Volume 4 Episode 09

 Nothing special happens just because it’s the morning of graduation day.

I know that.

She might be lying in wait for me.

I had that thought, but when I left the apartment, Sendai-san wasn’t there.

In the past, she had shown up at my place uninvited, so I just wondered if today might be the same.

Maybe because I ignored the messages she sent a few times, she decided she doesn’t care about me anymore.

I’m not expecting anything, and if she did come, it would only trouble me.

I walk the usual route as always.

Once I reach school, there will only be one more time I walk this path in uniform.

Just the one trip home after graduation ends.

When I think about it, I feel a little lonely.

The end of anything always makes people sentimental.

I pass through the town that’s unusually warm for a March morning and head to school.

The weather is nice and should feel good, yet my feet are heavy.

The uniform feels heavy too, and my walking pace slows.

Inevitably, I end up walking more leisurely than usual.

No matter how slowly I walk, school won’t disappear, nor will graduation day.

The promise with Sendai-san won’t disappear either.

I enter the school grounds without any energy and climb the stairs.

As I walk down the hallway, Sendai-san comes out of the noisy neighboring class.

Fitting for graduation morning, her blouse is buttoned all the way up and her tie is properly fastened.

It’s an appearance I’ll never see again after today, and though I don’t intend to burn it into my memory, my gaze fixes on Sendai-san.

I can’t call out to her, yet I want to.

Sendai-san.

I want to call her name, but the name I’ve spoken so many times never becomes a voice at school.

It stays stuck in my throat.

It doesn’t matter if someone sees.

The day we went to the movies together, I told Sendai-san it was fine even if someone saw us, but promises should be kept.

If both she and I had kept the promise until today, I probably wouldn’t feel this depressed right now.

I try to look away from Sendai-san.

But before I can, she notices me.

Sendai-san starts to open her mouth.

My ears strain to block out every voice in the hallway except hers, but Ibaraki-san suddenly appears and pulls Sendai-san away; her voice vanishes before it can take shape.

And her figure disappears into the classroom too.

I can’t even sigh.

Even though the answer is already decided, looking at Sendai-san makes me waver.

Ever since everything related to entrance exams ended, I’ve been thinking about what to do after graduation is over.

Actually, thinking about it at all is strange.

The ending is already set, and I’ve told Sendai-san that too.

Promises are meant to be kept, not broken.

That’s what I believe, yet I’ve wavered so much.

I walk down the now-empty hallway with soft steps and enter my classroom.

I put my bag on my seat and go to Maika’s desk.

I dislike sentimental atmospheres, but Ami, who will be left behind here alone, is already crying before graduation even starts.

Maika is focused on comforting her.

As expected, my feet and uniform feel heavy.

Even moving feels bothersome.

I somehow manage to move my mouth and say good morning to them, then look at Ami and ask, “Are you okay?”

“Shiori~!”

Ami, nose completely red, calls my name like it’s the end of the world and hugs me.

“I should have gone to the same university as you two. Don’t leave me behind~”

“We’re not disappearing forever, you’re overreacting.”

I say that and pat her back gently to soothe her.

“But…”

Ami keeps sniffling with a terrible stuffed nose.

While softly patting her back, I tell her we can meet anytime and let’s hang out during summer break.

All the while, my head is full of Sendai-san, and I think I’m a heartless person.

But I also want to do something about the me who has been thinking only about her since exams ended.

“Ami, if you don’t stop crying soon, your face is going to be a disaster.”

Maika taps Ami’s shoulder.

Ami, who had been crying like a child, lets go of me, says “I know,” and presses a handkerchief to her eyes.

I don’t know how long she’s been crying, but her eyes are definitely starting to swell, and she looks terrible even though graduation is about to begin.

“You too, Shiori.”

Saying that, Maika holds out pocket tissues.

“I’m not crying.”

“You’re not crying, but you look like you’re about to.”

“Really.”

Ami looks at me, crying and laughing at the same time. I’m offended. I haven’t cried yet.

I return the tissues to Maika and rub my eyes.

There’s nothing sad enough today to make me cry.

I’ll be going to a different university from Ami, we won’t be unable to meet.

I’ll still be with Maika from now on.

The only one I’ll never meet again is Sendai-san.

Once today ends, our relationship ends, and we’ll never meet again.

That’s why, before graduation day came, I decided to take just a few more memories.

I didn’t want to do things that would leave marks on the calendar with her, but if the end is near, I thought a few more memories would be okay.

Giving Valentine’s chocolate and going to the movies together aren’t big deals.

Even if we did something different from usual, she’ll forget it quickly anyway.

Memories don’t last forever.

They fade eventually, and sometimes disappear completely.

There are things from just a year ago that I’ve already forgotten.

I don’t know how long it will take for memories of high school to fade, but if I never think about them, they should disappear without taking much time.

But now I regret thinking that a few more memories would be fine.

The taste of the Valentine’s chocolate.

The kiss on the day we went to the movies together.

I keep remembering them, and far from fading, the memories are growing stronger.

It’s not working out.

The “just a few” memories have become heavier than I expected.

“Shiori.”

Maika’s voice brings me back to reality.

“You’re crying.”

Maika’s hand holding the tissue reaches out and wipes my cheek.

“…I’ll do it myself.”

I try to wipe my cheek with my hand and look at Maika.

There’s no teasing color in her eyes.

I take one of the tissues I had just returned.

“Um, Maika. Thanks.”

“Graduation is starting soon, huh.”

Maika says in a gentle voice.

“Yeah,” Ami answers with a stuffed nose.

The mood starts to turn heavy, so Maika claps her hands.

“Right! Let’s go somewhere together before university starts!”

“Oh, good idea!”

Ami’s bright voice echoes.

We decide the date, time, and place together, and shortly after, the teacher comes into the classroom.

We move to the gym, and in no time, graduation begins.

The principal’s speech, the greetings from important guests who came from outside. The speeches continue, not much different from last year. The words falling from the stage don’t make me cry or feel moved, yet the solemn, somehow sorrowful atmosphere that graduation creates loosens my tear glands.

I rub my eyes and look for Sendai-san.

But the crowd of uniforms blocks my view, so I look down.

If I had been in the same class as Sendai-san even in third year, would I have become a different person from now?

If I had been in the same class as Sendai-san even in third year, would I have been able to trust her?

Impossible versions of myself spin round and round in my head.

If I had broken the rules and talked to Sendai-san in front of everyone, even in different classes, would I have become a different person and been able to trust her?

I don’t know, and I can’t find the right answer.

I’m not even sure if there is a right answer.

I raise my face.

On the stage, the former student council president is reading the response address.

It would have been easier to see if that had been Sendai-san.

I think that and shake my head slightly.

We sing the school song and return to the classroom.

We receive our diplomas from the teacher.

I leave school with Maika and Ami, talk about the usual silly things that aren’t much different from always, and part with them.

Less than five minutes later, a voice comes from behind.

“Miyagi!”

Even without turning, I know it’s Sendai-san’s voice.

I quicken my pace.

“Miyagi, hey!”

The voice comes from closer than before, but I don’t turn around.

“Shiori!”

Called loudly, I reluctantly stop.

I turn and look at Sendai-san.

“I’ve told you so many times not to call my name.”

“It’s your fault for not looking at me.”

Saying that, Sendai-san runs up.

“I said come to my place, but I didn’t say let’s walk home together, right?”

Sendai-san, now beside me, has undone the top button of her blouse and loosened her tie, unlike this morning.

“I wasn’t told to, but it’s fine, right?”

“It’s not fine. It’s part of the promise not to call out in places like this, even if it’s not school.”

“Graduation is over, so it doesn’t matter anymore. Those rules.”

Sendai-san says something very Sendai-san-like.

She’s always casual and light.

Even on graduation day, she’s completely unchanged.

“It does matter. Follow behind me.”

“Got it.”

She says it in a tone that doesn’t sound like she gets it at all, and Sendai-san stops dead.

But she immediately starts walking again and comes right beside me.

“I said follow behind me.”

“I am following behind.”

I glare at Sendai-san, who doesn’t look like she’s obeying at all.

“Look properly.”

When I look closely at Sendai-san, whose voice shows not a trace of remorse, she really is walking just a tiny bit behind me.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Just pretend it is. We’ll never walk home together in uniform again.”

There will be no more chances to wear the uniform. There will be no more chances to walk home with Sendai-san. When I think about it, I feel like accepting her argument.

But I can’t accept it.

“Sendai-san.”

I stop and look at her; despite graduation having just happened, she stops too, looking exactly the same as always.

“What?”

What I’m going to say to Sendai-san today is already decided.

I think she knows what I’m going to say too.

Yet she doesn’t look sad.

I get annoyed at Sendai-san, who can keep a calm face even at a time like this.

It’s not that I want her to cry or look sad.

I just want her to show a face different from usual, even a little.

“Sendai-san. Did you cry at graduation?”

“I didn’t cry.”

Sendai-san smiles.

I know why thinking about the future makes my anxiety grow.

Even if we decided to keep meeting the same as now, once we start university it won’t be exactly the same.

I’m going to a different university from Sendai-san and will live a different life.

That means there will be no chance encounters at school like now.

Meeting Sendai-san will only be only occasionally, and I’ll only know the Sendai-san of those moments.

And probably, no matter what I ask, Sendai-san will only show this same calm face.

If I said I can’t forgive that kind of Sendai-san, what face would she make?

I don’t think I can forgive the existence of a Sendai-san I don’t know.

That’s what I realized while making just a few memories, and surely Sendai-san won’t accept that kind of me, and the me who thinks such things about her isn’t normal.

“Did you cry at graduation, Miyagi?”

Sendai-san asks in a voice that sounds like tomorrow will be the same as today.

“Of course I didn’t cry.”

It’s not realistic or possible to lock Sendai-san somewhere.

If so, it’s better to make today the ending day as promised.

“I see.”

We head home together like the day we went to the movies.

But unlike that day, we don’t hold hands.

“Want to stop somewhere?”

Sendai-san points at a shop across the road with her usual face.

“No. We’re going straight home.”

“Got it.”

I quicken my pace.

Sendai-san naturally walks just a little behind me, close enough to almost be beside me.

My words to follow behind are being ignored.

I don’t feel great about it, but I keep the same speed and head home.

Conversation doesn’t flow.

We exchange a few words here and there, nothing to do with graduation.

The apartment gets gradually closer.

Conversation stops completely.

The building never gets farther away.

Each step brings it one step closer.

We arrive at the apartment, pass through the entrance, and ride the elevator.

We get off on the sixth floor and walk together to my door.

I open it, take off my coat in the genkan.

I enter the room first and turn on the air conditioner; Sendai-san, following me, undoes the second button from the top of her blouse.

But she doesn’t take off her blazer.

I look at Sendai-san’s loosened tie.

She didn’t speak at all in the elevator.

She walked silently in the hallway too, and she’s silent now.

Even though she has her usual calm face, the small differences from normal make me restless.

Sendai-san sits in her usual spot in front of the bed.

“I’ll bring something.”

I approach and speak; Sendai-san makes a strangely serious face.

“You can wait. You have something to talk about, right?”

Her gaze is direct, so I reluctantly sit diagonally in front of her.

“Sit beside me.”

Sendai-san says it discontentedly.

“This is fine. More importantly, did you bring the necklace?”

“I didn’t bring it; I’m wearing it.”

Sendai-san leans slightly toward me and pulls the collar of her unbuttoned blouse.

Her chest opens just a little, and a silver chain becomes visible. I haven’t paid the five thousand yen today.

The fact that she shows me the necklace without complaint, even though I have no right to order her to show it, might mean that Sendai-san also understands that today is the last day.

“Give it back.”

“Why?”

“Because the order has expired.”

When I gave her the necklace, I ordered her to “wear it at school and at home.”

I should have also specified that the deadline was “until graduation day.”

Sendai-san, who has kept the promise the whole time, can’t possibly have forgotten only the deadline.

An order whose deadline has passed doesn’t need to be followed anymore.

The necklace is something I gave her, so I think I have the right to take it back once it’s no longer needed.

“Just out of curiosity, what happens if I return it?”

“I’ll throw the necklace away, and that will be the end between us.”

“The end, meaning what?”

Sendai-san asks something she should already know, as if hearing it for the first time.

“I won’t meet you anymore.”

“You’re going to the same university as Utsunomiya, so we could meet anytime.”

“We promised from the beginning it would be until graduation day. Even if we could meet anytime, I won’t, so give the necklace back.”

“If I return it, you’ll throw it away, right? Isn’t that wasteful?”

She’s dragging this out.

She should have known what I was going to say today, and we promised it would be until graduation.

We never promised I’d return the necklace, but it’s not something she should resist so much.

She’d be better off if I threw away something like a collar.

“It’s not wasteful, so give it back.”

I hold out my hand as if urging her.

“You really are stingy, Miyagi.”

Saying that, Sendai-san lets out an exaggerated sigh. Then she slowly removes the necklace.

“Here.”

The necklace is placed on the table.

I reach for the silver chain.

But before my fingers touch it, Sendai-san says, “Wait, before that.”

“There’s something I want Miyagi to see, so hold on a second.”

“Something you want me to see?”

“Yeah.”

Saying “this,” Sendai-san pulls something out of her bag and places it next to the necklace.

“…A letter?”

To be precise, it’s a cherry-blossom-pink envelope with nothing written on the front.

It’s thin and looks light; I can only imagine it contains stationery or something similar.

“No. You can look inside.”

I pick up the envelope that casually denied containing a letter and turn it over.

Nothing is written on the back either, and it’s not sealed.

The flimsy envelope, with neither glue nor sticker, opens easily, and as expected, a single flimsy sheet of paper comes out.

It’s not a letter.

It’s ordinary copy paper, folded into quarters.

When I unfold it once, twice, there is something drawn that I never expected.

“Sendai-san, this… what is it?”

What’s drawn on the paper isn’t something I’ve never seen before.

I’ve seen it several times, but it’s not something I should be seeing now, in this situation.

“It’s a floor plan.”

A calm voice answers.

“I can see that it’s a floor plan.”

“Then it’s fine, right?”

“No, it’s not fine. I’m asking why a floor plan is coming out of an envelope right now.”

“Because it’s the floor plan of Miyagi’s room, so it only makes sense if I show it to Miyagi.”

It makes no sense at all.

Sendai-san has a calm face, but what she’s saying is nonsense.

Among the many things she does that I can’t understand, this is the most incomprehensible action and words.

Thanks to that, I end up looking at the paper from the envelope again.

There are two rooms.

Plus a kitchen, dining area, and bathroom, so it’s reasonably spacious.

“This is too big for one person to live in.”

There are many things I want to say, but I point out one strange thing from the information on the paper in front of me.

“It’s too big for one person, but don’t you think it’s just right for two?”

“Two, meaning?”

I could already guess what Sendai-san would say next. But I couldn’t help asking.

“Me and Miyagi. Forget the dorm, let’s live together. The location is about halfway between our universities, so commuting might take a bit of time.”

Sendai-san speaks quickly without pausing.

“It’ll be smaller than Miyagi’s current room, but it’s nice and clean.”

“Sendai-san.”

“Oh, the keys—I’m supposed to get them when we move. I’ll give a set to Miyagi later.”

“Sendai-san!”

“My parents already know I’m living with Miyagi. My parents don’t really care about that kind of thing, so they just said do whatever.”

“Sendai-san! I never said I’d live together, and I never asked you to look for a place. Also, don’t you need money to sign a contract? Who paid my share?”

There are so many questions I don’t know where to start, but I stop Sendai-san, who keeps talking anyway.

I look at the paper with the floor plan.

I can’t imagine Sendai-san went looking for a place alone.

She must have gone with her parents, and her parents must have signed the contract.

But there’s no way Sendai-san’s parents paid my share.

“I used the money from the piggy bank.”

Sendai-san says it as if it’s obvious, and I stare at her.

“The piggy bank?”

“The five-thousand-yen bills Miyagi gave me. I put them all in the piggy bank.”

“You put them in… meaning you never spent them?”

I wasn’t interested in the money I gave her.

I never counted how much I gave, and I never asked what she used it for.

It was her freedom to use however she wanted, and I always assumed she was using it.

“There was no need to spend it. So I gave the money in the piggy bank to my parents, saying it was money Miyagi had entrusted to me.”

Using the five thousand yen I gave as payment for orders for my sake. I never thought Sendai-san was the kind of person who would do that. Besides, coming to my place and obeying orders just for five thousand yen she never used is insane.

It’s not normal.

“You’re smart, Sendai-san, but you’re an idiot.”

I fold the floor plan paper into quarters and place it on the desk.

“It’s fine if I’m an idiot, just choose.”

“Choose what?”

I already know without asking, but I ask anyway.

“The pendant or the envelope—pick whichever you like. I’ll go with whatever Miyagi chooses. If you pick the pendant, I won’t meet Miyagi anymore. Even if I see you, I won’t call out. Today will be the last time we meet.”

“And if I pick the envelope?”

“Miyagi will live with me.”

Sendai-san never let me choose. She always prepares choices and tell's to me pick.

And when she prepares choices, my answer is already decided. It doesn’t matter what I want; Sendai-san forces me to choose that. Today is the same.

Sendai-san is trying to make me choose the envelope.

But if I’m going to choose, it’s the necklace.

That’s better for both of us. Sendai-san would be better off not being tied to someone like me, and I should forget about Sendai-san and get used to a new life.

Everything up to today was just a whim, something we’ll look back on as adults and wonder why we ever did such stupid things.

It’s not a relationship to drag into university life.

The answer has been decided from the beginning. Still, before giving it, I ask Sendai-san.

“Can I ask something?”

“Sure.”

“Why did you decide on the apartment by yourself?”

“Why? Because I thought if I didn’t do at least this, Miyagi would never meet me again. And I did try to contact you. Miyagi didn’t pick up, though.”

The messages that came several times after we went to the movies.

Some of them were during the period when Sendai-san said she was going to look for a place.

They were things like “What are you doing?” or “Pick up the phone,” so I ignored them, but if I had known she was looking for a place to live with me, I definitely would have replied and stopped her.

“I said I was going to live in the dorm.”

I complain to Sendai-san without mentioning that I ignored her messages. She’s making things complicated. It should have been a simple story: we stop meeting after today, and everything ends.

“Miyagi, you hate places like dorms, right?”

“…Even if I hate it, I’ll manage somehow.”

Even when Mom left me behind, even when Dad never came home, I got used to it and kept living.

I’m not choosing the dorm because I like it, but eventually I’d get used to it and manage.

And the moment the environment changes becomes a clear dividing line. If I’m going to cut Sendai-san off, now is the only time.

“I think living with me would be better than forcing yourself in a dorm. If you’re going to live with another person, might as well be me.”

There’s nothing good about being with Sendai-san for the next four years.

Sendai-san will quickly adapt to her new life, and once university starts, even if she’s with me, I’ll be put on the back burner.

If I live in the dorm and start a new life, I won’t be able to think only about Sendai-san.

I’ll probably be busy, and I’ll stop remembering her, and the marks she left on me and the memories will fade someday.

That’s why I should make the effort to get used to a life separate from Sendai-san.

Even if it’s impossible right now, even if it takes time, I should wait for the day when Sendai-san fades, gets overwritten, and disappears.

That is definitely better.

Still.

Still, I can’t help asking.

“If I don’t choose the envelope… what will you do, Sendai-san?”

I look at the cherry-blossom-pink envelope.

That spring-colored thing is beautiful like real cherry blossoms, and I think it’s just like Sendai-san.

“I’ll find someone else who’ll live with me, so don’t worry about it. Once university starts, there’ll be people who want to share a place, right?”

Sendai-san says it lightly, as if flower petals were dancing in the wind. Her voice, completely devoid of seriousness, makes my heart restless.

Sendai-san living with someone I don’t know.

Living with someone I don’t know, in a place I don’t know, and I’ll never meet Sendai-san again without ever knowing any of it.

There’s a part of me that can’t accept that.

I grab the back of my left hand with my right.

Then I dig my nails in hard.

It doesn’t matter who Sendai-san lives with, and I have no right to say anything.

I know that.

But I can’t accept it.

I hate it.

I put strength into my right hand.

It hurts.

It hurts deep in my chest, and I can’t breathe properly. What kind of face is Sendai-san making right now?

I want to know, but I can’t raise my eyes from the envelope.

“…That’s way too careless.”

I somehow manage to speak.

But I can’t say I hate the idea of Sendai-san living with someone I don’t know.

“You’re careless too, Miyagi. If the dorm doesn’t work out, you’ll think about it then, right?”

I don’t actually want to live in the dorm.

Truthfully, I think living with strangers is impossible.

But I can’t find a reason to live with Sendai-san.

We, who aren’t even friends, can’t become anything more than former classmates.

“If I choose the envelope…”

What happens?

I heard the answer, but my head can’t process it properly, and I want to ask again and again.

I quietly breathe in and out.

Then I raise my gaze that I couldn’t move from the envelope.

“Sendai-san, you’ll live with me even though we’re not friends or anything?”

“Miyagi, don’t you know? Roommates don’t have to be friends.”

Saying that, Sendai-san puts the quartered paper back into the envelope.

“What about Maika? What am I supposed to tell Maika?”

“That’s for Miyagi to decide. So, envelope or pendant, which one?”

Envelope or necklace, one or the other.

If I choose, Sendai-san will accept it.

What should I do, what should I do, what should I do?

What choice won’t I regret?

“Miyagi, decide.”

Sendai-san urges me.

I reach toward the table.

I look at the envelope and the necklace, and pick up the necklace.

Sendai-san lets out a small breath.

“Turn around.”

I tell Sendai-san, who is staring at me, and she silently turns her back.

I approach her.

I open the clasp of the necklace and put it around her neck.

The silver chain settles where it belongs and disappears under her hair.

It’s not that I particularly want to be roommates.

But it doesn’t seem like a bad thing for us, who are neither friends nor anything, to become something different from now.

I speak to Sendai-san’s back.

“…Only for four years. If it’s just four years, I don’t mind being roommates.”

I was finally going to set Sendai-san free, yet she went and prepared an envelope like this, so this is what happens.

Sendai-san really is an idiot.

I take a strand of her long hair and lightly pull it.

“Miyagi.”

When I let go of the hair and Sendai-san tries to turn around, I hold her head so she faces forward.

“Does that mean you’re choosing the envelope?”

“If you think I should choose the necklace, I will.”

I say it in as normal a voice as possible, and Sendai-san grabs the hand that was holding her head.

“Miyagi. If you’re setting a four-year limit, make sure you don’t have to repeat a year.”

“You really say one too many things, Sendai-san.”

At a time like this, I think there are better things to say.

I don’t know what, but telling me not to repeat a year is definitely inappropriate.

“Let go of this hand. I’ll let go too.”

When Sendai-san says that, she squeezes my captured hand once hard and then releases it.

Reluctantly doing as told, I let go, and Sendai-san turns toward me.

Then, as if it were natural, she takes my hand.

“Can I call you Shiori from now on?”

“No way.”

“Stingy Miyagi.”

“Sendai-san, you’re noisy.”

At my voice, Sendai-san chuckles.

Sendai-san really only says unnecessary things.

But for four years.

If it’s just four years, it’s fine to spend them with a Sendai-san like this.

I squeeze back the hand that remains connected without letting go.