Side Story: Shizuku’s Wish
THE deafening rhythm of my heart filled my ears, darkness swallowed my vision, and a chilling numbness spread through me. In that moment, I couldn’t even tell if I was standing or sitting.
This overwhelming sensation was the reaction I, Shizuku Sato, experienced upon learning I had less than three years to live. Until that point, I had been just your average manga-loving teenager. At the time, there was a certain manga I’d been particularly enamored with—a poignant love story between a boy and a girl, the latter afflicted with a grave illness. The heroine, acutely aware of her limited time, embraced life with vigor, living each day as if it were her last. After falling deeply in love with the boy, her sole wish was to extend her fleeting life. However, despite a valiant effort through an unsuccessful operation, she departed from this world with grace and dignity.
That tender, ephemeral love story had once been my favorite. But after receiving my own diagnosis of an incurable disease, it transformed into the narrative I most despised.
I didn’t want to die. Nor did I want to live every day like it was my last. During the New Year, all I wanted was to lie around, rest, and do absolutely nothing. As summer approached, my only wish was to lounge in a nice, cool, air-conditioned room. But reality was rarely ever so kind. My health deteriorated day by day, and soon, I found myself in a hospital bed. Sure, now I could lie around and do nothing to my heart’s content, but this idleness quickly became my sole option. I was perpetually exhausted, drained of energy, and it wasn’t long before even the short journey to the nearest convenience store became an insurmountable task.
I was sad, frustrated, angry. An angry ball of negative emotions that cursed the world for my cruel existence.
My sister Mio, however, was all smiles, all the time. Every day she would come visit me after school, say like two things to me, then leave. I loved my sister, but I was acutely aware of her popularity. She had friends to meet, other people eagerly awaiting her company. If not that, then she had to study, diligently preparing herself for her future.
A future without me.
Each moment was a precious commodity to me, yet it seemed insignificant to Mio. Her fleeting visits, the routine of appearing and disappearing, soon began to irk me. Over time, this annoyance morphed into bitterness whenever she entered the room.
One day, as our mother came for a visit, I couldn’t contain my brewing resentment any longer. In a hushed, but fervent tone, I confessed, “I hate her.”
But our mother, she only met my outburst with a gaze full of empathy and understanding. “Shizuku,” she began gently, “your sister didn’t want me to tell you, but I believe it’s only right that you know the truth.”
What she revealed next left me speechless: since my hospitalization, the comfort of a private room had been made possible because our family was covering the additional private room surcharge. I remembered the concept from the manga I had read—it was an extra fee not covered by our national health insurance to guarantee the privilege of a private room. But it wasn’t always necessary. Sometimes, if you were lucky and there were vacant rooms available, you could get a private room without paying anything extra. I believed that was our situation, a result of sheer luck, just as Mio had told me.
“But Mio said we were just lucky…” I muttered, my voice full of confusion.
Mom shook her head. “We’ve been able to afford the surcharge because…Mio has been paying for it.”
“Huh?”
What she said made no sense. How could a middle schooler come up with tens or even hundreds of thousands of yen each month for my hospital stay? But then, pieces of Mio’s recent behavior started to click. “After she visits me—where does she go?”
“Do you remember Kaede?” Mom said.
“Yeah, the cousin who runs a café?” A sudden realization hit me. “You don’t mean…”
Mom nodded solemnly. “The school granted her special permission, and Mio has been working at the café. It was entirely her idea.”
“You’re kidding…”
Mio always came to see me directly after school. All this time, I’d assumed she spent her subsequent hours hanging out with friends, not working a part-time job. And a part-time job for my sake at that. And in that narrow window of time between school and work, she made it a point to see me. Here I was, resenting the brevity of her visits, all the while completely oblivious to the sacrifices she was making. In reality, I was the one who failed to appreciate the precious moments we shared.
“I’m not,” Mom said gently. “So, try not to be too hard on her, okay?”
Her words struck a chord, reminding me of my earlier, harsh outburst. “I…I’m sorry. I had no idea…”
“It’s all right, dear. You couldn’t have known.”
“I just… I thought she didn’t care about me…”
“I know, dear, I know. You just wanted more of her time, and there’s nothing wrong in wanting that.”
Each time I tried to justify my feelings, Mom countered with kindness, affirming that it was okay to feel as I did. But deep down, I knew she was being overly generous. I should have been the one to understand Mio’s affection more than anyone else. Yet, in my vulnerability, I let doubt cloud my judgment and questioned her love and intentions.
A meager, half-hearted apology was all that came out before the tears overwhelmed me.
“Shizuku. You have nothing to apologize for,” Mom whispered softly. “The fault lies with us, your father and I, for not being able to provide sufficiently for our daughters. This burden, this guilt, it isn’t yours to bear.”
Succumbing to the flood of emotions, I fell into her arms, wailing loudly and shamefully, unbecoming for a girl of my age.