The next day.
Lunch break arrived, and as usual, I was sitting at a table in the break area with my senior colleague. Around us, coworkers chatted and laughed, the sounds mingling with the hum of the microwave.
When I opened my bento box, the wafting aroma tightened my chest. Rolled omelet, salt-grilled salmon, cherry tomatoes, spinach dressed with sesame—every item was something Shiori had loved to eat.
Shiori’s smiling face as she said, “It’s delicious,” naturally came to mind.
But I couldn’t let Tsumugi see this. If I laid out Shiori’s favorite foods in front of that girl, I had no idea what she might say next, and I wasn’t confident I could handle it.
So, at least here at work, at least in this place where no one would disturb me. As if gently embracing Shiori’s memory, I picked at my bento.
“—So, how have things been with Tsumugi lately?”
My senior colleague sipped her carton of tea, turning her gaze toward me. Her tone was light as usual, but her eyes were properly looking at me.
“…Yeah. Yesterday, we still barely talked. I want to do something about it, but I have no idea what to do.”
My own voice sounded surprisingly feeble, even to me.
“That’s unusual for you, Akane. You usually come at me full force even during breaks, no holds barred.”
“No! Please don’t lump that together with this.”
I protested softly without thinking, and my senior colleague shrugged exaggeratedly. There was a part of me saved by her lightness, but the weight sinking deep in my chest right now wasn’t something so simple that it could be lifted by that alone.
Losing Shiori. And the reality of being disliked and resented by Tsumugi. Every time I went home, that weight grew heavier.
“Alright, alright. But, you know,” my senior colleague said, setting down her chopsticks and leaning forward slightly. “Wouldn’t it be dangerous if you don’t forcefully close the distance a bit and reduce the time she spends alone?”
“Dangerous…?”
“It’s just something I heard, but when someone loses a family member and keeps sinking into negative thoughts… sometimes they can head in a bad direction.”
“A bad direction…?”
My senior colleague lowered her eyes for a moment as if choosing her words, then said clearly, “Following after them, or something like that.”
In that instant, the depths of my chest froze cold. Before I knew it, I had grabbed my senior colleague’s arm as if clinging to it.
“That’s a joke, right?”
“I wouldn’t joke about something like this. You remember how you were in the hospital, don’t you, Akane?”
“…!”
Scenes I didn’t want to remember revived on their own.
Back then, I had lost my reason for living. I couldn’t imagine walking forward alone in a world without Shiori.
I didn’t want to think about anything, didn’t want to feel anything. I genuinely thought it would be easier if I could just disappear.
—If Shiori hadn’t entrusted her final wish to me, I’m not sure I could have moved forward from there. It’s possible time would have stopped for me, staring up at the hospital’s white ceiling. At worst, I probably wouldn’t have found a reason to keep breathing in a world without Shiori.
And Tsumugi loved Shiori as much as I did maybe even more. She had been with Shiori since they were little, sharing more time with her than I had.
So, I couldn’t definitively say the possibility of Tsumugi taking such action was zero. …I couldn’t say it, but that kind of future was the one thing I absolutely didn’t want.
I didn’t want to experience anything like losing Shiori ever again.
“Of course, it’s just one possibility. But you know, there’s something with a much higher probability.”
“And that is…?”
“Something like revenge against you, Akane.”
My chest felt tightly gripped.
Words of denial rose to my throat, but they didn’t become a voice. …Because there was a part of me that couldn’t definitively say it was impossible.
“From everything I’ve heard so far, Tsumugi’s resentment toward you is pretty intense. It doesn’t seem like she’s done anything directly physical, but it’s conceivable she might eventually do something appropriate to that feeling.”
“Appropriate… meaning what…?”
“I can’t put it well, but wanting to make you taste the same pain, or shred your heart to pieces? I think that direction is far more realistic.”
—I had a sense of it.
In the few days we’d started living together, Tsumugi had thrown words at me multiple times that felt like they were gouging my heart. They were the kind of words you absolutely couldn’t say without hatred.
Would she hurl even stronger words at me from now on? Would she do something even deeper, more merciless, cornering me until I broke?
Would the day ever come when she and I could understand each other?
My chest tightened, and for a while, I couldn’t say anything. But—.
“…Even so, I don’t want the distance between Tsumugi and me to grow any wider.”
My senior colleague quietly widened her eyes.
“I don’t want to lose Tsumugi.”
The pain of losing someone once was already enough.
“That girl knows Shiori as well as I do… no, even better. If I let go of this connection, I will eventually become truly disconnected from Shiori.”
A Shiori only in photographs. A Shiori only in memories. As time passes, her voice, her warmth, will gradually fade.
But as long as Tsumugi is here, Shiori won’t completely disappear. Because Shiori’s likeness truly exists within Tsumugi.
It’s okay if she seeks revenge. It’s okay if she keeps hating me. Even so, I want to breathe in the same house as that girl. I want to spend time together across the table, even if it’s in silence. Because I want to feel Shiori’s likeness in the small details of her daily gestures.
“I hope Tsumugi understands. Your feelings for Shiori, Akane.”
“She’ll understand. Even if it takes time someday.”
I had no basis for it. But if I didn’t believe, I couldn’t move forward.
I gently closed my bento box and took a deep breath.
“Right now, it’s just a time to endure.”
I’ll accept all of it—the rejection, the hatred, the words hurled at me. Because I think that’s necessary to fulfill my promise to Shiori.
I felt that resolve sink into my own chest. It was heavy and painful, but it was a definite resolve.