The Story of Kasumi

I remember an early spring morning from my childhood, wandering quietly beneath the cherry blossoms as a soft mist drifted through the air. Their delicate petals seemed to fade gently into a veil of light and haze, and to my innocent mind, the blossoms almost appeared shy.

In Kasumi, spring dissolves into mist, echoing the way childhood memory preserves moments not as clear images, but as impressions of colour, air, and feeling.