The day was worn, cold, and the strong winds that bit his skin while he went to school-he felt the chill on Haruto while the movements continued without the will of a self; the thoughts of his brain still struggled with problems months already at hand. He just seemed to sleepwalk in his life, being part of so many people without knowing their feelings, with no connections with anyone-like floating in a world someone was building. And so his absence followed him everywhere, like a shadow reminding him of a life lost before its time-a life beyond his control, a place he could not outrun or run from.
The school was a comfort because of the routine-the same faces every day, just different seat, passing with their lives onward and beyond grasp. Today felt different, though. There was weight foreign in the air; the tension clung to the walls. And that did not have to do with his classmates at all. That had everything to do with how his heart twisted every time he thought about the people who were starting to fill the gaps his sister once occupied-Miyuki included.
Miyuki Tachibana-the girl who came out of nowhere, her presence some silent storm. There was an innate charisma to her, some appeal that Haruto wouldn't understand even when he tried to keep a distance from her. He had been around her only that one time by the lake, and the aura that had clung to her had never left his mind-that she was not quite as seemingly perceived. Guarded, yes; fragile beneath the layer-so much like himself. In that silent sorrow, there was something speaking to him in a way no words ever did.
Yet, still, it was more than that-a means she had started filling in the space his sister had left in. Actually, Haruto did not know whether it was good or hazardous.
The bell had just sounded, and his feet were carrying him toward the lake-a place he often went to whenever thoughts seemed too big to handle. Trees lined up along the shore, bare to winter sky, gnarled, stretching towards the heavens. The lake lay still, its surface ruffled only by the rare gust of wind. Haruto stood at its edge, staring into the glassy surface where his reflection stared back.
He had not realized she had come there but was presently on the same bench beside the water with her head flung backward and eyes shut to listen to the world. The cold air nibbled, or so he felt, in more ways than a part of himself was taken into her space.
"Miyuki," he said quietly, breaking into the stretches of silence held between them for a moment.
She opened her eyes then, turning to him-on her lips, a small sad smile, but never reaching her eyes. "Haruto. You're here again."
He stammered for a moment before he sat next to her. "I don't know why I keep coming here. I just…. He stopped abruptly since he didn't know how to finish what he had to say. Incoherent were his thoughts and words that escaped him.
He felt Miyuki did not mind his silence in the least. She let her gaze stretch again across the lake, into some indefinite distance. "You don't have to explain. I understand." Her voice was soft, almost inaudible against the wind.
A moment of silence passed as each sat wrapped in his thoughts. What Miyuki was thinking not being able to estimate further irritated Haruto: what could she see, looking at this lake? Unsaid things-the weight that she had to feel, just like himself, or at least know better, how to hide than himself.
She spoke again finally, even. "Do you ever wonder why things happen the way they do?"
It got a question out of Haruto he didn't expect. A question he had posed to himself a thousand times: why did my sister have to die? Why am I left in this world with the burden of such loss? "Every day," he whispered. "But I don't know if I will ever understand."
Miyuki's expression softened, her eyes still elsewhere. "Maybe it's not about understanding. Maybe it's just about living with it."
A heavier blow to his guts than he'd have thought. To that, he didn't have an answer, but in the manner she'd said it, something seemed to make him feel that probably-just probably-there might be a way ahead. It is not about the answers, neither is about closure; it's just about moving ahead with loads of everything unsaid.
"You've accepted it, haven't you?" he suddenly whispered to me, curiosity he couldn't hide.
Miyuki doesn't look directly but out at the horizon where the sky meets water with a soft, smooth seam. "I must," he said. "If one wants to stay alive, there is just that option."
He felt it in his bones-she spoke of the tragedy of losing a loved one, but also of life: moments slipping through our fingers before we can even realize we had them, of everything being so temporary; sometimes we have to let go of things that are beyond our control.
Nobody else said anything after that. The only sounds one could hear were the soft rustling of leaves across the trees and the rippling of water. Haruto had never felt such an extreme silence fill his heart to every nook and yet make him feel everything, while feeling nothing in particular.
---
Satake :
A feeling of something shifted wouldn't shake off his mind as he had walked home later that day. As there were more questions that rose for Haruto rather than perhaps any answers Miyuki might have provided, one thing stirred within him: to make sense and somehow find a way to move forward with this inner weight stuck within the soul.
He heard his own voice cut off from his reverie by the sound of footsteps behind him that somehow sounded familiar. Turning back, he found Sakura, her bright smile beaming on the path before him.
"Haruto!" she called, with a warm ring, bubbling over in the air. "I was expecting I might find you here."
His head managed a faint smile without meeting his eyes. "You know where to find me every time."
Sakura raised an eyebrow, and her smile softened into concern. "You've been disappearing more and more lately. I've been worried."
Haruto didn't say anything. He had never been in a place where people actually worried about him much, not like this at least. Not the way Sakura did. She was always there, always his anchor whenever everything else seemed to slip right from under his feet. But now, things were different. He wasn't so sure he wanted to be anchored anymore.
"I'm fine," he said, even the words sounding hollow in his ears.
Sakuka looked unconvinced. "Haruto, you do not have to carry all the weight on your own, and I know you are in grief. But you are not supposed to do this silently. Not with me."
She spoke in a soft voice, but somehow cut through the walls he built around himself. He could feel the lump rise in his throat, but swallowed it back, not wanting her to see the cracks in his facade.
"I know," he whispered, "but sometimes, I think that I am better off that way."
Sakura's expression softened, and in that single second, her frail eyes stared back at Haruto-something so very few have seen behind that sparkling smile. Her hand came looking for his arm and touched it gently. "You are never alone, Haruto. You have never been alone."
The simplicity of her words threw him. It wasn't some grand gesture, or even a promise to make it all better. It was just. a fact. A reminder that no matter how hard he pushed them away, they'd still be there when he finally reached back.
---
Lying in bed that night, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts were more tranquil than they had been in weeks. Maybe it was the talk with Miyuki, maybe the weight of Sakura's words, but somehow, the world didn't feel quite as crushing as it had. The feeling of drowning in the past wasn't there anymore.
For the first time in a very long time, Haruto allowed himself to hope: not for answers, not for closure, but courage to move forward, to just keep on living when the threads of life seemed so close to slipping from him.