The funeral of my classmate, Sakura Yamauchi, was

held on a cloudy day that didn't seem unfitting of her when

she was alive.

As proof of the value of her life, many were covered in

tears during the ritual, as well as last night's wake - neither of

which I attended. I stayed home the whole time.

Fortunately, the only classmate who would've forced

me to attend had already left this world, and it wasn't as if

either our teacher or her parents had the right or the

obligation to request my presence, so I was allowed to stand

by my own decision.

Certainly, I, a high school student even without being

acknowledged by anyone as such, was supposed to be

attending school - but because she had died in the middle of

a school vacation, I was able to avoid going out in the bad

weather.

Since my parents who were both at work had left me an

adequate lunch, I remained holed up in my own room. That

these actions of mine were due to the loneliness and emptiness of losing a classmate - to say so would be

inaccurate.

Unless I had been made to go out by that classmate of

mien, I'd always been the type to spend my days off in my

own room.

Within my room, I would most often be found reading

books. More so than guidebooks and self-help books, I

loved to read novels. I would read my paperbacks while

rolling on top of my bed, resting either my head or my chin

on a white pillow. As hardcovers were too heavy, I preferred

paperbacks.

The book I was currently reading was something I had

borrowed from her - the single magnum opus that had been

encountered by a girl who didn't read books. Its position on

the bookshelf had not been disturbed since I borrowed it.

Though I had planned to read and return it before she died,

it was too late for that now.

Since nothing could be done about my tardiness, I

made up my mind to return the book to her house after I

was done with it. As I greeted her portrait - that would be a

good time to return it.

By the time I had finished reading half the book, the

evening had arrived. While using the fluorescent light that

filtered through the closed curtains to see, I learned of how

much time had passed from a single incoming phone call.

The phone call wasn't anything special. It was from my

mother.

Though I had ignored the first two calls, I realised that

they were more than likely dinner-related, so I brought the phone up to my ear. The contents of the phone call were

regarding the cooking of rice. I confirmed the instructions

with her and ended the call.

Just as I put the phone down on my desk, I was struck

by a sudden realisation. It had been two days since I'd last

touched the appliance. I didn't think that I had avoided it

consciously. Somehow or other - though I wouldn't deny

that there may have been some sort of significance to it - I

had simply forgotten to touch my phone.

My phone that had a clamshell mechanism - I flipped it

open and looked at my inbox. There wasn't a single unread

message. It was only natural, completely natural. I continued

by checking my sent messages. There, apart from the call

function, the most recent use of my phone could be seen.

I had sent a message to her, my classmate.

A message with just one line.

I didn't know if she had read it.

Though I was about to leave my room for the kitchen, I

once again returned to and lay face down upon my bed. The

words I had sent her were being mulled over in my heart.

I didn't know if she had seen them.

"I want to eat your pancreas."

If she had read it, how would she have received the

message?

While thinking about it, I fell asleep.

In the end, the rice was cooked by my mother when

she returned home.

I met her in my dreams - maybe.