(In the playground, Watari was playing football while all the girls cheered for him from the windows. Their cheers filled the air as they shouted his name.)
In a quiet classroom, I sat alone. No one else was there. I had my earphones in, listening to songs and taking notes on them. The songs were fast, so I was writing while keeping up with the music. Out of nowhere, something hit my back. I turned around, but there was nobody. I looked around, trying to figure out what had happened, searching left and right for any clues.
"Ugh. That reaction is so dull," Tsubaki exclaimed, materializing suddenly like a burst of color.
"What on earth are you doing wasting your youth like this? This is the springtime of your life, a season that won't repeat itself! Yet, here you sit, alone in the classroom even after the school's out!" Tsubaki's voice carried a fervent edge as she pointed an accusatory finger in my direction.
"And pray, what's blaring in your ears, anyway?" With a certain audacity, she perched herself upon the table before me, a gesture that could only be described as impulsive.
"Ouch! Careful with that," I retorted, a twinge of irritation in my tone. Her demeanor had taken on a somewhat heated quality.
"WHAT. The latest track from The Millions?! The one from that commercial!" Her surprise was etched across her features, her eyes wide as saucers.
It was just the two of us in the empty classroom. We were both listening to the songs using one earphone each - Tsubaki had one side, and I still had the other side.
"Kosei, tomorrow's Saturday. You're free, right?"
"Don't just assume," I retorted, my expression growing irritated
"There's a girl in my class. She wants me to introduce her to Watari. We're meeting up tomorrow, and you're coming too," she said, a smile tugging at her lips.
"What? Why should I?" I replied, annoyed.
"If it's just me, her, and Watari, it's gonna be awkward for me. If it's gonna be all sappy and sweet, then two and two are much better. Plus, she plays the violin," she replied with a smile.
"You play the piano, so it's perfect. You'll have something in common to talk about. Like when there's a lull in the conversation, you can talk about your instruments."
"I… quit the piano. I haven't played in three years now," I admitted, my gaze dropping as gloom washed over me. Though my eyes were lowered, my thoughts wandered far away.
"You were playing just yesterday! In the music room! You LIAR!" she screamed at me.
"That was for work. I listen to the songs and transcribe the music for karaoke and stuff. I have to make sure I'm getting it right," I replied in a panicked tone.
"Hmm… There are millions of other part-time jobs in the world. If you want one you can do it in the classroom, you don't need one that puts you in the music room," she said, her words holding truth, not all of it wrong. I looked away again, lost in my thoughts.
"If you ask me, it looks like you're holding on for dear life," she replied, a sad expression on her face, her unhappiness evident.
"You were just so much cooler when you played the piano," she added.
(We managed to talk for a while after that, and as I was returning home, I decided to bring fresh flowers along with me.)
"Youngest winner in history, piano prodigy Kosei Arima" - newspaper clippings still hung on my notice board. My competition prizes were scattered all over the place. The piano, once my centerpiece, was now covered in dust with books and clothes strewn across it. The room was so messy; all the award certificates were scattered haphazardly around the room.
"Mom, I'm home," I put a gentle smile on my face. "Oh yeah, it's the same day of the month as the day you died." I placed the fresh flowers on the table beside a picture of my mother.
My mother's dream was to raise me to be a world-famous pianist. She ran a music school. Day after day, for hours on end, she would yell at me, beating the lessons into me. She showed no mercy, even when I started crying.
(A flashback of my mother came to my mind.
"You'll go to Europe and be the successful musician I never was," her blurry face talking to a young me.
"If it makes you happy... If it will make you get better, I'll try," young me, covered in bruises and crying.)"
Three years ago, at long last, I had almost made it to European competition, and then... my mother Died….
I hate the piano, and yet I still cling to it, probably because I have nothing else... Take the piano from me, and I'm empty. ....There's nothing left but the lingering strains of a clumsily played last note.