When I was in high school, I was a happy-go-lucky kid with no direction and a totally unrealistic view of the world.
I’m still plagued by that lack of direction to a certain extent, but when I look back at my old self from a more mature perspective, it’s obvious that I had absolutely no opinions of my own.
I found it easier to go along with what other people decided and hated thinking about anything too deeply.
My nature earned me average grades, and while I joined the literature club—a cultural group that didn’t require any particular practice or effort—I basically never participated.
Until my second year of high school, I had no doubts about myself and was more or less content. Actually, I don’t think it even occurred to me to question whether I was content.
It wasn’t until the summer of that year that I began to have second thoughts.
There was a boy I got on particularly well with—you might say we were on the same wavelength. Unlike me, he was the type to say exactly what was on his mind, and although he was a bit of a class loner, I enjoyed talking with him.
Our conversations were full of humor, and I enjoyed them immensely—even if all I did was nod along.
Thinking back on it now, it’s surprising that our relationship never turned romantic, considering how much time we spent together. After meeting as freshmen, we maintained a friendship that was neither super close nor especially distant.
Then, in the summer of our second year, he told me about his plans for the future.
“I’m thinking of studying abroad next year,” he told me.
My eyes went wide.
The words study and abroad spun around inside my head, the reality of what they meant not really sinking in.
“You’re going overseas?”
“Yeah. I’m thinking I’ll spend a year attending high school, then enroll in college there, too.”
“Wow… Cool,” I replied. This was the most enthusiastic response I could muster, given the suddenness of his announcement. “That’s great. Going abroad sounds nice.”
I nodded, and I’ll never forget how happy he looked when he answered me back.
“So you’ll root for me?!”
This was the first time during one of our conversations that I didn’t feel like agreeing.
I think we were able to get along so well because his strong initiative compensated for my total lack of one.
Even if I didn’t bring up any topics of my own, he was still happy to talk with me. I enjoyed chatting with him, too—I didn’t feel any pressure. Until the topic of studying abroad came up, I’d never put much thought into the differences between us.
As a result, I felt like he was abandoning me out of the blue.
He seemed like a very impressive person. What was I in comparison?
I’d never made a single decision on my own—I’d only ever done what others told me.
I suddenly felt ashamed.
That was when the impulsive urge to run away overcame me.
Looking back, I was a total idiot.
I told my parents I was going to stay with a friend, packed a few changes of clothes I could mix and match and some underwear, and strode out the door.
Such a poorly planned escape was bound to go badly. That first day, I bought and ate snacks whenever I felt hungry and began the arduous task of wandering around the city on foot. At first, I was pretty excited, but—being easily bored and having zero determination—I soon grew accustomed to the unusual situation and began focusing on only the painful parts, such as my tired legs.
By the end of the day, I was completely exhausted and wound up standing around aimlessly, leaning against a sidewalk guardrail amid the hustle and bustle of the city.
Just as I was thinking about whether to go home, someone called out to me.
“Hey, you’re way too cute to be alone.”
It was a pickup line. I was suddenly surrounded by three men who were clearly older than me. I sensed their eyes drifting toward my chest, and it freaked me out.
I ignored them and tried to get away, but one of the three men grabbed my arm. His grip was so strong, I wanted to scream, but I managed to stop myself.
“There’s no need to run away,” he said. “We just want to hang out.”
This crass invitation was like something out of a manga, and it made me even more uncomfortable. But being hemmed in by three brawny men was so frightening that I couldn’t work up the courage to fight back.
I wanted to say no, but I was too scared to speak. However, at that very moment, someone else appeared.
“What are you doing out, Megumi? It’s past your curfew.”
A man in a suit appeared from behind me and patted me on the shoulder.
I’d never met him before.
“Your mother’s really mad. You’d better hurry home.”
“O-okay…but…”
Once I realized he was trying to help me, I managed to squeeze out a few words. Then the man in the suit glared at the three guys and said, “Did you need something from my daughter?”
“O-oh… You’re her dad?”
“Let’s get outta here.”
The three of them were obviously shaken and hurried away.
The man in the suit watched them leave, then turned to look at me.
“You’ve got to firmly refuse when you find yourself in a situation like that,” he said. “Take care.”
After that brief piece of advice, he turned to leave. For some reason, though, I found myself calling out to stop him.
“Excuse me!”
He turned back to look at me, a little peeved, and asked what I wanted.
To this day, I still don’t know where I found the courage to do what I did.
But at that moment, I managed to face him and say:
“I…don’t have a home to go back to.”
Although he’d looked visibly annoyed at first, his reply came easier than I’d expected.
“Well, I guess you can come to my place for now.”
When I asked him for his name, he only told me his surname—Suzuki.
Mr. Suzuki was the head teacher at a cram school well-known among local students. He had a wife and a child in the second grade.
When I first turned up at Mr. Suzuki’s house, his wife was incredibly surprised, and they ended up having a small argument. Eventually, Mr. Suzuki was able to convince his wife by saying I’d stay only until things had blown over at home.
Thinking back on it now, Mr. Suzuki was taking a huge risk. At the time, however, I didn’t give it much thought. I was just happy that such a nice person had taken me in.
I spent about a month at their house without a care in the world.
Mr. Suzuki’s wife was a lovely woman, and I really enjoyed helping her cook and do the housework. Even their son was quite fond of me, and we played and took baths together.
I was an only child, and both of my parents had busy jobs, so these were new experiences for me. I felt very fulfilled that first month.
There was just one problem. I foolishly managed to fall in love with Mr. Suzuki.
I don’t remember what triggered it. Perhaps I only felt that way because I’d first met him under such extraordinary circumstances.
He was very handsome, had a great sense of humor, and was extremely kind. His wife told me his conduct was flawless, and he was quite popular among his students as well.
Over the course of the month I spent living with him, my feelings steadily grew.
But he was married. He even had a son. I knew how well Mr. Suzuki and his wife got along, and I would sometimes wake up in the night and hear them doing what couples do.
My feelings for Mr. Suzuki grew stronger, but I cared too deeply for both him and his wife to admit my feelings. As hard as it was, I tried my best to keep the intense emotions of my first love bottled up inside.
And then, a month into my stay, our situation drastically changed.
One night, I woke up, left the room they had lent me, and headed for the washroom. That was when I overheard Mr. Suzuki and his wife talking in the living room next door.
“Strange rumors are going around. I don’t think we can keep this up forever.”
“I know, but we can’t just throw her out on the street.”
“We need to talk to her soon and find a way to convince her to go home…before it ruins our lives. They’ve already asked the police to look for her.”
Upon hearing this, I went back to my room in a panic.
I opened the laptop the couple had lent me for entertainment, typed my name and “missing person” into the search bar, and there it was—a missing person request with a picture of my face on it.
I was suddenly terrified.
What if the strange rumors they’d mentioned were about Mr. Suzuki luring a high school girl into his home? Once I started thinking, my imagination shot off in all sorts of bad directions.