Life with Tsumugi from that point on was suffocating.
I would wake up, prepare her breakfast in the sunlit, silent living room, and eat alone at a table where no one sat across from me. After finishing, I would leave a small note and a thousand-yen bill.
—There are drinks in the fridge. If you need anything else, buy something at the convenience store.
I always left messages like that—inoffensive, harmless. Even if she threw them away unread, I believed it was better than writing nothing at all.
Then I would get ready for the day, quietly open the front door, and head to work. Breathing the outside air made it just a little easier to breathe.
When I returned, a dark room with the lights off would greet me. And from there, I would cook dinner for two.
The menu no longer consisted of Shiori’s favorites. Every time I remembered the words I had hurled at Tsumugi that day, my legs would freeze.
So now, I stuck to safe, simple dishes within my ability: miso soup, stir-fried vegetables, teriyaki chicken… foods with no direct connection to memories of Shiori. I chose them carefully, trying to avoid anything that might stir up emotions.
Perhaps because of that, Tsumugi began saying “Thank you for the meal” every night. It sounded devoid of feeling, but compared to the beginning, it felt like a dazzling improvement.
…However, beyond that, no words passed between us. No exchanging “I’m home” or “Welcome back,” no asking “How was your day?” Not even talk about the weather.
That said—
Tsumugi, who used to just leave her dishes in the sink after meals, now rinsed them lightly with water before setting them down. Laundry was sorted by color into mesh bags and placed beside the washing machine. If I forgot to hang the laundry, she would even hang it outside for me, silently.
Cleaning, washing dishes—if I asked, she would do them, even without a reply.
Looking only at the household chores, you might think we were living quite the “family-like life.” From the outside, we probably looked like ordinary sisters. At the very least, we wouldn’t appear to be falling apart.
But this was the current limit. Beyond this, I hadn’t taken a single step into her heart.
Inside Tsumugi was a clear, solidified hatred. It showed no signs of fading in our daily life; if anything, it seemed to be accumulating. With every breath, I was reminded of its presence.
As these days went on, I began taking the photo frame to bed with me at night.
In the photo, Shiori looked back at me with her unchanged smile. Tracing the edge with my fingertip, I spoke to Shiori in the photo again today.
“Sorry, Shiori… I still couldn’t get along with Tsumugi today.”
Even knowing I wouldn’t get a reply, I couldn’t help but talk.
Tsumugi’s attitude was gradually changing. Still, her heart showed no signs of opening. Since that day she confronted me with “I won’t forgive you,” her emotions seemed never to have wavered.
Every day, I counted the small changes, trying to find hope in them. But I also grew anxious, wondering if it was just self-satisfaction.
…This couldn’t be how things should be. Surely, this wasn’t the form Shiori had wished for.
Even as I thought that, I couldn’t find an answer. If I stepped in carelessly, I would hurt her. If I kept my distance, nothing would change.
“What should I do…?”
I thought I’d consult my senior again. My senior would surely worry with me, embracing all my clumsiness and weakness.
Still, to be honest… the one I most wanted to talk to was Shiori.
“Shiori, I’m really not good at this at all…”
I’m an only child. I don’t know what siblings are supposed to be like or how to interact with them properly. In front of Tsumugi, I’m just fumbling around, unsure how to act.
But the Shiori I remember was like a perfect model of an “older sister.” She supported, encouraged, indulged, scolded, and loved. When Shiori talked about Tsumugi, she always seemed a little proud.
“Tsumugi is just so cute. Oh, don’t get jealous, okay?” she would say, showing me photos over and over.
“Shiori… you really were a wonderful older sister, weren’t you?”
The smiling face in the photo seemed to smile softly back. Next to her was Tsumugi, smiling happily. They leaned against each other, with expressions of complete peace.
Yet now, her eyes hold a deep darkness when she looks at me. Even though she resembles Shiori, seeing those hate-filled eyes glaring at me creates a terrible illusion deep in my chest.
As if even Shiori hates me… that kind of illusion.
“Shiori, you don’t hate me… do you…?”
Shiori died protecting me. That last expression she showed wasn’t angry. Covered in blood, breathing shallowly, yet with a wounded smile that seemed relieved—
‘Thank goodness.’
Even though it was broken and fragmented, I’m sure that’s what she said. So, I know Shiori couldn’t possibly hate me. …I understand that in my head.
But Tsumugi’s existence shakes the memories inside me.
Holding the photo frame, my gaze drifts toward the wall. Beyond it is Tsumugi’s room. Surely, Shiori’s portrait and the urn containing her ashes are there.
Once, I asked to “pay my respects.” I wanted to pray beside them, to say thank you and I’m sorry.
But Tsumugi glared at me and snapped, “Don’t come near.” And while I was at work, she installed a lock on her room door.
In that moment, my chest tightened.
It felt as if Shiori’s scent, her warmth, everything was locked away in that room. And I was confronted with the fact that I didn’t even have the right to open that door.
Even though we were lovers… even though I loved her more than anyone. Now, I’m not even allowed to touch the proof of that.
“Don’t go anywhere Shiori.”
My hoarse voice faded softly in the room.
Time is cruel. Someday, it will make me forget even Shiori’s scent. The feeling of her kisses, the warmth of our embraces—memories will gradually fade with time. When that happens, I’ll truly have lost Shiori and will have no choice but to face reality.
So, I desperately look back at the photos, replaying them in my mind over and over. Shiori’s voice, her mannerisms, her way of laughing—I burn them into my memory again and again so I won’t forget.
To keep them from fading even a little. To keep her by my side a little longer. If I don’t, it feels like Shiori will disappear from within me, too.
That fear threatened to swallow me every night.
And so today, too, I close my eyes in the dark room, holding the photo. Until the moment I fall asleep, I repeat Shiori’s name in my heart.