What If?
The harsh, flickering light above Kotori casts an unforgiving glow on her tear-streaked face, the reflection in the mirror frightens her and after the first look, she refuses to look at herself again. Clutching the cool edge of the sink, she gasps for air, her chest tight with an anguish that threatens to consume her. Her image mocking her in the mirror, taunting her to look up and confront the truth, she wants to scream but instead she looks at herself square in the face, at her trembling lips, at her flushed cheeks, at her eyes and saw —jealousy, an acrid, burning jealousy she can't swallow down.
It's a vile realization, one that churns her stomach with sickness. Umi's life has unfolded without her, chapters written that Kotori isn't part of, chapters perhaps filled with Alisa. The thought claws at her insides mercilessly. She should find solace in the fact that Umi's attachment to her was a thing of the past, that her own future lay with Honoka—sweet, understanding Honoka.
But the mirror tells no lies, and as Kotori stares into her own hollow eyes once again, wanting the darkness to just swallow her whole. When Umi enters, her concern is palpable, a tangible thing in the small, sterile room. Her eyes, those deep pools of cobalt that always seemed to see right through her, now only serve to strip Kotori of any remaining armor, leaving her exposed, vulnerable.
They're frozen in time, history hanging between them like a tapestry, intricate and tangled. Umi steps closer, her hand on Kotori’s shoulder, a touch so fraught with meaning that it steals the breath from her lungs. It's a gesture that speaks of what was, of what could never be. And Kotori, drowning in the storm of her own emotions, realizes with a focus so sharp it carves into her soul:
She's wanted those chocolates, those tokens of affection she consumed each year without thought, to be for her. Just for her. And that day, when she found out they were meant for her, that they were always meant for her, she never took another bite. And now, faced with the possibility that they might never be hers again, it's an ache that resonates through her entire being.
The realization is a riddle with no answer, a knot that tightens around her heart. Yet, as Umi's hand moves down to grasp her hand. Kotori clenches back, her eyes fluttering shut, everything narrowing down to the warmth of Umi's palm, the softness of her skin. It’s a innocent touch from Umi, one that was meant to bring comfort but all it did was fill Kotori with she didn’t know how to handle.
In this silence, with nothing but their shared breaths filling the space between them, time stands still. For a moment—a fleeting, perilous moment—Kotori allows herself to indulge in the 'what if,' the dangerous territory of longing and heartbreak.
The sound of the bathroom door swinging open jolts them back to reality, but before the intrusion of the outside world can fully penetrate their sanctuary, Kotori's reflexes kick in. She reaches out, her fingers wrapping around Umi's wrist with a desperation born of fear and need, and pulls her into the nearest cubicle. She's not ready to let this moment end—not now, not when she's standing at the precipice of something life-altering.
In the cramped confines of the bathroom stall, the world narrows down to just the two of them, their rapid heartbeats, and a vortex of emotions too complex to untangle. Kotori can barely breathe, each inhale a battle, every exhale a surrender. She's caught in the gaze of a woman who once meant everything to her, a woman whose every gesture now feels like a farewell.
"Kotori," Umi's voice breaks through her reverie, a whisper that's both a caress and a slice through her heart. Her hand hovers, a hesitant guardian against Kotori's cheek, as if she's afraid to truly touch, to truly feel.
Kotori's own hands tremble as she reaches up, her fingers brushing against Umi's. They are close, so close, and the air around them is thick with words they dare not speak. Umi's touch is a balm, but it's also a searing flame, reigniting embers Kotori thought never existed.
She wants to speak, to give voice to the turmoil inside her, but the words lodge in her throat. She's betrothed to Honoka, her future set, her path chosen. This moment with Umi is a dangerous dance on the edge of a knife, and Kotori is all too aware of the blood it might draw.
They're statues in a shrine of memories, offerings to a history that binds them with invisible threads. Umi's fingers finally trace the path of a tear on Kotori's face, and it's a touch that writes novels in the silence. It's a touch that Kotori leans into, a silent plea for a solace she knows she shouldn't seek.
Their breaths mingle, a mingled mist in the cool air of the restroom. For a heartbeat, Kotori lets herself drown in it. But then Umi's voice cuts through, gentle yet resolute. "Are you okay?"
It's a lifeline, an anchor to the world they must return to, but Kotori's grip tightens. "Don't leave me," she breathes, her voice a whisper against the storm raging within her.
Umi stills, her own battle evident in the furrow of her brow, the slight parting of her lips. "You left me once. Don't leave me again," Kotori pleads, her words barely audible, her body inching closer, trapping Umi against the cold wall of the stall.
There's a moment, a single suspended moment, where everything hangs in the balance. Umi's scent, a familiar blend of sea breeze and something innately Umi, fills Kotori's senses, and it's intoxicating. Kotori's body gravitates toward Umi's, a celestial body pulled by an unseen gravity, but Umi, ever the compass of propriety, finds her bearings.
"I'm going to get Honoka," Umi says firmly, prying Kotori's hands from her blazer. The words are a cold shower, a stark awakening. Kotori grabs Umi’s arm, before she can leave. “Please, don’t date Alisa, please,” Her grip tightens. “You can’t – You can’t date a woman or else that’ll mean -”. Umi shakes her hand free and steps out of the stall, without looking back, leaving Kotori to grapple with the aftermath of a near collision of past and present.
The door shuts with a soft click, and Kotori's strength leaves her. “that’ll mean I let you go for nothing.” She slides down against the stall door to the cold floor, a marionette with cut strings. The tears come freely now, a deluge that she makes no attempt to stem. She's chosen her path, and now she must walk it, no matter how the echoes of 'what if' call to her from the roads not taken.
The Sunset
The journey home was a blur, each step weighted, every breath a conscious effort, both kept silent. As she crossed the threshold into the apartment she shared with Honoka, the normalcy of their shared space struck her as surreal. This was her life, the path she had chosen, the future she had accepted. It stood in stark contrast to the chaotic emotions that still churned within her, emotions she neither could nor dared to name.
"Honoka," Kotori's voice was fragile when her fiancée looked up, a question in her eyes, a question that had been there since she found her in the toilet cubicle. There was a plea hidden in the depths of Kotori's gaze, a yearning for something to anchor her to the present, to the reality she had chosen. "Can we... I need you." Understanding, or perhaps not needing to understand, Honoka rose, her movement a wordless acceptance as she took Kotori's hand, leading her to the intimacy of their bedroom. This was their sanctuary, a place removed from the complexities of the world outside, where they had laid bare their hopes and dreams and fears.
Yet, as they came together in a testament of their love, Kotori found herself adrift. With every touch, every shared breath, she sought to anchor herself in the here and now, in the woman who had promised to be her future. But the echoes of what had transpired in that cramped bathroom space haunted her, whispers of a past that she thought she had left behind.
In the quiet crescendo of their lovemaking, an unbidden image surfaced in the turmoil of Kotori's heart. Blue eyes, deep as the twilight sky, a touch as gentle as a summer breeze, a love, once whispered between the lines of a script they never dared to write. Umi... the thought was a caress, a torment, a bittersweet refrain that threaded through the tapestry of Kotori's consciousness, intertwining with the moment in a melody of longing and regret.
And when the silence settled, in the aftermath of their shared closeness, Kotori lay still, Honoka's breath a gentle rhythm beside her. In the dim light filtering through the curtains, with the shadows of the night drawing close, Kotori's heart whispered a truth she dared not voice, a single, aching note that sounded softly in the quiet.
She had chosen her path, and yet, in the secret chambers of her heart, the ghost of a different choice, a road not taken, lingered. In the space where two paths diverged, Kotori stood alone, the echoes of her heart's quiet lament a melody only she could hear.
Chapter End