The room is still a wreck, but Kiyomi's presence has turned the air from ice to
something almost breathable.
Her hand is still resting lightly on my head, fingers moving in slow, absent
circles.
The motion is so familiar it hurts.
Fragments come back (not in order, not gentle).
They arrive like pages torn out of a book and thrown into the wind.
I remember sitting in the back row of Class 2-B, third seat from the window.
Always the same seat.
Desk carved with tiny kanji no one else ever noticed.
I remember never raising my hand.
Never speaking unless a teacher called on me, and even then only in the
shortest possible sentences.
The other students thought I was arrogant.
Or broken.
Or both.
They weren't wrong.
I remember the smell of old paper and instant coffee in the Literature Club
room after school.
Third floor, end of the hallway, windows that never quite closed all the way.
Tadashi always sprawled across two chairs, glasses sliding down his nose while
he argued about Dostoevsky like it was life or death.
Yasuo sat in the corner sketching in the margins of whatever novel he was
supposed to be reading.
Yui (bright, loud, impossible to ignore) would lean over my desk and demand I
explain the ending of some book she'd finished in one sleepless night.
They called themselves my friends.
I never corrected them.
Friends was easier than explaining that I only showed up because the club room
was quiet enough to disappear in.
I remember Yui's voice clearest of all.
One afternoon, late spring, sunlight slanting gold across the tables.
Everyone else had gone home.
Just the two of us left stacking chairs.
Yui
Kiyoshi.
Be honest with me for once.
She rested her chin on the back of a chair, eyes sharp and curious.
Yui
Are you dating someone?
The question hit me like a slap I hadn't braced for.
I remember my mouth opening and nothing coming out.
I remember the way my fingers tightened around the stack of books I was
holding (Kafka, Mishima, some dog-eared copy of No Longer Human I'd read six
times already).
Kiyoshi (quiet, automatic)
…No.
Yui (tilting her head)
Really?
Because you get this look sometimes.
Like you're thinking about someone who isn't in the room.
I turned away, slid the books into the shelf one by one so I wouldn't have to
meet her eyes.
Kiyoshi
You're imagining things.
Yui (soft, not laughing anymore)
I don't think I am.
She didn't push further that day.
She never did.
Yui had this way of asking questions that felt like doors left open (walk through if
you want, stay outside if you don't).But the memory keeps replaying now, over
and over, like a scratched record.
Are you dating someone?
No.
No.
No.
Except the word felt like a lie even then.
Because there was a name even original-Kiyoshi never said out loud.
A name that lived behind his teeth every single day.
Aiko.
I remember the genius everyone thought Kiyoshi was.
Perfect scores on every test he bothered to finish.
Teachers whispering about early admission to Tokyo WBC before he'd even started
third year.
Essays that made the Japanese-literature professor cry (actually cry) and pin
them to the faculty board.
I remember all of it with perfect clarity.
I can recite the entrance-exam passage from last year's mock test word for
word.
I can tell you the page number where Akutagawa first mentions the rashōmon in
the dark.
I can list every member of the 1945 Buraiha circle in order of their birth dates.
But I can't remember what my mother's voice sounds like when she says my
name.
I can't remember the last time I laughed without forcing it.
I can't remember why I started punching that bag until my knuckles bled.
The memories that return are all surface.
Sharp, photographic, useless.
I was silent.
I was brilliant.
I was untouchable.
And somewhere inside that boy-shaped shell, I was waiting for a girl whose face
I wasn't allowed to think about during daylight.
Kiyomi's hand is still on my head, grounding me while the fragments spin.
I wonder if the real Kiyoshi is watching from somewhere, disgusted that
someone else is wearing his skin.
I wonder if he would hate me for stealing the only name he has left.
I wonder why the only personal memory that feels warm (instead of cold and
clinical) is the way Yui looked at me that afternoon, like she already knew the
answer I refused to give.
Are you dating someone?
No.
I lied then.
I'm still lying now.
Because even if I can't remember her face clearly,
even if the details keep slipping through my fingers like water,
there is someone.
There has always been someone.
And her name is the only truth I have left.
The thoughts keep circling, faster, sharper, louder.
Stop.
Stop.
Stop.
I squeeze my eyes shut and press both palms against my temples, as if I could
physically push the memories back into whatever box they crawled out of.
Breathe.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.
But the air tastes metallic.
The room tilts sideways even though I'm standing still.
A spike of pain drives straight through the center of my skull (white-hot,
blinding).
It feels like someone has taken a hammer to the inside of my head and keeps
swinging.
My knees buckle.
I try to take one step toward Kiyomi.
Just one.
Her name forms on my lips but never makes it out.
The floor rushes up to meet me.
Everything goes black.…Cold.
Again.
Always cold.
But this cold is different (clean sheets, antiseptic smell, the faint squeak of
rubber soles on linoleum).I open my eyes slowly.
The ceiling above me is white and too bright.
Fluorescent lights hum like distant insects.
I'm lying on the narrow bed in the nurse's office.
Curtain half-drawn.
IV stand in the corner, empty.
The clock on the wall says 14:47.
School hours.
I missed half the day. My head still throbs, but the hammer has been replaced
by a dull, steady ache.
Two people are sitting on plastic chairs beside the bed.
Kiyomi is on the left, arms crossed, worry carved deep between her brows.
She's still wearing the same lavender home dress under a borrowed school
cardigan two sizes too big.
On the right (closer to me) is Yui.
Her uniform skirt is neatly folded beneath her, hands twisted together in her lap.
The moment my eyes open, her head jerks up.
Her cheeks are already flushed (soft pink spreading all the way to the tips of her
ears).
She looks away instantly, then back again, like she can't decide where it's safe to
rest her gaze.
Kiyomi (quiet, but sharp with relief)
You're awake.
Don't you dare scare me like that again.
She reaches over and flicks my forehead (lightly, the way only she's ever allowed
to).
Kiyomi
The nurse said it was probably stress and low blood sugar.
You hadn't eaten anything since yesterday, had you?I try to answer.
My throat feels lined with sandpaper.
All that comes out is a rasp.
Yui stands up so fast the chair scrapes backward.
Her face is even redder now (impossible red).
Yui (voice higher than usual)
W-water! I—I'll get water!
She practically trips over her own feet rushing to the
sink in the corner.
Her hands shake while she fills a paper cup.
Some of it sloshes over the edge onto her sleeve.
She doesn't seem to notice.Kiyomi watches her with a tiny, knowing smile she
quickly hides.
Yui comes back, both hands cradling the cup like it's fragile.
She kneels beside the bed (careful, too careful) and holds it to my lips.
Yui
(barely above a whisper)
S-slowly.
Just a little at first.
The water is cool.
I drink.
Her fingers brush my cheek when she tilts the cup (accidental, maybe).
She flinches like she's been burned, cheeks flaring brighter.I swallow and
manage a hoarse thank you.
Yui sits back on her heels, still kneeling, staring at
the floor.
Her ears are scarlet.
Kiyomi leans forward, elbows on her knees.
Kiyomi
You collapsed right in front of me, idiot.
One second you were standing there, the next you were on the floor like
someone cut your strings.
I carried you all the way here.
Again.
Like when we were six.
She tries to sound annoyed, but her voice cracks on the
last word.
Yui (still not looking up)
…The nurse said you hit your head pretty hard.
There's a bruise.
She gestures vaguely at my temple without touching it.
Her hand hovers in the air for a second, then drops.
Silence stretches, thick and
awkward.
I shift a little.
The sheets rustle.
Both of them react like I've shouted.
Kiyomi
Don't move too fast.
You might feel dizzy again.
Yui (at the exact same time, overlapping)
Are you hurting anywhere else?
They glance at each other.
Yui immediately looks away again, face burning.
Kiyomi's lips twitch (she's definitely enjoying this).
I close my eyes for a second.
The pain is still there, but muted now.
Bearable.
When I open them again, Yui is staring at me (intently, like she's trying to
memorize that I'm actually awake).
The moment our eyes meet she panics and stares at her own knees instead.
Yui
(mumbling)
I… I skipped last period.
Literature Club.
Tadashi and Yasuo are covering for me.
I just… didn't want you to wake up alone.
Her voice gets smaller with every word.
Kiyomi raises an eyebrow.
Kiyomi
You skipped class?
Yui, you never skip class.
Yui makes a tiny, mortified sound and hides her face in her hands.
I watch the way her shoulders curl inward, the way her fingers tremble just
slightly.
Something warm (unfamiliar, gentle) settles somewhere behind my ribs.
I reach out without thinking.
My hand lands on top of her head (light, clumsy).Her whole body goes perfectly
still.
I leave it there for only a second (maybe two) before pulling back.
Kiyoshi
(rough, quiet)
…Thank you.
Both of you.
Yui peeks through her fingers.
Her eyes are wide and shining.
The blush hasn't faded at all.
Kiyomi exhales, long and slow, and leans back in her chair.
Kiyomi
You're stuck with us, you know.
No passing out allowed anymore.
Doctor's orders.
Twin sister's orders.
She glances sideways at Yui, who is still frozen in
place.
Kiyomi (softly, almost to herself)
…And apparently club president's orders, too.
Yui squeaks.
I close my eyes again
and let the quiet settle.
The pain is still there.
The gaps in my memory are still there.
But for the first time since waking up in
that destroyed room,
I'm not alone with them. And that (somehow) makes the darkness feel a little
smaller.