It was never my intention to kiss her from the start. I had meant to catch her off guard a little and ease the tension, but the moment I saw her playing the piano with Sio on her mind, my reason abandoned me entirely. My head went distant with the thought of erasing every trace of Sio from her music, from her history, from her body. Before I even realized it, I was kissing her.

The lips that met mine were warmer than I expected. I tried to feel her more deeply, but the moment I understood that this person now within my reach could never be mine, and that I would never touch this warmth again, everything turned sorrowful. Even after I turned away pretending nothing had happened, the sorrow did not leave. It settled quietly in a corner of my heart and stayed.

Sometimes hoping, sometimes disappointed. I circled around her for a long time. All the while, I asked myself again and again what this feeling toward her was, but in truth I already knew what name fit it. Perhaps from the very first moment I became aware of her, all the way until now. That name had never once changed.

I was simply afraid. The moment I gave that feeling a name, I sensed I would be swept away by it, storm that it was, and never be able to return to the adequate, peaceful life I had known before.

I could not begin something I could already see the end of. I wanted neither the frustration of an unfulfilled longing nor the sorrow of standing behind someone else again. So I made a decision. I would never give this feeling a name. And I would wait for this storm, like the wind that once blew through my childhood, to quietly disappear without a trace.

“Hey, move out of the way, quickly!”

The plaza I arrived at in one breathless run was in chaos. The massive sculpture at its center had been shattered beyond recognition, its pieces scattered across the ground, and the buildings surrounding the plaza were thick with black soot that told the story well enough. But what unsettled me most were the red bloodstains splashed across the ground in every direction. I grabbed a man in a white coat rushing past me and asked after Danyu.

“Was there a woman with red hair among the patients?”

“I think there might have been a couple. Things are mostly wrapped up here, so there are no patients left. Have a look around first, and if she’s not here, try the central hospital. All the casualties were taken there.”

He looked over the plaza, which was mostly cleared, explained this, then quickened his pace and disappeared among his colleagues. True to his word, only a handful of people with minor injuries remained in the plaza, receiving treatment from doctors on the scene. Which meant everyone with serious injuries had been taken to the hospital.

I searched the faces of the people slumped here and there across the plaza, but not even a head of red hair resembling Danyu’s caught my eye. Anxiety made my hands and feet go cold.

I turned and headed for the hospital the man had directed me to. I had run without stopping from the school to the plaza, and my breath had climbed all the way to my throat, but whether it was the grim imaginings crowding my head, I felt no sense of physical strain. I pressed down the unease as best I could and kept moving.

The hospital I arrived at with a tangled heart was louder than the plaza. It was always full of patients, but I had never seen it this chaotic. That alone told me how many people had been caught up in the accident. The noise of screams and crying mixed together and rang in my ears. I pushed through the crowd packed from the entrance and searched for the nurse at the reception desk, but they were already overwhelmed by the unrelenting stream of people.

Before I even finished thinking that checking with my own eyes would be faster than asking anyone, my feet were already carrying me through the hospital. Every time a flash of red hair appeared among the people lying on beds and chairs with groans of pain, relief and worry traded places inside me. But Danyu was nowhere to be found.

Where on earth was she? My thoughts grew tangled. I had assumed she had been caught up in the accident and that was why she had not come to my lesson, but in truth there were plenty of other reasons she might not have appeared before me. 

Something as simple as not feeling like it, or not wanting to see me. We were nothing to each other, the kind of nothing where we could just as easily not meet for reasons that trivial. Accepting that was a deeply wretched feeling, but in that moment I found myself hoping she had vanished for exactly that kind of reason.

“My, did someone contact you too?”

“Mother.”

I was wandering through the hospital in a daze when a familiar voice reached me. I turned in surprise to find my mother looking up at me blankly, a bandage wrapped around her leg. Her hair and clothes were disheveled in a way wholly unlike her, though the way she held herself in her seat was as upright as ever.

“Judging by your face, it doesn’t seem like anyone contacted you. Did someone you know get caught up in this?”

“Yes. But are you badly hurt? Your leg.”

“There’s no need to make a fuss. It’s nothing serious.”

My mother waved her hand in her characteristically composed tone. The moment I met that firmness, my mouth went stiff. Ever since I gave up hoping for warmth from her, I had often lost my words in moments like this. Not knowing what to say to satisfy her, I had simply decided to say nothing.

I had never asked her opinion on that, but I at least believed she found it quite agreeable. Every time I pressed my lips shut and looked at her like this, a smile would appear on her face that was not there before, just as it did now.

“In any case, it has been a while. You moved out the moment you became an assistant professor, so it has been a few years now. Send your regards in person, not by letter. We live in the same capital, and you write letters like strangers. What would people think?”

“I’m sorry. Between the recitals and the work at school, I’ve been pulled in too many directions. I’ll come by more often from now on.”

There was not much sincerity in the words. It was true I had been busy, but if I had truly set my mind to it, I could have found time to go home. Even so, I had stayed away from my family home for years, and my mother had not come looking for me either. It was a rather bleak relationship for a mother and son, but it was what we were used to.

“At any rate, I had something to tell you, so this works out well. It’s not the right place for this conversation, but I won’t be able to see you for a while with everything going on, so I’ll say it here. A marriage proposal has come in for you.”

The word marriage proposal lodged itself in the middle of the otherwise unremarkable conversation. I was so caught off guard that my eyes went wide. It had never occurred to me that another family would bring up marriage first, not unless I sought it out myself.

I already had a history of a broken engagement. Even when a match falls apart due to the other party’s circumstances, these things are generally treated as a problem on both sides, and so after the engagement with the Astrid family fell through, I had been living quietly without any contact with other families. In the meantime, friends my age had been starting families one by one, and my mother had grown increasingly anxious about it.

“As I’ve said before, I have no intention of marrying yet.”

“Yuliann got married at twenty-one and already has a child. You’re far too late as it is. They’re suggesting an engagement this autumn and a ceremony around next year. I thought it was a reasonable proposal and agreed.”

“Mother! You said nothing to me about this!”

“We’re in a hospital. Lower your voice. Do you think your mother would agree to something without looking into it carefully first? All you need to do is say you’ll go along with it. You’ve always been agreeable about everything, so why are you suddenly acting like this?”

At her words, I lost my voice again and pressed my lips shut. Under normal circumstances I would have nodded along and left it at that, but strangely, I had no desire to do so this time. I bit down on my lip and ran a rough hand through my hair.

“You made me this way, Mother.”

“What?”

“You made me this way. You made it so the only answer I could give was yes to everything.”

My mother’s eyes went wide at the repeated words. It must have been a rebellion she never anticipated. I held her gaze steadily as she stared at me with her mouth open, and kept going.

“But I cannot do that this time. You made this decision without asking my opinion, so you can be the one to undo it.”

“Astaire.”