That day

I don’t even know why I started telling it.

Maybe it was the rooftop. The night. The way Tokyo glowed like a map of all the places I couldn’t go back to.

But the words came anyway. One by one.

“There were two times he really left me,” I said, softly. “Two times it broke.”

Ryoji didn’t speak. Just listened—that kind of quiet that makes you feel like your voice actually matters.

“Kyoshi…”

“He was my first love.”

I looked straight ahead, fingers tightening on the soda can. My shoulders were already curled in, like I was bracing for a hit I knew was coming.

“Not just a crush. Not the butterflies kind. He was… everything, back then.”

I took a breath, hoping it would help. It didn’t.

“We were stupid and close and always laughing at stuff no one else found funny. The kind of friendship you think can outrun time just because it’s yours.”

My voice softened.

“Shizuka was the one who balanced us. My best friend. The one who saw everything—and didn’t always say it.” I shook my head. “Smart. Dry. The kind of girl who made me braver just by being around.”

I swallowed.

“The three of us were always together. Like some coming-of-age cliché we actually believed in.”

A sound escaped—half a breath, half a laugh.

“And maybe… some part of me still does.”

I paused.

“The first time he left was at the school courtyard. The last day.”

I stared into the wind like I could still see it—the cracked tiles, the sun bleeding through the gym windows, the sound of everything moving forward except me.

“He said he was going up north. Shizuka too. They both got into that university… far from here. He said it was for their future. That it was just for a while.”

I shook my head.

“But it wasn’t just time. It was space. Distance. He was already leaving—he just didn’t have the words yet.”

I swallowed hard.

“I thought I could wait. That maybe if I did something amazing, I could still reach him.”

I drew a shaky breath. “So I trained. Every day. Alone. No partners, no spotlight. Just sweat and mirrors and this stubborn belief that if I made prima… if I became something—he’d notice.”

My voice caught.

“I made it. First name on the poster.”

I gave a broken laugh. “I even bought his favorite snacks. Those weird crunchy ones from the shop near school. I went to see him the night he got back. I was so excited. Like a kid. I was sure he’d be proud.”

I paused, staring at my hands.

“He came down. I told him everything. About the role. About the performance.”

And then I closed my eyes, because I could still see it too clearly.

“He didn’t say anything.”

I felt the tears starting to rise again, slow and sharp.

“He just turned around. Walked away. Left me standing there with the snacks and the poster in my bag. He didn’t even look back.”

The silence between us thickened. I didn’t care if it was awkward anymore.

“And then it started raining.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “You know the kind. The kind that doesn’t fall—it soaks. That presses into your clothes, your skin, your chest.”

I wiped at my cheek, uselessly.

“I waited. For hours. Outside his building. I thought maybe he just needed a minute. Maybe he’d come back.”

My voice trembled. “He didn’t.”

I turned slightly toward Ryoji, but couldn’t meet his eyes.

“My dad was still in Hokkaido. On business. I went home alone. Again. Just this tiny apartment and the bag and the rain.”

A pause. A breath.

“I cried. For days. Then I danced anyway. Cried through practice. Smiled on stage. Nobody knew. Nobody could know.”

I leaned forward now, my forehead nearly brushing my knees.

“But the worst part—the part I hate the most…”

I looked down at the rooftop, voice so small I barely recognized it.

“I called after him. As I always used to. As he left. I said…”

A sharp breath.

“Darling.”

The word slipped out like a wound.

“That was the last time I ever said it.”

And then—he moved.

Ryoji, who’d been still the whole time, just… moved.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just put one arm around me, slow and steady, and pulled me in. Like it was instinct. Like I might break apart otherwise.

I didn’t fight it. I just leaned into him. Because I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

His hand rested gently behind my head, anchoring me. And when he finally spoke, his voice was low and strained: “I’m sorry.”

Not out of pity.

Not out of duty.

It was real.

Raw.

And in that moment, I wasn’t the girl who got left at the door. Or the one who danced alone.

I was just Natsumi.

And I was finally allowed to cry.