The crisp autumn breeze carried the sweet scent of osmanthus through the high school courtyard as Min adjusted the fresh bandages on her wrist. She had gotten quite skilled at wrapping them neatly over the past few weeks, though the excitement of mastering this small task did little to ease the hollow ache in her chest.

“You’re getting better at that,” Ah Chen remarked, settling beside her on their usual lunch bench. His eyes lingered on her bandaged wrist before meeting her gaze. “Does it still hurt?”

Min forced a wan smile. “Only when I think about him.”

The ‘him’ didn’t need explanation. Everyone knew about Liu Kai’s accident - how he had pushed Min out of the path of an oncoming car, how the screech of brakes had come too late, how the bandages that now adorned Min’s sprained wrist were nothing compared to what he had sacrificed.

“I keep replaying that moment,” Min whispered, her fingers absently tracing the gauze. “The way the sunlight caught his glasses as he smiled at me, just before…” Her voice trailed off, lost in the rustle of falling leaves.

Ah Chen reached into his bag, pulling out a carefully wrapped bento. “He would want you to eat properly, you know. Remember how he always shared his mother’s dumplings?”

The memory brought an unexpected laugh, quickly stifled. “He was so excited about those ridiculous Pokemon bandages he bought for the nurse’s office donation drive.” Min’s voice wavered. “Said they’d make any injury feel better.”

“Min!” A sharp voice cut through their conversation. Their homeroom teacher, Ms. Zhang, approached with quick steps. “The counselor is ready to see you now.”

“I don’t need—” Min began, but Ah Chen’s gentle nudge silenced her protest.

“Go,” he urged quietly. “Kai would want you to heal properly. Inside and out.”

Rising reluctantly, Min gathered her things. The bandages felt suddenly tight, constricting, like the guilt that had wrapped itself around her heart. She paused, looking back at Ah Chen.

“Do you think he knew? That last morning, when he lent me his literature notes - do you think he knew how much I—”

“He knew,” Ah Chen interrupted softly. “In the way Proust knew about madeleines and memory. In the way autumn knows about letting go.”

Min nodded, blinking rapidly. The counselor’s office waited, its door slightly ajar like an invitation or a promise. As she walked away, the osmanthus fragrance grew stronger, reminiscent of the perfume Kai’s mother wore at the funeral.

The bandages on her wrist would eventually come off, leaving no trace of that fateful day. But some wounds, Min knew now, would never fully heal. They would remain like pressed flowers between the pages of memory - delicate, preserved, a reminder of what was lost and what remained.

Behind her, the autumn leaves continued their gentle descent, each one a tiny bandage trying to cover the earth’s growing solitude.