The funeral of my friend, Misaki Asami, was held on a day that didn't suit her at all—at a place of death that didn't fit the person she was when she was alive.
As if trying to validate the meaning of her existence, people were busy draining their tears there. It was the same during the wake last night—which I didn't attend at all. I chose to stay at home instead. After all, it had nothing to do with me.
Of course, I am just a high school student. We came from different places, different environments, and we were supposed to have different lives. Because of these differences, no one could compel me to attend her funeral. Even if she had asked for it herself, I wouldn't have gone.
My parents were busy working. I only ate whatever was available at home, leaving my room merely as a formality to nourish my body before returning to my sanctuary. Without realizing it, under the neon light of my room, I had already read through half of that book.
Lately, I could often be found reading in my room, with papers scattered across the floor. What I was reading wasn't some poetic book filled with empty words, nor was it a common romance novel for teenagers my age.
As a student, I should have been at school, but her funeral happened to fall during the mid-semester break. So, I only intended to stay in my room to finish what I had started. It wouldn't be accurate to say that I am currently feeling a sense of loss or emptiness because of a dead friend—not in the slightest.
I continued my reading while sitting on my bed. I placed the book on my white pillow. It felt only natural for me to spend my time here; after all, she was the only girl who ever—invited me out.
Suddenly, the phone rang. For a moment, I ignored it and kept reading. It rang again. I opened my flip phone and felt forced to answer.
"Shiba, I've put the food on the dining table. Don't forget to eat."
"Yeah," I replied flatly.
I ended the call. I resumed reading while lying down on the piles of paper. I flipped page after page in that book, only to find a bitter fact—a single sentence that made me doubt everything I had known.
"If we were together, would the distance be too great?"
Would the distance be too great?
I closed the book, intending to return it. I walked toward her house. To put it simply, I returned the book to her mother.
Back in my room, I looked again at the writings on the papers scattered across the floor. None of the stories felt right to describe it all.
I opened my flip phone—staring at the message she never read. "I want to live with you."
I didn't know if that message ever reached her, or what her reaction would have been.
I eventually fell asleep while thinking about that hope. I hoped...
That I would meet her in a different fate—perhaps.
Idiot...!