The Sunset

 "I don’t know if I can do this," Kotori’s voice wavered, barely more than a whisper. Tears blurred her vision, clinging to her lashes, threatening to fall. She blinked rapidly, desperate to hold them back, but a few escaped, landing on the page beneath her pencil. She hastily wiped them away, smudging the graphite, distorting what was already imperfect. Frustration gnawed at her as she stared at her design, then scribbled over it, the lines now a chaotic mess reflecting the turmoil in her heart.

“Do you ever regret it?” Umi’s voice was soft, tentative, her gaze fixed on Kotori’s trembling hands as they clutched a blue coloring pencil. There was an intensity in Umi’s eyes—a mix of concern and something deeper, almost like she was searching for something in Kotori’s answer, something she desperately needed to hear.

Kotori paused, her pencil hovering mid-air, her focus shattered. She looked up at Umi, her silence urging her to continue. Umi took a breath, hesitating, then finally asked, “Not going to study abroad. Do you regret that?”

Kotori’s eyes shifted to the application papers lying untouched on the corner of her desk, their blank pages staring back at her like an accusation. A familiar pang of regret tightened in her chest, a dull ache that had been gnawing at her for weeks, surfacing every time she thought about the future she had turned away from. She glanced back at her sketches, but the lines blurred as anxiety tightened its grip around her heart, squeezing until it was hard to breathe. The weight of all she still needed to do for her art portfolio loomed over her, heavy and unrelenting.

“Why are you asking me that?” Kotori’s voice was strained, her heart beating too fast, a frantic rhythm she couldn’t control. “I thought you’d be here to comfort me, not ask questions that make everything harder.” Her frown deepened, her fingers gripping the pencil so tightly it might snap.

Umi flipped through her notebook, trying to maintain her calm, but there was a slight tremor in her hands. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I just… I want to know. Please, answer me.”

Kotori’s frustration boiled over, her voice rising. “You’ve been so distant lately, and now, when we finally have time together, you bring up things I don’t want to think about.” Her voice was almost pleading, searching Umi’s face for understanding. After a moment, she sighed, a resigned sound. “I don’t regret my choice.”

She set her pencil down, the action deliberate, her voice softening as if speaking more to herself than to Umi. “It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.” Her fingers twisted anxiously in her lap. “But I stayed for Muse. I stayed…” Her voice faltered, and she forced herself to meet Umi’s steady gaze, though it felt like a physical effort. “…because Honoka asked me to.” 

Umi nodded, her gaze unwavering, fixed on Kotori. “Decisions like that aren’t easy. You got more time with Muse, with Honoka—”

“Why didn’t you ask me to stay?” Kotori’s question burst out, sharper than she intended, raw with hurt and confusion. She cringed at her own outburst, her cheeks flushing.

Umi stopped flipping through her notebook, a soft smile touching her lips, her fingers pausing on a page she seemed to have been searching for. She lifted the worn novel in her hand and turned it toward Kotori. “Because you told me your dream,” she said, her voice tinged with a bittersweet nostalgia. There, on the corner of the page, was a small, childlike drawing, its jagged lines instantly recognizable to Kotori as the work of her ten-year-old self. It mirrored the one she was working on now. The memory hit Kotori like a wave, taking her back to that day—the two of them in their neighborhood playground after school, the sun casting long shadows as they sat together above the slide. Umi had been reading aloud from that very novel, her voice a soothing melody that filled the air. Kotori, struck by inspiration, had rummaged through her bag for paper. Finding none, she had accepted Umi’s offer of her book and sketched them both in little matching dresses. It was then, in the fading light of day, that she had whispered her dreams to Umi.

Kotori took the novel, its pages frayed and delicate from years of use, and traced her fingers over the faded drawing. “Why do you still have this?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

A soft blush spread across Umi’s cheeks, but she didn’t pull the book away. Her smile was shy, almost tender, and when she spoke, her voice was filled with quiet sincerity. “I didn’t want to stop you from taking that first step toward your dream.”

Kotori frowned, her grip tightening on the book. “And yet you let Honoka stop me. How does that make any sense?”

Umi’s expression softened further, a gentle understanding in her eyes. “I didn’t let Honoka stop you. I wanted everyone, including Honoka, to speak their truth. Unspoken words can haunt you more than anything else.” She closed her notebook slowly, deliberately. “After that, whatever choice you made was yours and yours alone.”

“Does that mean you wanted me to go?” Kotori’s voice was barely audible, laden with an uncertainty that made her chest ache.

Umi sighed, her shoulders sagging slightly as if under a great weight. “You’re twisting my words, Kotori.” Her voice was soft but firm, a delicate balance of honesty and restraint. “If you had gone, I would have supported you from wherever I was. I would have missed you, yes, but I believe we all have paths we need to explore on our own. I wanted you to follow your dream, to see the world, to find out who you are outside of everything you’ve known. I care more about you and your dreams than anything else—even Muse.” She hesitated, a small, rueful smile appearing. “Please don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Kotori’s heart ached with a confusion that only seemed to deepen. “You never told me any of this,” she murmured, her voice strained with emotion. “All those unspoken words…”

Umi nodded slowly, her eyes closing briefly. “You’re right. I’ve kept things to myself, too. I’ve been a hypocrite.”

Kotori’s voice softened, almost vulnerable. “Do you think I gave up something important?”

Umi reached out, placing her hand gently over Kotori’s. Her touch was warm, grounding. “No, I don’t. I think if you keep doing what you love with all your heart, more opportunities will come. They might look different, but they’ll be there.” She gave Kotori’s hand a gentle squeeze, her smile tender and reassuring. “And you have so much love and passion to share with the world.”

The sincerity in Umi’s words held Kotori still, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, lost in a gaze that seemed to stretch into eternity.

“If you had asked me to stay,” Kotori whispered, her voice barely audible, “I would have.”

Umi suddenly stood from the futon, the fabric rustling beneath her. “I—I’ll get some more tea,” she muttered, her words tumbling out in a rush, almost as if she couldn’t hold them in any longer. Her face flushed, and her hands shook slightly as she gathered the empty teacups, her movements hurried, almost frantic, as if she was trying to escape something too painful to confront.

Kotori watched Umi’s retreating figure, her shoulders slumped under an invisible burden. Just before leaving the room, Umi whispered softly, almost as if to herself, “I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

A shaky breath Kotori didn’t realize she’d been holding slipped past her lips, but it did nothing to ease the tightness coiling in her chest. Was that true? Letting me go was Umi’s way of showing she cared? She replayed their moments together in her mind, searching for signs she might have missed—the words she’d longed to hear, the affirmation she’d needed. Did Umi not need her at all? The thought came unbidden, a cold whisper settling deep in her mind, heavy and unwanted.

For years, Kotori had believed she understood Umi—her moods, her thoughts, her deepest secrets. Most of the time, she felt sure of that understanding. But there was always that elusive part of Umi—a shadowy corner of her heart that Kotori could never quite reach, no matter how close they became. It was like trying to grasp smoke: visible, tantalizing, but always slipping through her fingers. And now, with Umi retreating once again, Kotori felt that mysterious part of her slipping further and further away, like a star fading into the depths of the night sky.

Kotori let out a heavy sigh, the sound echoing in the quiet room. She sank back onto the futon, the soft fabric giving way beneath her weight. The scent of Umi’s shampoo—lavender tinged with a hint of sweetness, like vanilla—enveloped her, wrapping around her senses like a warm, comforting blanket. For a moment, she allowed herself to sink into it, closing her eyes.

But then Kotori’s head knocked against something hard beneath the covers, jolting her out of her thoughts. Grimacing, she reached under the blanket, her fingers brushing against something familiar yet unexpected. She pulled it out, and her breath caught in her throat.

Umi’s journal.

For a moment, she just stared at it, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. She knew she shouldn’t open it. It was an invasion of privacy, a betrayal of trust. But as she held the journal, the weight of it felt almost unbearable, filled with all the unspoken words and unseen emotions that had passed between them. Did Umi really not care if she stayed or left? The question circled in her mind like a vulture, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this journal held the answers.

Her hands trembled as she gripped the journal. She knew it was wrong to open it, that it would be a violation of the trust they’d built over years of friendship. But the need to know, to understand what had been happening to Umi, was too strong to resist. To know what Umi truly felt about her. Her fingers hovered over the cover, her mind torn between guilt and curiosity.

Before she knew it, her fingers were moving on their own, flipping open the cover. She took a deep breath and began to turn the pages, her heart racing with each one. At first, it was just ordinary entries—notes on Muse practice, thoughts about school. But then, she spotted a passage written in darker ink, the words etched deeply into the page, frantic and desperate. Her breath hitched, her eyes scanning the text, and suddenly, everything stopped.

The world narrowed to a single point. Her heart hammered in her chest, loud and insistent, as if trying to drown out the words in front of her. But they were already there, sinking into her mind, burning into her memory. She blinked, her vision blurring as her mind tried to process what she’d just read, but it was like her thoughts were frozen.

The hidden glances, the sad smiles, the distance—it all made sense now. A realization so stark, so unexpected, that it stole the breath from her lungs.

Kotori’s mind went blank, her thoughts slipping away as shock took over. She felt the book slip from her hands, her fingers going numb, unable to hold onto anything as the ground seemed to tilt beneath her. She didn’t know what to think, what to feel. She wasn’t even sure she was breathing.

The words echoed in her head, a thousand emotions vying for attention but none making it through the fog of disbelief that clouded her mind.

What…

The silence in the room was deafening, a heavy blanket pressing down on her, squeezing her chest tight. She was so lost in the whirlwind of her own shock that she didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching until it was too late.

“Kotori, what are you—”

Umi’s voice cut through the stillness, sharp and filled with something Kotori couldn’t quite identify. She snapped her head up, her eyes wide with guilt and confusion, the journal now lying open and exposed on the futon. “I—I’m sorry!” she blurted out, her voice breaking, barely audible. Panic flared in her chest, her heart racing as she tried to find words, any words, to explain, but her mind was blank, a white canvas devoid of any coherent thought.

Umi stood frozen in the doorway, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock, fear, and something else—something that looked like betrayal. She stared at Kotori, then at the journal, and Kotori could see the moment it hit her, the realization of what Kotori had done. The teapot slipped from Umi’s grasp, crashing to the floor with a shattering sound that filled the room, like a sharp intake of breath cut short. Boiling tea spilled out, pooling on the floor, spreading like a dark, seeping wound. Umi flinched back, her body jerking as the hot liquid splashed onto her leg, but she didn’t seem to register the pain. She scrambled for her diary, clutching it to her chest as if it were her lifeline, her eyes locked on Kotori with a look that made Kotori’s stomach drop.

“Umi-chan—” Kotori started, her voice barely more than a whisper, but Umi’s reddened eyes and painful look cut through the air like a blade.

“Stop.” The word came out sharp and cold, a tone Kotori had never heard from Umi before. It froze Kotori in place. She felt her breath catch in her throat, her chest tightening painfully. Umi’s eyes were hard, her expression a mixture of hurt and loss, but there was a tremor in her voice, a crack that betrayed something deeper—something fragile and scared. What have I done? Kotori’s heart ached, a dull, throbbing pain spreading through her chest.

“What did you see?” Umi’s voice was barely audible, but it was filled with a tension that made Kotori’s skin prickle. Her eyes were wide, shimmering with unshed tears, her face a mask of fear and vulnerability that Kotori had never seen before. She’d never seen Umi like this—so exposed, so raw, like a wound that had been ripped open, unable to hide behind her usual calm demeanor. Her grip on the journal tightened, her knuckles whitening, as if letting go would mean losing the last piece of herself.

“I… I didn’t mean to—” Kotori’s voice was choked, her throat tight with a mixture of guilt and something she couldn’t quite name. She took a step forward, wanting to close the distance, to reach out to Umi, to do anything to fix the breach she’d caused, but Umi’s hand flew out, one covering her face and the other held out, stopping Kotori from coming any closer.

Without a second thought, Umi dropped the journal into the puddle of tea on the floor. Kotori watched, frozen in place, as the pages soaked up the liquid, the ink smearing and blurring, the words fading into dark, unreadable stains, bleeding out the confessions that were never meant to be seen.

“Why are you sorry?” Umi’s voice trembled, a fragile thread of sound that barely held together. Her eyes were locked on Kotori, wide and searching, filled with a desperation that Kotori could feel in her bones. “What did you see?” she asked again, her voice cracking, breaking under the weight of her fear and everything she’d tried so hard to keep hidden.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” Kotori’s voice was barely a whisper, her heart beating so fast she thought it might burst. “I… I’m with Honoka, I—”

“Why are you rejecting me,” Umi cut her off, her voice small and quiet, “when I never asked you for anything.” Her voice broke.

“Umi-chan, please,” Kotori pleaded, her voice breaking, reaching out again, desperate to bridge the chasm that had opened up between them, to make it right, but Umi stepped back, her face closing off, her eyes growing colder, like a door slamming shut.

“Please leave,” Umi said, her head down, her voice low and final, the word heavy with a finality that left no room for argument. It hung in the air, heavy and irreversible, like a sentence passed down with no chance for appeal.

“Umi-chan, I—”

But Umi was already turning away, her shoulders stiff, her back a solid wall Kotori couldn’t penetrate. “I’ll leave.” She walked away, each step echoing in the silence, leaving Kotori standing alone, the weight of her actions settling over her like a suffocating blanket. The room felt colder, emptier, as if all the warmth had been drained away, leaving only a hollow void where Umi once stood. Kotori stood there, motionless, the shock and guilt pressing down on her, the realization of what she’d done slowly sinking in, heavy and inescapable.

“Kotori?”

The sound of her name slices through the fog in Kotori’s mind, yanking her abruptly back into the harsh reality of the kitchen. Her eyes dart between the smoking pan and Umi’s concerned face, the morning light slanting through the window, casting long, unforgiving shadows across the room. The breakfast she had intended as a small, tender gesture for Umi’s birthday has become a disaster—eggs burnt to a crisp, bacon reduced to blackened shards, smoke rising in angry spirals toward the ceiling. Panic tightens around her chest, her nerves fraying with each passing second, sending her into a frantic, aimless dance across the kitchen. Her gaze flits from the smoking pan to Umi and back again, her thoughts a tangled mess of anxiety and confusion.

And then, with a calmness that Kotori has always found soothing, Umi steps forward. Her presence cuts through the chaos like a beacon, steady and unwavering. Without a word, Umi reaches over, switches off the stove, and gently takes the pan from Kotori’s trembling hands, setting it aside. Her movements are careful, deliberate, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside Kotori. Umi’s touch is light, almost tender, as she rolls up Kotori’s soot-stained sleeves, revealing the thin white fabric of her shirt beneath. As she does, her gaze drops to Kotori’s hand, her eyes lingering on the silver band wrapped around Kotori’s fourth finger.

Kotori follows Umi’s gaze to the ring—her engagement ring. The sight of it sends a wave of panic through her, her breath catching in her throat. The ring feels like a weight around her finger, heavier than ever, a cold, unyielding reminder of everything she’s supposed to be, of the future she’s supposed to want. Her heart pounds erratically, a wild, uneven rhythm that echoes in her ears. She doesn’t know how to breathe, how to think. All she knows is the sudden, desperate need to close the distance between them, to reach out and touch Umi, to say something—anything—that would make sense of the confusion and longing swirling inside her.

“I’m sorry,” Kotori whispers, her voice trembling, barely more than a breath. “I wanted to make you breakfast, to make today special…Ah! Happy Birthday Umi.”

Umi’s soft laugh breaks the tension, the sound light and musical, cutting through the heavy air like a breath of fresh air. “Thank you, and it’s okay,” she says gently, her tone soothing, filled with a quiet understanding that only makes Kotori’s heart ache more. “Really, it’s fine. I have some clothes you can change into.” She nods toward her bedroom. “You know where they are.”

Kotori nods numbly, trying to hold on to the threads of her composure, but everything feels like it’s slipping away. She turns and heads to the bedroom, the walls seeming to close in on her with each step. Her mind is a whirlwind of thoughts she can’t control, emotions she can’t untangle. Her hands shake as she opens the dresser, pulling out a simple blouse and long skirt, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric. The scent of sea breeze, with a hit of lavender and vanilla—Umi’s scent—fills her lungs, and for a moment, she feels like she’s drowning.

She closes her eyes, her fingers tightening around the fabric. She can still feel the ghost of Umi’s touch on her arm, the warmth of her presence so close, too close. Not close enough. Last night had been a revelation, a moment of clarity so intense it had left her breathless. The feel of Umi’s presence next to her, the way her heart had raced when their eyes met in the dim light of the room, the softness in Umi’s eyes in every stare. She wanted all of that again. Her eyes landed on her ring finger again and she shakes her head in dismay.

She changes quickly, trying to calm her racing heart. What are you doing, Kotori? she thought, staring at her reflection in the small mirror above the dresser. The girl looking back at her seemed lost, her eyes wide and searching, her face pale. She touched the ring on her finger, twisting it absently, feeling its cold, hard presence against her skin.

The Sunset

Umi stands in the kitchen, her eyes sweeping over the chaotic remnants of Kotori’s attempt to make breakfast. The scene is almost comical: bits of charred egg cling to the frying pan like stubborn shadows, streaks of flour are smeared across the countertops, and tiny puddles of oil glisten on the floor, reflecting the soft morning light. Despite the mess, a small, involuntary smile tugs at her lips as she rinses the dishes under the warm stream of water. Her hands move with practiced ease, scrubbing away the evidence of Kotori’s culinary disaster, but her mind is far from the task at hand.

There’s always been something endearing about Kotori’s rare absentmindedness—her tendency to leap into things without a second thought, her whimsical nature that makes her flit from one idea to the next like a butterfly. Though rare, years have found Umi witnessing mistake after mistake—forgetting to turn off the stove, confusing salt for sugar—and each time, it has only deepened her affection. But lately, that affection feels dangerous, like a thin thread she shouldn’t pull. She knows she’s teetering on the edge of something she can’t control.

Umi places the last plate in the drying rack and wipes her hands on a dish towel, leaning against the counter, her heart heavy with a conflict she can’t quite name. Is it wrong to let herself enjoy this? To savor these small, fleeting moments with Kotori? Can she allow herself to be a little selfish, just for today, on her birthday? She isn’t sure. She never is, not when it comes to Kotori.

As Umi moves to the doorway to put on her shoes, she pauses, leaning against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself. The events of the previous day replay in her mind with painful clarity—the way Kotori’s touch lingered on her arm, the softness in her voice, the way her gaze seemed to pierce right through her. Every word, every glance, had felt like a silent plea, a question that Umi didn’t have the strength to answer. She had tried to ignore it, to focus on the mundane tasks of daily life, but Kotori’s presence had made that impossible.

She knows she never should have let Kotori spend the night. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgment that could unravel everything. She should have set clear boundaries, kept her distance, reminded herself again and again of the promise she made to herself. Kotori is marrying Honoka tomorrow. Umi has no right to interfere, no right to risk doing anything that could cause them pain. The thought of disrupting their happiness, of causing even a moment’s doubt or heartache, makes Umi’s heart clench painfully, a dull ache spreading through her chest. She would endure all the heartbreak in the world if it meant Kotori and Honoka could stay happy and untouched by her feelings. 

But when Kotori had turned to her in the quiet darkness, her voice barely a whisper, asking, “Do you still love me?”—Umi felt her carefully constructed walls crumble, every defense she’d built up over the years collapsing in an instant, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. This is such a dangerous path, one that leads straight into a minefield of regret and longing. And yet, despite knowing all this, despite the risk and the hurt it could bring, she hadn’t been able to pull away. Not then. Not when Kotori’s eyes were searching hers for an answer, and not now.

Umi shakes her head, trying to dispel the fog of confusion clouding her thoughts. Why did Kotori ask that? What was she hoping to hear? Kotori has always been hard to read, a mix of innocence and something deeper, a kind of sadistic curiosity that tugs at Umi’s heartstrings. Sometimes, Umi wonders if Kotori knows exactly what she’s doing, if she’s aware of the power she holds over others. There's no way Kotori doesn't know.

A deep sigh slips from Umi’s lips, carrying with it a mix of frustration and longing. She’s trapped in an internal struggle, torn between the desperate desire to hold on to Kotori and the painful necessity of letting go. Every part of her knows she should pull back, shield herself from the inevitable heartache that comes from loving someone she can never truly have. Her mind urges her to rebuild the walls she’s so carefully constructed, to distance herself before she gets hurt even more. But her heart tells a different story—it aches with a truth she can’t ignore, a longing that refuses to fade no matter how hard she tries to push it away.

The sound of light footsteps descending the stairs pulls her back to the present, and she turns her head just in time to see Kotori appear at the top. The morning sunlight filters through the window behind her, casting a soft, golden halo around her silhouette. Kotori looks almost ethereal, her hair glowing in the light, her face bright with a sleepy smile. Umi’s breath catches in her throat, her heart squeezing painfully in her chest. She’s in too deep; she’s always known that. But she never should have come back, never should have let Kotori get this close again. Every glance, every smile draws her further into a love she can’t control, deeper into an emotional whirlwind that threatens to sweep her away.

“Where are you going?” Kotori asks, her voice light and filled with curiosity, as if the morning’s chaos has already been forgotten.

Umi shoves her hands into her jean pockets, trying to steady herself. “We’re going to get breakfast,” she replies, her voice firmer than she feels inside. She unlocks the door and holds it open for Kotori, trying to maintain her composure, trying to keep her distance.

Kotori almost bounces down the last two steps, her face lighting up with excitement. “Where to?” she asks, her voice filled with eager anticipation, her eyes sparkling like she’s a child again.

Umi smiles softly, though it’s tinged with sadness. “You’ll see,” she says, stepping outside and letting the cool morning air wash over her. She hopes it will clear her head, but she knows better than to believe it will be that easy.

They walk down the quiet street, the morning sun just beginning to warm the air, casting long shadows across the pavement. Umi leads Kotori to a small, limited-time food truck parked near the park, its bright colors a cheerful contrast against the muted hues of the city. The scent of freshly made crepes fills the air, mingling with the smell of dew and earth, creating a heady, intoxicating blend that makes Umi’s stomach twist in anticipation.

Kotori’s eyes widen with delight when she sees the food truck. “Crepes!” she exclaims, clapping her hands together like she’s just been given the best present in the world. “This is perfect!”

Umi tries to smile, but it feels forced, like a mask she’s struggling to keep in place. “I thought you’d like it,” she says, stepping up to the counter. She orders a cheesecake-flavored crepe for Kotori and a matcha-flavored one for herself.

The woman running the food truck, an older lady with a warm, knowing smile, watches them with an amused glint in her eye. As Umi reaches into her pocket to pay, Kotori jumps in, sliding her card to the woman instead. “It’s your birthday, Umi. Why would you even think of doing that?” Kotori says with a playful scold.

The woman glances between Umi and Kotori, her smile widening as if she knows a secret. “Your girlfriend?” she asks, nodding towards Kotori.

Umi feels a familiar ache in her chest, a dull, throbbing pain that she’s grown accustomed to. She just shakes her head, her voice flat and resigned. “No, she’s not my girlfriend,” she says quietly. “A friend.”

The woman raises an eyebrow, her expression skeptical but playful. “Doesn’t look like she isn’t,” she says, her tone teasing, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Umi feels a wave of exhaustion wash over her, and she looks away, focusing on the crepe in her hand to hide her frustration.

Kotori, oblivious to the exchange, is already eagerly unwrapping her crepe, her eyes wide with delight as she takes her first bite. They find a bench nearby and sit down to eat, the morning sun warming their faces and casting a soft, golden glow over everything. Umi lets herself relax, just for a moment, as she takes a bite of her crepe. The familiar taste of matcha fills her mouth, mingling with the soft, fluffy texture of the crepe. She watches Kotori’s face light up with joy as she tastes the cheesecake flavor, her eyes sparkling with happiness. A pang of longing tugs at Umi’s heart, but she pushes it away, focusing instead on the simple pleasure of the moment.

Kotori leans over suddenly, taking a bite of Umi’s matcha crepe, her eyes widening in surprise at the taste. “Mmm, this is good!” she exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. She holds out her own crepe, offering it to Umi. “Here, try mine!”

Umi hesitates for a moment, reaching out to take the crepe, but Kotori pulls it back playfully, her grin widening. “No, not like that,” she teases, holding the crepe closer to Umi’s mouth, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Umi rolls her eyes, trying to maintain her composure, but something in Kotori’s expression makes her heart skip a beat. It’s the way Kotori looks at her, with a softness that feels like it’s wrapping around her, pulling her in. “Please,” Kotori whispers, her voice gentle, almost pleading. The sound of that single word, so simple and yet so full of meaning, makes Umi’s resolve crumble. She can’t say no, not when Kotori looks at her like that.

Without a word, Umi leans forward and takes a bite, the sweetness of the cheesecake mingling with the bitterness of the matcha. She tries to keep her face neutral, but she can feel her defenses cracking, the walls she’s built around herself starting to fall. She doesn’t know how to protect herself from this, from Kotori and the way she makes her feel. It’s like being caught in a storm, the wind and rain battering against her, threatening to tear her apart. You’re supposed to be helping Kotori, not indulging yourself, she reminds herself, but her heart isn’t listening.

They continue walking, their crepes slowly disappearing with each step, the conversation flowing easily between them. Kotori launches into a story from their school days, her voice animated and bright as she recounts the time they tried to sneak into the school after hours to practice for a Muse performance. The memory is vivid, and Kotori’s laughter is contagious as she describes how the janitor, mistaking them for burglars, chased them around the school with a mop, his shouts echoing through the empty halls.

Umi laughs, the sound light and genuine, bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her. It feels good to laugh, to let herself be carried away by the memories, the joy of a simpler time when everything seemed possible and nothing was out of reach. Kotori laughs with her, her eyes crinkling at the corners, her face glowing with happiness. It feels so easy, so natural, like slipping back into an old rhythm they both know by heart, a dance they’ve practiced a thousand times before.

“Umi,” Kotori says suddenly, her voice more serious, drawing Umi’s attention back to her.

Umi turns to look at Kotori, her brows knitting together in curiosity. “Hmm?”

“What is your dream?” Kotori asks, her voice soft but earnest, her eyes searching Umi’s face as if looking for something.

Umi frowns slightly, her mind racing. “I don’t know,” she admits quietly, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. “Which I know is quite weird for me.” She tries to smile, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

Kotori grins softly, reaching out to squeeze Umi’s hand. “You know, you don’t have to rush,” she says gently, bringing back a conversation they had long ago, one that had comforted Kotori back then. “It’s okay to take your time. Dreams don’t have deadlines.”

Umi’s heart twists at Kotori’s words, a mix of gratitude and sadness washing over her. She knows Kotori means well, but it only reminds her of how lost she feels, of how far behind she is compared to everyone else. “It’s not just about that,” Umi says softly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m not sure of my path, not sure if I’ll make it. My dad’s been...difficult about it. He thinks I should focus on marriage instead. That I’m a failure if I don’t.”

Kotori's expression shifts suddenly, her eyes narrowing with an unexpected intensity. "Yeah, you're not getting married," she says, her voice laced with a kind of anger Umi's never heard before. “Definitely not. No.” Her words are firm, almost a command, and it catches Umi off guard.

“Stop saying you're a failure,” Kotori continues, her tone sharper, more insistent. There's a fire in her eyes now, something fierce and protective that makes Umi’s breath catch. It's as if Kotori has decided something in that moment, something resolute. “You’re not a failure, Umi. Give yourself some time.”

Then, just as quickly, Kotori’s demeanor shifts again. She smiles, but it’s not the warm, reassuring smile Umi is used to. It's something darker, more intense. A shiver runs down Umi's spine as Kotori leans in slightly, her eyes still burning with that strange fire.“You’re not getting married,” Kotori repeats, her voice low, almost a whisper, but with a certainty that leaves no room for argument. The words hang in the air between them, heavy and final, and Umi feels a chill run through her. She doesn’t know what to say, how to respond to the sudden shift in Kotori’s mood, the unexpected intensity that has overtaken her.

Umi only nods, but her heart feels heavy. If only it were that simple. If only I didn’t feel like I’m letting everyone down. Letting myself down.

As they finish their crepes, they reach the beach, the sound of waves crashing against the shore filling the air with a soothing, rhythmic cadence. The sand is cool beneath their feet as they kick off their shoes, the grains soft and welcoming, a gentle embrace that cushions their steps. The ocean stretches out before them, a vast expanse of blue that seems to go on forever, meeting the sky in a seamless, endless horizon.

Kotori lets out a delighted squeal as she dips her toes into the chilly ocean water, her face lighting up with a pure, unfiltered joy that makes Umi’s heart swell in her chest. The sight of Kotori, so carefree and full of life, is almost too much for Umi to bear. She feels a surge of emotion, a wave of something deep and unnameable that washes over her like the tide.

Just for today Umi excuses, letting herself get lost in the moment. Just for today, I want to forget everything else. She watches as Kotori runs ahead, her laughter mingling with the sound of the waves, her movements light and graceful. Umi smiles, her heart filling with a peace she hasn’t felt in a long time. For a moment, all her doubts, all her fears, fade into the background, replaced by the simple joy of being here, now, with Kotori.

She lets herself get lost in the moment, in the sound of Kotori’s laughter, in the way the sunlight dances on the water, casting shimmering patterns that move with the waves. She knows she shouldn’t be doing this, knows she should be keeping her distance, but just for today, she wants to feel happy. Just for today, she wants to forget all the reasons why she shouldn’t be here, why she shouldn’t let herself get this close to Kotori.

Kotori suddenly trips, her foot catching on a rock hidden beneath the sand, and she stumbles forward with a surprised yelp. Instinctively, Umi rushes forward, her arms reaching out to catch Kotori, but she loses her balance in the process. They both tumble into the shallow water, a splash of cold enveloping them, sending a shock through their bodies.

For a moment, they sit there, stunned and soaked, the water lapping around them, the chill seeping into their clothes. Then, Kotori bursts out laughing, her laughter bright and free, a sound that’s pure joy. Umi can’t help but join in, her own laughter bubbling up from deep within her, mingling with Kotori’s, filling the air with a melody that’s both nostalgic and new.

They start splashing each other, the water flying up around them, catching the sunlight in a thousand tiny rainbows. Kotori’s laughter is infectious, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she flicks water at Umi, who retaliates with a playful splash of her own. For a moment, it feels like time has stopped, like they’re the only two people in the world, and Umi lets herself forget everything else, just for today.

Eventually, as the sun climbs higher in the sky, they pull themselves out of the water, their clothes dripping and clinging to their skin. They find a spot on the sand to sit and dry off, the warmth of the sun wrapping around them like a blanket. Umi leans back, her hands sinking into the sand, feeling the grains slip through her fingers. She glances over at Kotori, who is lying back with her eyes closed, a content smile on her lips, her hair spread out around her like a halo.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” Kotori murmurs, her voice soft, almost a whisper, as if she’s speaking more to herself than to Umi.

Umi nods, her gaze fixed on Kotori’s peaceful face. The grains of sand cling to their damp skin, sticking to their clothes, but Umi doesn’t care. She’s just so happy to be here, next to Kotori, in this perfect moment that feels like it could stretch on forever. “Yeah, it is,” she agrees, her voice equally quiet, filled with a mix of emotions she can’t quite name. She wants to freeze this moment, to hold onto it forever, but she knows she can’t. Time always moves forward, pulling them with it, no matter how much she wishes it would stop.

They lie in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the waves roll in and out, the sound of the ocean a soothing lullaby that fills the spaces between their thoughts. Umi feels a deep sense of contentment, a peace that settles over her like a warm blanket. She glances at Kotori, who has turned her head to look at her, a soft smile on her lips, her eyes filled with something that makes Umi’s heart skip a beat.

Kotori’s gaze is so full of love, so intense and unwavering, that Umi feels herself being pulled into it, falling deeper and deeper into the depths of those warm, brown eyes. It’s like everything else fades away, leaving just the two of them, here on this beach, in this moment. Umi can feel her heart pounding in her chest, her breath catching in her throat. She wants to say something, anything, to break the spell, but the words stick in her throat.

“You know,” Kotori says softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, “I’ve missed us, Umi.”

Umi’s heart swells at Kotori’s words, a rush of warmth flooding through her. She feels tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, and she blinks them away, not wanting to ruin the moment. “I’ve missed it too,” she admits, before she could catch herself, her voice thick with emotion. “I’ve missed you.”

Kotori reaches out, her hand resting softly on Umi’s cheek, her touch gentle and reassuring. Umi feels the faint tremble in Kotori’s hand and looks up, surprised to see a flicker of nervousness in Kotori's eyes. "I'm glad," Kotori says, her smile growing, though there's a hint of uncertainty in it. "Because I don’t ever want to lose this. I don’t ever want to lose you."

Umi's heart clenches at Kotori’s words, a wave of happiness and pain crashing over her all at once. She wants to say the words that have lingered on the edge of her tongue for so long, the words she’s kept buried deep in her heart: I love you. She aches to let Kotori know just how much she means to her, how much she’s always meant to her. But the words catch in her throat, tangled in her fear and uncertainty, refusing to come out. Then reality hits her. Of course, Kotori doesn’t want to lose her—as a friend. To honor that, to keep their bond intact, Umi realizes she has to stay in her role, to remain the good friend Kotori needs her to be.

So she just squeezes Kotori’s hand, her fingers curling around Kotori’s, holding on tightly as if afraid to let go. She looks into Kotori’s eyes, falling deeper and deeper, feeling like she’s drowning in the depth of Kotori’s gaze. She opens her mouth, the words almost slipping out, but at the last moment, she stops herself, the fear gripping her heart like a vise.

Kotori’s phone rings, breaking the spell. The sound is jarring, a sharp intrusion into the peace they’ve created. Umi watches as Kotori’s eyes flutter open, a frown creasing her forehead as she reaches for her phone. Her movements are slow and reluctant, as if she doesn’t want to leave this moment behind.

Kotori answers the call, her voice soft but strained, her eyes darting to Umi as she speaks. “Hey, Honoka,” she says, her tone light but her smile faltering at the edges. “Yeah, I’m… I’m still with Umi. We were just… having breakfast.”

Umi looks away, her gaze shifting to the horizon, her heart heavy in her chest. She knows this can’t last. She knows Kotori has to go back to the life she’s chosen, to the future that’s waiting for her. But for a brief moment, just a fleeting second, she allows herself to wish that things could be different. That they could stay here, on this beach, forever, with the sun and the sea and the sound of their laughter.

But she knows better than to hold onto impossible dreams.

So it was only for a second

The Sunset

Honoka’s car pulls up to the beach with a screech of tires, the sudden sound a violent contrast to the peaceful rhythm of the waves lapping against the shore. She parks on the road above, gravel crunching under her wheels as if echoing her tension. The vehicle casts a long shadow down the dunes, and Umi’s stomach knots with an impending sense of dread. From this distance, Honoka’s posture is rigid, her movements sharp and purposeful, her face set in a hard line. Even before she says a word, Umi can feel the anger radiating from her, a tangible force that seems to thicken the air around them.

Honoka strides down the sandy path, her gaze laser-focused on Umi and Kotori standing close together by the water’s edge. Their clothes are damp, their skin glistening with saltwater and the early morning sun. The sight of them, so comfortable and unguarded, only seems to intensify Honoka's fury. Umi’s heart sinks further, knowing that the fragile bubble of peace she had dared to enjoy is about to be shattered.

“Happy birthday,” Honoka says as she reaches them, but her voice is devoid of warmth. It’s clipped and cool, like a blade cutting through the fragile tranquility. She steps between them with purpose, her arm wrapping tightly around Kotori’s waist, pulling her close in a move that is as much about asserting control as it is about affection. The gesture is possessive, almost territorial, as if she’s staking her claim in a battle she’s already decided she must win.

“Thank you,” Umi murmurs, but her voice is barely more than a whisper, almost lost under the steady hum of the waves. She forces a smile, but it’s brittle, fragile, like it might crack under the slightest pressure. Her gaze shifts to Kotori, who looks back at her from over Honoka’s shoulder, confusion and worry written all over her face. The sight of Kotori’s concern only deepens the ache in Umi’s chest, a sharp reminder of the boundaries she can’t cross.

“We should spend the day with Umi,” Kotori says, her voice rising above the tension, a note of determination there that Umi hadn’t expected. “It’s her birthday, after all.”

Honoka’s jaw clenches visibly, the muscles working under her skin, her grip on Kotori tightening as if she’s afraid that if she lets go, Kotori will slip away. “We have wedding rehearsals,” she snaps, each word sharp and unyielding. “Everyone is waiting for us. We have responsibilities, Kotori.”

Kotori frowns, her frustration beginning to show. “But don’t they know it’s Umi’s birthday?” she argues, her tone edging towards defiance. “She’s our friend, too. She should be with us.”

Honoka turns her head slightly, her eyes flicking towards Umi with a cold, almost dismissive glance. “It’s been five years,” she says, her voice low but carrying an edge that cuts through the space between them. “Five years without a word. They don’t remember that.”

The words strike Umi like a physical blow, a harsh reminder of the time that has passed, the distance she herself created. She tries to keep her face neutral, to hold onto her composure, but inside, she feels the sting of regret, a familiar ache that gnaws at the edges of her heart.

But Kotori isn’t giving up. She steps in front of Honoka, her hand reaching out to grab Umi’s wrist, her eyes pleading. “Umi should come with us. We’re all friends, aren’t we?”

Honoka’s patience snaps, her voice turning cold and sharp. “Kotori…”

Kotori’s brow knits together, frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why are you acting like this, Honoka? We’re all still hurting from those five years, but isn’t it time to move past it? Umi’s been our friend forever! And every time we’ve hung out recently, it’s felt… normal. Why change that now?”

Honoka’s face hardens, her eyes flashing with a sharp intensity that makes Kotori flinch. “She’s not your friend, Kotori,” she snaps, her voice like a cold blade slicing through the air. “She wants more than that. Can’t you see? She’s trying to come between us, to ruin what we have. She’s a homewrecker.” The accusation lands heavily, the words sharp and cutting, making Kotori draw back as if she’s been struck.

“Honoka, stop,” Kotori says, her voice shaky, struggling to find its strength. “That’s not fair. Umi wouldn’t do that.”

But Honoka’s eyes are like steel, unyielding and fierce. “Wouldn’t she? You spent the night with her, didn’t you? Can’t you see how she’s manipulating you, making you doubt everything? She’s trying to mess with your head, make you question us.”

Kotori’s grip on Umi’s wrist loosens, her confidence wavering as she turns to face Honoka fully, her mind clouded with confusion and hurt. “Where is all this coming from, Honoka? You know Umi isn’t like that. She’s not—she wouldn’t do that.”

Honoka steps closer, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper, every word laced with bitterness. “People change, Kotori. You think you know her, but she’s using you. She’s trying to worm her way back into your life, into all our lives, not because she cares, but to ease her own guilt. She wants to feel better about herself, that’s all.”

Kotori’s eyes flick back to Umi, pleading silently for her to say something, to refute Honoka’s words, to fight for herself. Umi feels the weight of Kotori’s gaze, the desperation in her eyes, and it takes everything in her not to reach out. But she knows she can’t. She knows that any word she says now could only cause more pain.

Honoka softens slightly, though her voice remains firm. “Kotori, please. We need to go.”

Kotori glances back at Umi, her eyes searching, almost begging. “Umi… do you want me to stay?.”

Umi’s heart wrenches at the sound of her name on Kotori’s lips, a thousand emotions surging through her at once. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, to do the right thing. “You should go,” she whispers, each word tasting bitter, like ash on her tongue. She knows it’s what needs to be said, but the pain of saying it feels unbearable, as if she’s tearing herself apart.

Kotori frowns, sensing something off in Umi’s tone, the lack of conviction in her words. She starts to speak again, but something stops her, a flicker of realization crossing her face. “Okay,” she says finally, her voice heavy with a sadness that wraps around Umi’s heart like a vice. “See you later, Umi-chan.”

Umi nods, but inside, her heart sinks deeper into despair. See you later feels like a hollow promise, one she knows will never be kept. She watches as Kotori turns and climbs into the car, her heart breaking with each step Kotori takes away from her, the distance between them growing wider and wider.

Once Kotori is inside the car, Honoka turns back to Umi, her expression hardening, eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something deeper—a raw, unfiltered pain that makes Umi’s breath hitch. The tension between them is almost unbearable, a suffocating weight pressing down on Umi’s chest, making it hard to breathe. She braces herself, knowing that whatever comes next will be anything but easy. Honoka steps further down the edge of the path, away from the car, her movements deliberate and tense. Umi follows, realizing with a jolt that they are now out of Kotori’s sight, hidden from view.

“You think you can just come back and pretend like everything’s the same?” Honoka’s voice is low, a dangerous growl that rumbles in her chest. “You think you can just show up after all this time and disrupt our lives? Do you even understand what you’re doing?”

Umi stays silent, her eyes downcast, fixed on the ground beneath her feet. She knows there’s no point in arguing, no point in defending herself. Honoka’s anger is like a storm, fierce and relentless, and Umi feels like a ship lost at sea, battered by the waves with no hope of finding shore.

Honoka steps closer, her face inches from Umi’s, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You walked away, Umi. You left Kotori, you left all of us. And now you think you can come back and act like you care? Act like you’ve always been there?”

Umi bites down hard on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to remain calm, to keep her emotions in check. Honoka’s words cut deep, each one like a dagger piercing through her defenses, leaving her vulnerable and exposed. She wants to explain, to make Honoka understand, but she knows it’s useless. She knows she’s done too much damage, caused too much pain.

“You’re a coward,” Honoka spits, her voice trembling with rage. “You’ve always been a coward. Too afraid to face your own feelings, too scared to fight for what you want. You left because you were scared, and now you’re back, pretending to be selfless, pretending to let Kotori go for her happiness. But it’s all a lie, isn’t it?”

Umi’s breath hitches in her throat, her hands trembling at her sides. She can feel the tears welling up in her eyes, but she blinks them away, refusing to let them fall. Honoka’s words are like poison, seeping into her veins, filling her with a toxic mix of guilt and shame that threatens to overwhelm her.

“You think stepping aside makes you noble?” Honoka continues, her voice rising, her anger boiling over. “You think you’re doing the right thing? You’re just being selfish, Umi. You’re only thinking about yourself, about easing your own guilt. You don’t care about Kotori. You never did.”

Umi flinches at the accusation, the words hitting her like a physical blow. She wants to argue, to shout that it’s not true, that she’s always cared, that she’s always loved Kotori in her own way. But the words won’t come, stuck in her throat, choked by her own sense of failure.

Honoka’s eyes narrow, her expression hardening further. “And you know what hurts the most? I asked Kotori to stay. I was there for Kotori. I was the one who stayed, who picked up the pieces after you left. I’ve been the one to love her, to be there for her through everything. And now you think you can just waltz back in and take her away?”

Umi looks up, meeting Honoka’s gaze, and she sees the raw pain in her eyes, the fear and desperation simmering just beneath the surface. She knows that fear. She’s lived with it, too. But she also knows that she can’t change how she feels, that she can’t just turn off her love for Kotori like a switch.

"Do you even know what it's like?" Honoka's voice breaks, a tremor running through her as tears fill her eyes. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to watch you try to tear apart what Kotori and I have built together? After everything we've been through? Aren't we friends, Umi? Weren't we best friends?" Her voice is raw with betrayal, a desperate plea for understanding and the hurt of being let down by someone she once trusted completely.

Umi feels her heart splinter at Honoka’s words, the weight of her pain crashing over her like a tidal wave. The guilt is crushing, a suffocating force pressing down on her chest. She knows she doesn’t deserve Kotori, doesn’t deserve Honoka, doesn’t deserve anything at all. But no matter how hard she tries, she can't change the way she feels. She can't undo the love that's been quietly growing inside her for years, even though she’s done everything she can to bury it.

Honoka sees the truth in Umi’s eyes, the love she’s fought so hard to conceal, and it makes her blood boil. The silence only fuels her rage, burning hotter with each passing second. “Well, speak up!” she demands, her voice breaking under the strain of her anger and betrayal. The lack of response shatters something inside her, the words catching in her throat and turning to ash. Without thinking, she pulls back her fist and slams it into Umi’s jaw. The blow lands with a sickening thud, sending Umi stumbling back, but she doesn’t cry out. She doesn’t even flinch. She just stands there, absorbing the pain, letting it roll over her in waves, accepting it as if it’s a deserved punishment.

“You don’t deserve her,” Honoka snarls, her voice trembling with raw emotion. “You never have, and you never will.”

Umi keeps her head down, eyes fixed on the ground, each word sinking into her like a dagger. She feels the truth of Honoka's words deep in her bones, knows she’s right—that she doesn't deserve Kotori’s love, has never deserved it. But understanding doesn’t lessen the ache in her chest, doesn’t make the pain any easier to bear.

Honoka’s breaths come in jagged bursts, her chest rising and falling as she struggles to contain her anger. “You’re nothing but a coward, Umi,” she continues, her voice breaking under the weight of her frustration. “A coward who always runs away when things get hard, who can’t even confront her own feelings. You don’t deserve Kotori. You don’t deserve me.”

Umi feels the tears burning in her eyes, but she blinks them away, refusing to let them fall. She knows she’s made mistakes, knows she’s hurt people, but she’s also tried to do the right thing, to protect Kotori from her own feelings, to keep her from getting caught in the crossfire of her own confusion.

But Honoka’s words cut deeper than any knife, slicing through the thin veneer of strength she’s tried to maintain. She feels the sting of her own cowardice, the weight of her own fear, pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of the waves.

Honoka’s face is twisted with rage, her eyes blazing with a fury that seems almost unbearable. Her fists are clenched tightly at her sides, her knuckles white, every muscle in her body taut with anger and frustration. "If you ruin this for us," she warns, her voice quivering with fury, each word a lash that cuts through the tense air between them, "if you come between us, I swear, Umi, I’ll never forgive you."

Umi nods slowly, her heart breaking with every word Honoka throws at her. The truth of those words is like a weight pressing down on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She’s caused enough pain, stirred up enough confusion. She knows she needs to step back, to let go of everything she’s held onto for so long, even if it tears her apart inside.

“Okay,” she agrees quietly, the word barely more than a whisper that gets lost in the roar of the waves behind her. It’s the hardest thing she’s ever had to say, the final resignation that seals her fate.

Honoka stares at her for what feels like an eternity, her chest rising and falling with the force of her emotions. Her face is a mixture of anger and something else—a pain that cuts just as deeply, a fear of losing what she loves most. She finally steps back, her gaze never leaving Umi’s face, as if searching for any sign of resistance, any hint that Umi might still fight. But there is none.

A tear escapes from Honoka’s eye, and she wipes it away roughly with the back of her hand, her expression hardening into a mask of cold determination. "Stay away from her," she says, her voice as cold and unyielding as stone. "You don’t belong in her life anymore."

Umi nods again, feeling the heavy weight of those words settle deep in her chest. She knows Honoka is right, knows that she doesn’t belong, that she never truly did. But knowing doesn’t make it any easier to bear. The ache in her heart grows with every passing second, a deep, hollow pain that threatens to consume her.

"Don’t you come to the wedding," Honoka adds, her voice sharp and unyielding like the edge of a knife, cutting through any hope Umi might have had left.

As Honoka turns on her heel and makes her way back up the sandy path to the car, Umi stands frozen, watching her go. The sound of Honoka’s footsteps fades into the distance, mingling with the soft rush of the ocean waves. She watches as the car pulls away, as Honoka and Kotori disappear down the road, leaving her alone on the beach, with nothing but the vast, endless expanse of sea stretching out before her like an empty void.

The wind picks up, carrying with it a salty mist that clings to her skin, mingling with the tears that finally spill over. A single tear slips down her cheek, caught by the breeze, disappearing into the infinite stretch of the ocean. She stands there, feeling the weight of her solitude, the crushing realization of everything she’s lost pressing down on her like a suffocating blanket. The beach feels colder, lonelier, and the ache in her chest spreads, a hollow echo in the vast emptiness that surrounds her.

Chapter End