“You and I were lost children right from the start—but in this world, most children are. That’s why I needed someone to tell me they loved me, even just once.”
“That makes sense.”
Even if fate had stolen everything from them—even if the words and memories disappeared—children who knew love would one day find happiness again. What Momoka left behind for them had helped lead them to this conclusion.
“That’s why we were left behind.”
“Classic Tabuki-kun.” She smiled quietly. “I really love you.”
“I love you, too.” And everything you’ve ever loved, he added silently.
Neither of them had lived perfect, pristine lives, but their fates were deeply entwined, bringing them together in the end. Yuri’s loose curls swayed as she reached out from under the blanket, searching for his hand. She found it near his stomach and grasped it firmly.
“Yuri, you’re freezing,” Tabuki murmured on reflex, concerned.
“No, you’re just burning up,” she shot back, pouting.
With a wry smile, Tabuki decided to make a cup of tea for his cold-sensitive wife. It was nothing fancy, but it was warm.
Setting aside the hospital’s carefully regulated air conditioning, I was pretty sure everything was colder before I suffered that bizarre accident. Right now, however, the sky above the courtyard was clear and blue, like someone painted it with a single stroke of their paintbrush; every time the wind rustled the branches on the cherry blossom trees, more petals rained down onto my lap.
The doctor was worried I suffered some sort of memory loss, so they ran a bunch of tests, but ultimately couldn’t find any problems. But it wasn’t just me—neither my aunt nor my uncle could tell me why I had gone to Ikebukuro Station in the first place.
“Himari-chan!”
I could see Ringo-chan racing over to me in her blue polka-dot pajamas, reminiscent of soap bubbles. Smiling, I adjusted the hem of my peach-pink nightgown. Over the past three days since we first arrived at this hospital, the two of us became fast friends. She was an outgoing girl slightly older than me whose biggest talent was making curry.
“Hi, Ringo-chan. How’d it go?” I asked casually. Neither of us was worried about the results of our tests.
“Zilch. I’m as fit as a fiddle, they said!”
She struck a victory pose, and I giggled. Other than the cut on my forehead and the light burn on her back, there were no clues explaining how we had passed out.
“Were you admiring the cherry blossoms?” she asked as she sat down next to me.
“Yup.”
Silence fell between us for a moment.
“Will you teach me how to knit? Although I guess it’s getting a little too warm to be wearing scarves anyhow.” She reached out and scooped up a fallen petal.
“I don’t mind. As long as you teach me how to make a good curry.”
There was a lot we still didn’t know about each other, but we didn’t mind at all. In fact, we suspected that perhaps fate had brought us together at Ikebukuro.
“I’m gonna need to pack up soon. My aunt and uncle are coming to get me,” I murmured absently.
“Me, too. My mom said she’s gonna leave work early to pick me up.”
We both had our own separate lives to get back to, but somehow it felt so natural, watching TV and flipping through magazines together. It was strange to think I’d be going back to a life without her—and I was sure she felt the same way—but I didn’t know how to convey it in words. On a whim, I reached up and touched the wound on my forehead. Under the big adhesive bandage was a series of sutures that were scheduled to be removed in a few days’ time.
“The flowers are really pretty.”
Unwilling to get up just yet, I turned my attention back to the trees.
“Yeah.”
The petals were starting to pile up in her lap, too.
Natsume Masako sat on a bench in the gazebo out behind the mansion, and believe it or not, she was dozing off. The lukewarm breeze was caressing her curls, and the book she was holding was threatening to slip right out of her hands. Each time her head slumped, she lost track of whether the gentle touch she felt was reality or a dream.
“Oneesama?” Her younger brother Mario, who was playing in the yard, came over and peered at her. “You can’t sleep out here or you’ll get sick.”
Masako snapped back to her senses and stared intently at the boy in front of her. He was smiling slightly, and his palms were covered in mud.
“Oh…y-yes, you’re right.” Adjusting her curls with one hand, she straightened her posture. Spring came swiftly this year, and it was already too warm for a coat.
“Mario-san, are you feeling all right?”
“Huh? What are you talking about, Oneesama?” He tilted his head.
“It’s nothing, don’t worry. Goodness, my mind must be playing tricks on me. Must have been that dream I had.” She looked at the cherry blossom petals piled at her feet.
“What kind of dream?” Mario asked, toying with his muddy hands.
“A very strange dream indeed. It was freezing cold, and our older brother was there,” she laughed, amused at the absurdity of her statement.
“What older brother?”
“My twin.”
“Hmmm… So he was just like you?” Mario asked, eyes sparkling with curiosity.
“No, not at all. He was a clumsy, clueless person. He would always put himself on the back burner, and he would never outright ask for the attention he so craved. But deep down, he always remembered the words that mattered most.”
The top of her head felt vaguely warm, right in the spot where his hand had touched her during the dream.
“But at the very least, he told me he loved and cherished me as his one and only sister.”
“Are you crying, Oneesama?” Hastily, Mario reached into the pocket of his corduroy shorts and pulled out a handkerchief…instantly soiling it with his muddy fingers. “Oh…sorry…”
“That’s all right. I wonder what’s gotten into me…” Masako wiped her tears away with her fingers and let out a heavy sigh. “Now go wash your hands. It’s time for our afternoon tea.”
“Okay!” he answered cheerfully, then raced off into the house.