I could hear her getting closer to breaking down with every word.
“So I ran out of the house… Didn’t have any idea where to go… So I just went and wandered around near the station by myself for a while, but then… But then I…I…”
Yet try as she might, it seemed Akira just couldn’t choke out the words. All I could hear was the sound of inconsolable sobbing leaking out from beneath the covers, interspersed by the occasional convulsive gasp. In fact, the only words she said that I could make out for the entire rest of the night were simply, “It hurts…”
I wanted nothing more than to make her feel better somehow. I just didn’t know what I could possibly say to reassure her. And so as I sat there, fumbling for some convenient turn of phrase that might lift her spirits even a little, my mind wandered back to the day she and I first met. I could still remember the arrogant way in which she’d carried herself and talked down to me, even though we’d only just met. Even back then, I’d had a hunch that this was only a defense mechanism meant to conceal just how terrified she was by the timefreeze. After a series of stressful and traumatic events the night before, followed by a supernatural phenomenon the very next morning, she had probably just been putting up a tough front to keep herself from falling apart.
I felt pretty bad for Akira, and I wished there was more I could do to help. I really did want to keep her happy and safe from harm. If I’d had the power to solve all her problems with a snap of my fingers, then in that moment, I totally would have.
But I knew that saying so wouldn’t make her feel any better.
Feelings like pity and protectiveness, or a desire to solve someone else’s problems for them—while generally noble on paper—were often selfish and condescending at their core. When these sorts of heroic instincts kicked in, it could even be seen as a tacit admission that you didn’t believe the other party was strong or capable enough to fend for themselves, whether they actually needed your help or not. While not the worst thing in the world, it was definitely not a sentiment born of genuine mutual respect. At least, I was pretty sure Akira would interpret it that way.
So instead of offering empty reassurances that she’d only take offense to, I simply kept my mouth shut and sat by her side. I wanted to force myself to stay up with her, at least until she’d cried out all her tears. This was, at least in my opinion, the single most considerate and respectful thing I could do for her right now.
Akira wept for about two more hours, then finally fell asleep.
We’d been squatting in the old woman’s house for three days now.
Thankfully, Akira had made a full recovery; it seemed it really was just the common cold. She had no remaining symptoms, her temperature was back to normal, and her appetite had returned as well. Still, we decided to play it safe and rest for one more day before heading back out on the road. Akira insisted she was good to go, but considering we’d be heading right back into the heart of the storm, I wanted us to be in tip-top shape.
At the moment, I was keeping myself busy wiping up the wet footprints we’d left all over the hallway with one of my personal towels. I wanted to leave as little trace of us having been here as possible, lest the old woman have a heart attack once time started moving forward again. But since it was impossible for us to get everything good as new again—like the towels we’d borrowed, which I’d just had to throw in the washing machine—I figured I’d still leave a note or something for the old woman on our way out. Maybe this would only freak her out even worse, but if she was going to notice all the little differences anyway, I’d rather she not feel like she was going crazy.
“Phew,” I said. “Think that about does it.”
Having finished wiping down the floors, I headed up to the bedroom—this time making sure to knock before opening the door. Inside, I found Akira leafing through a volume of shojo manga she’d borrowed from the bookshelf nearby. But as soon as I stepped into the room, she closed the book and lifted her head.
“Hey,” she said. “All done cleaning up?”
“Yeah, more or less.”
“Cool. Thanks for doing that. And sorry for not helping.”
Ever since her fever had gone down, I’d noticed that Akira had started saying thank you and apologizing a lot more often—about as frequently as any other person would. This was truly a momentous change, in my view. I was trying my best to act natural and not make a big deal out of it so as not to make her self-conscious, but at the same time, it made me so giddy that I couldn’t help but want to crack a smile each time it happened.
“Nah, don’t mention it,” I said. “You’re still recovering, so I want you to take it easy.”
I wrapped the towel I’d used to wipe down the floors in a plastic bag, along with all of my clothes that were still wet from the rain. Akira reached over to slide the volume of manga she’d been reading back into its slot on the bookshelf, then turned to face me.
“H-hey, um… So I’ve been thinking…” she said.
“Hm? Yeah, what’s up?”