You ran, heart pounding, finding him against the cherry blossom tree. "Milo!" you cried, a torrent of apologies. "I'm so sorry, it's my fault, I should've—"

He turned, weariness on his face. "It's alright," he said softly.

"No, it's not!" you insisted, tears blurring your vision. "I ignored you, I didn't see... anything."

He cupped your cheek gently. "You were always looking elsewhere," he said, eyes filled with sad understanding. "And I... I let you."

"But why? Why didn't you say anything?" you asked, trembling. "Why didn't you make me see?"

"Would you have listened?" he replied, a faint, bitter smile. "You were caught up in your own world. I thought... if I was just there, you'd eventually see."

"I'm so sorry," you repeated, the words a broken mantra.

"It doesn't matter anymore," he said, gazing at the blossoms. "What matters is... you're here now."

"But I don't understand," you said, thick with tears. "Why did you want to meet me here?"

"Because," he whispered, "this is where I always imagined saying goodbye."

"Goodbye?" you echoed, dread creeping in. "What do you mean, goodbye?"

"I'm leaving," he said, voice firm but sad. "To my mother's. I can't..."

He reached out, his hand finding yours, his touch weak but warm. "I need to build a better life," he said, his voice barely audible. "A life where I can heal. And... I need you to heal too."

"But you can't leave," you whispered, shaking your head. "Not like this."

He smiled, a sad, gentle smile. "I have to," he said. "For both of us. But I wanted to see you one last time. Under the blossoms. Like we always talked about."

"Remember when we were kids?" he whispered, his eyes searching yours. "We said we'd always come here, no matter what... to find peace. I've found mine. I hope you find yours too."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "I'll always cherish our memories," he said, his voice filled with a quiet resolve. "But it's time for me to go." He turned and walked away, the cherry blossoms falling around him like a soft, pink curtain.