A boy who can only speak in haikus meets a girl hiding behind a mask, and somehow that constraint becomes the whole point. Neither of them can say what they mean in the normal way, so the movie does something radical: it lets the language itself become tender. By the time an old man's search for something lost ties their story together, you realize you've been watching two people fall in love through the only words they were brave enough to use.
Cherry speaks only in haikus, the seventeen syllables his way of processing a world that moves too fast for conversation. One summer afternoon at a shopping mall in rural Japan, he meets Smile, a girl whose face hides behind a mask, her smile reserved for moments when no one's watching. They're both carrying small silences, both learning that sometimes the quietest people have the most to say. When an elderly haiku master arrives at the mall searching for a lost record, something clicks. The old man's fading memory has locked away a moment he can't afford to forget, and Cherry and Smile become determined to help him find it. What begins as a simple search becomes something bigger: a summer where two people learn that vulnerability isn't weakness, where poetry lives in everyday moments, and where connection doesn't require perfect words or perfect faces. In the humid heat between spring and autumn, they discover that sometimes what we're hiding is exactly what someone else needs to find.