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Bokuto Koutarou was seven when he became fascinated with whistling.
Humidity was on high, July heat searing through his thin striped shirt and khaki shorts as he munched on watermelon slices that were thick against his small fingers. The family cat, Tomoe, remained sprawling on his lap, shifting lazily to lick her paws and yawn from time to time. The peak of the heatwave ended just the week before, but its effects had not yet subsided, and it seemed as if it plans on haunting the northern hemisphere for a little while longer.
He felt no fondness over the crippling summer temperatures, as thin sheen of sweat covered his limbs, ran down his temple, and annoyingly clung the animal's fur on his skin upon contact. Koutarou threw the watermelon seeds towards the well-kept foliage as a form of defiance, lurching a little bit forward and consequently jolting Tomoe from her peaceful position. With reluctance, mainly due to the dampness brought about by eating watermelons, Koutarou nimbly brushed his hand on Tomoe's forehead as a form of apology, then proceeded to fan himself to abate the heat. The gesture did not provide much relief, and Koutarou grew more annoyed at things beyond his control, such as the unrelenting scorch and the general lack of breeze in the area. He reached for the glass of water beside the fruit tray, gulped at his fullest capacity, and settled once more to non-movements, perhaps in an attempt to reach nirvana before his body melt into a puddle of goo and sweat.
After a while, Koutarou's grandfather joined him in his uneventful viewing of their backyard. The old man sat beside Koutarou with an ample distance that allowed for little possibility of skin contact Koutarou was silently thankful for, and mused, "Today seems like a good day to play outdoors. Do you plan on going to the park later, Koutarou?".
"Perhaps," Koutarou replied politely.
"Or maybe walk along the riverbank? If there is a good breeze later in the afternoon, maybe you can try to fly your kite."
"If there is a breeze. But I don't think it will come anytime soon."
His grandfather hummed. Koutarou loved the way his hums sounded, as if his lifelong wisdom has found escape with the vibrations in his throat and lightly-pursed lips. "There is a secret to calling the breeze." His grandfather was looking at him now, eyes half-lidded and soft features accentuating his sage-like persona.
Koutarou's emotions are both undercurrents and strong waves; untamed, untempered, relentless. It would take devotion to ride along such torrent, albeit it is not Herculean to recognize the subtle careens if one is observant enough. At that moment, his eyes glowed, imploring at his grandfather to share the withheld. Weak to such ministrations, his grandfather explained meticulously the way to whisper to the wind.
"First you have to wet your lips. A glide of tongue, especially on the lower lip, would suffice. Then you pucker them forward, forming the smallest hole with your lips. Roll your tongue a little bit. Then exhale the air through your mouth slowly."
Koutarou mirrored his grandfather at each step, eager, as if the skill would be enough to make him survive through all the tiring summers of his life. "Do not hesitate to stretch your mouth forward," his grandfather remarked, chuckling at how easily Koutarou got the form right, but was unable to produce any sharp sound from his breath. "Carefully breathe out. You don't need much power, or it'll only force your lips and you won't maintain the small passage. What you need to make sure is for the air to be guided along the small passage you made. Imagine them filling in and forming a line on their way out of your mouth. That way, the sound becomes clear, and crisp, and sharp."
Koutarou focused on the imagery, the piling, and lining of air as it escapes his lips. He breathed out slowly. And as the air passed along the tight pucker, a quiet yet clear line of sound was made. It was nestled tentatively in the stream of unruly breath that seemed to resist his attempts of control. But the sound was present, and it satisfied Koutarou.
They tried it together, puckering their lips and feeling the air pass through, carrying with it a silent prayer for the breeze to come and alleviate the sweltering heat. Soon enough, the prayer was granted, foliage ruffling gently at the caress of the breeze. Koutarou savored the cool feeling that touched his skin. Tomoe mewled at his lap.
At once, he looked towards his grandfather, and a grin formed at the edge of their lips. His grandfather spoke. "That's how you whisper to the wind."