaze is steady on her face, but there's a flicker of nervousness in the depths of his eyes. She sees that his hands are trembling, and feels an incipient sense of panic. Is there something wrong with his health? She thinks of the scar over his heart, another tangible reminder of the fragility of life.

He answers her, finally.

"I had a question to ask your father." He pauses. "I have one for you, as well."

She's still confused, anxiety mingled with slight resentment, until suddenly she sees that his hand isn't empty. In it is a small, velvet box, and in the box is the glimmer of gold, and suddenly she's the one whose heartbeat is pounding irregularly in her ears. Her earlier feelings have evaporated, leaving a curious mix of exhilaration and terror. The world seems to narrow down to only his face, and his hand, and the sparkling ring in the box and she finally understands as he drops to a knee.

His face is pale, but determined, eyes fixed on hers. "I came here to ask your father a question, but you're the only one who can answer it," he says. He takes a deep breath. "I know that many things in our lives are uncertain. I don't know how many beats are left in this heart of mine. But I do know that every one of them is yours, if you want them. Your face is the first thing I want to see every morning, and the last thing before I close my eyes at night. But I want you to know that no matter what you say now, I promise that I'll always be here for you, for as long as you want." He takes another breath, and swallows visibly. "Emi Ibarazaki, will you marry me?"

She stands frozen, not from indecision, but from a sudden upwelling of joy that nearly closes her throat. She struggles to speak as his face swims in the sudden tears filling her eyes. Just when his face starts to change from resolution to worried uncertainty, she manages to choke out a word.

"Yes," she says, and then she's in his arms, reaching up to cradle his face as they kiss, the grave beside them momentarily forgotten, and then he's slipping the ring onto her finger. It's a little big, but neither of them cares one whit. And after the tears, and the giggling, and more kissing, they bow formally to her fathers grave, and she kisses her hand and presses it onto the grass beneath the headstone for just a moment, and then they turn and walk, hand in hand, down the hill to where her mother and his parents wait together, with apprehension giving way to joy, and there's more tears, and smiling, and hugs all around, and then they all pile into his father's car and head off for a celebratory lunch in town.

Back up at the top of the hill, the gravesite sits quiet and green and alone. The echo of the recent joy and tears of the young lovers seem to hang in the air, but beneath them lies the quiet, still sound of words spoken by a young man with a heart both strong and fragile, standing alone in the shade before a lonely grave.

Mr. Ibarazaki, my name is Hisao Nakai. I'm in love with your daughter, and I'm here to ask for your blessing to marry her. I know that the two of you have always been close, even if you haven't been around to watch over her in person for a while. I can't promise to take care of her forever - I don't know how long forever might be for someone like me. But I promise that as long as my heart is beating, it will beat for her. As long as my eyes are still open, I'll use them to look at her. And as long as there is strength in my hands, I'll use them to hold onto hers. I know you can't answer me, but I hope that wherever you are, you'll smile down on us today.

There's a soft, sighing of wind, and a single cherry blossom, borne on the wind from who knows where, drifts, fluttering on the breeze and floats, gently, down to rest on the green square in front of the headstone. The sun shines brightly down as the first blossom is joined by a second, and a third, until the area around the grave is blanketed in small, pink blossoms. Birds sing softly in the trees all around, and the sun shines down on this small corner of the world, and for just a moment, this place of sadness and remembrance feels joyful; or would, if only there were anyone here to notice.