I wished I had some witty remark to offer her. All boys in high school would be better served by learning not equations in math, not the past-progressive tense in English, but words to comfort a girl when she was suffering in front of them. Society would be far better that way. That wasn’t actually how things worked, though, so I didn’t know how to help her. I could only bite my lip and stand there pathetically.
An awkward silence hung between us for a while. Finally, Nito shook her head as if to clear it and forced her face up, pasting on the biggest smile she could manage.
“Sorry about that. I’m taking advantage of you again. Just forget about it.”
It didn’t feel right to accept her apology. I wanted to apologize myself, in fact, for having nothing better to tell her.
“I don’t think you’re taking advantage at all,” I answered eventually.
“Even though I know there’s no easy solution or answer to this, I’m still bothering you with it,” she replied firmly.
Nito looked down the corridor. The setting sun shining in from outside created floating islands of light in front of each window, glowing at even intervals down its length. The curtains on the few slightly open windows were swaying in the breeze. For a long moment, Nito just stood and took it in.
“This weather is a gorgeous sight...” she said eventually.
“That’s an interesting way of putting it. Couldn’t you just say it’s good weather?”
“The weather being clear and comfortable doesn’t necessarily mean it’s good, I don’t think.”
I voiced my agreement. The weather didn’t care about our feelings. No matter how depressed you got, the sky could stay disgustingly blue and bright. Those clear days themselves sometimes felt depressing, especially at times like this.
“Can I do some painting?” she asked. “That is, if you’ve got no plans for us.”
“Of course you can,” I answered.
Painting was a big part of Nito’s life, and I knew it was also a way she could get her feelings and thoughts in order. Even I needed time to calm myself and think things through.
She went back to our room, then left the temple with her bag of materials on her back and her easel propped over her shoulder, probably headed off to find something to paint. I went back to the room as well, but I didn’t set about to do anything in particular like she had. I fished my phone out of my bag and sat down in the chair. I could have passed hours like that if I’d had an internet connection, but all I had now was my little metal box, without all the bells and whistles. I could play whatever music I had downloaded, take notes, and look back on the few photos I had, but not much else.
I picked a song at random, the familiar Japanese pop music clashing with the surreal scenery of another world. Just as I started to think about maybe copying Charolles and inspecting the Kettle, there was a knock at the door. It was ajar, so that seemed strange. When I turned to look, I saw Jill standing in the doorway.