● April 28 (Thursday) Saki Ayase

The university lecture hall was a hushed sanctuary, filled only with the steady, dry scrape of the professor’s chalk against the blackboard. Its rhythmic cadence lulled like a hypnotic chant, the emerging letters fleeting white shadows that seemed to peel away and dissolve into the air the moment they appeared. My hand, scribbling notes, wavered as if drained of strength, lacking any firm resolve.

Child. Children. Kid. Kids.

The words from that conversation with Mom echoed relentlessly in my mind, looping over and over. If you love each other and get married, it’s only natural, right? I thought I’d understood. But the moment I faced it as reality, a shapeless anxiety gripped me, as though I’d been cast into an unknown realm. What did it mean to get married? To become a family? To have children? My thoughts spiraled, ricocheting from one corner of my mind to another, consuming me before I realized it.

It was all mom’s fault, really.

That day, after talking to me and Asamura-kun about having kids, she pulled me aside and whispered, “Saki, in just two years, you’ll be the age I was when I carried you. That day isn’t far off. No matter who it’s with, I… and Taichi-san will support you. Please believe that.” Her words left my mind blank, as if the ground had vanished beneath me.

Her tone carried a quiet certainty, as though she knew I was thinking of someone I feared wouldn’t be accepted. She’d always been perceptive, but her mention of “Taichi-san too” made it unmistakable—she assumed my partner would be Asamura-kun, my stepbrother Yuuta. As expected, Mom was sharp. I might not be able to hide it any longer.

“I… with Asamura-kun—” I started, leaning forward, the “A” of his name slipping out eagerly. But Mom pressed her index finger to her lips, silencing me.

“I’m not interrogating you,” she said with a soft smile. “I just wanted to say your choices are yours, and we’ll support them. Until that day comes, I won’t ask. Cherish this time and nurture your love slowly.”

It felt like she saw through everything yet chose to leave it unspoken. That’s unfair, I thought. But perhaps this was an adult’s kindness. I’d always believed being an adult meant laying all your cards on the table, aligning perfectly with someone. But the world wasn’t so neatly divided into black and white. Alignment wasn’t always the right move.

Proposing to align could imply you wouldn’t trust someone unless they bared their soul, placing a heavy burden on them—like coldly stating you’d only care within the bounds of a contract. Mom’s way, leaving things vague and entrusting them to me, felt rooted in unconditional love. Her speaking to me alone might have been both love and a subtle strictness toward her daughter—a challenge to decide with him what to do. You, Saki, take the lead.

A sharp clack from the chalkboard jolted me back to reality. Oh no, I need to focus. I’d heard countless tales of former honor students crumbling over four years of university, failing to become successful adults. It must be this kind of distraction piling up that led to their downfall, I scolded myself. But university brimmed with devilish temptations.

“The guy I met on the app yesterday was insane! So tall, with a super buff chest!” Kyōka-san’s voice rang out.

“Right? Older guys are the best, aren’t they?” Mayu-san chimed in.

“Ugh, I’m sticking to younger guys… but for fun, older ones are fine too!”

During the break between lectures, I found myself dragged into Kyōka-san and Mayu-san’s brazenly explicit relationship talk at the campus café terrace, forcing me to confront it. Mom’s talk of “having kids” carried the weight of future life plans, a serious topic. Yet the same act in my peers’ casual chatter felt so fleeting, so frivolous. How could the same thing carry such different meanings? How was I supposed to face it?

Talking with Kyōka-san always highlighted the power of words—the gravity of definitions, the pull of prejudice, the binding force of names. I could barely keep up with their suggestive banter, managing only vague responses. Thankfully, Kyōka-san’s assumption that I was some “gal mentor” kept her from noticing how out of my depth I was. Definitions, prejudices, names—they held that much power.

Who… am I?

By the time lectures ended and I headed home, the sky glowed with a reddish hue. The lingering chill of March had faded, and I stifled a yawn in the faintly warm air while walking to the station. Whoops, can’t let my guard down. I straightened my posture. Sure, I’d started thinking it was fine to rely on appearances, but I didn’t want to become some soft, fluffy version of myself.

I took the Sōbu Line to Yoyogi, then switched to the Yamanote Line. Exiting at Hachikō, I crossed the scramble intersection toward the bookstore where I worked. The routine had become second nature. But this life would end the day after tomorrow. Knowing I was quitting made work feel strange—not refreshing, not quite lonely, but as if I were a ghost, lingering in a world that no longer included me.

Today’s shift was with Asamura-kun and Kozono Erina-san. Watching them work, I vaguely thought about how, next month, I’d be the only one gone from here. Had Kozono-san’s vibe changed? She’d always been stylish, but now an allure radiated from within, a mature, almost seductive quality. Pheromones, maybe? Not that I knew if such a thing existed. Perhaps it was because she was a second-year high schooler now, the middle-school vibe completely gone.

It wasn’t just her allure—she’d become a stellar worker. Thanks to mentors like Shiori-san and Asamura-kun, her customer service and inquiry handling were flawless. With more international customers lately, her English skills from attending an international high school let her manage without needing a staff member. Impressive. She was killing it.

I glanced at Asamura-kun. He was folding paper book covers, focused on his hands but keeping an eye out for customers approaching the register. Relief washed over me seeing he wasn’t staring at Kozono-san.

“Hm? Something up?” he asked.

“Oh, no, nothing,” I replied, brushing it off. Had he sensed something off about me? Should I make an excuse? As I mulled it over, Asamura-kun let out a soft “Ah,” his eyes shifting slightly to the side.

Oh no, a customer! I turned around in a hurry.

“Oh, Fujinami-san,” he said.

“Yo,” came a light, casual reply.

A tall woman—startlingly so—raised her hand lightly in front of her chest, standing across the register counter. She started talking to Asamura-kun.

“Been a while. Still working here after starting uni? …Oh, wait, uni…”

“It’s fine. I passed my first-choice school.”

“Nice, then I can talk without worrying.”

“What about you, Fujinami-san?”

“I passed too. Waseho’s law department.”

“Yay,” she said in a flat, unenthusiastic tone, making a half-hearted double peace sign. Was she fun or serious, casual or earnest? I couldn’t pin her down.

…Wait? Have I seen this girl before?

I searched my memory. A model-tall girl with simply styled black hair, not overly fussy with fashion. Her clothes were plain, but her elegant glasses and well-tailored outfit betrayed a sharp sense of style. Then it hit me—the day I waited for Asamura-kun outside his cram school, wanting to walk home together. I remembered thinking how beautiful she was as she came out.

Fujinami-san, huh. So she was the “girl I often talked to at cram school.” …Hmm. I see. Hmm…

She might seem plain at first glance, but that was just her presentation. Her features were striking, and faint piercing holes in her ears suggested she might wear earrings sometimes. On weekdays, she was subdued, but on weekends, did she go all out with bold fashion? Her height and the sharp gaze behind her glasses gave her an air that made others stand straighter, even though she wasn’t intimidating.

A pang of unease twisted in my chest. Sure, Asamura-kun hadn’t hidden Fujinami-san’s existence, but I hadn’t expected her to be this beautiful. The unease I felt was different from what I’d experienced with Shiori-san or Kozono-san—harder to pin down. It was as if she was a little too much like me. If I could be a romantic interest for him, then maybe she could too. The thought crept in unbidden.

I trusted Asamura-kun. I knew he wasn’t the type to do anything shady. But still… ugh. While they chatted, I buried myself in folding paper book covers, trying not to glance their way. I didn’t know her well enough to join their conversation.

“Hey, Ayase-san. Got a sec?” Fujinami-san’s voice broke through.

“…What?” I flinched at how cold my response sounded, startled by her sudden address. Idiot, Saki. Don’t be so blatantly moody.

“This is Fujinami-san,” Asamura-kun said. “I think I mentioned her before, my friend from cram school.”

“Oh, right…” I nodded, feigning nonchalance, as if I hadn’t been turning it over in my mind.

“And this is Ayase-san,” he added.

“I kinda had a feeling,” Fujinami-san said casually.

Ugh. I bit my lip inwardly. Had she noticed me as she approached the counter, or while talking to Asamura-kun, sizing me up and guessing who I was? Compared to my guarded front, she was so composed, so honest. My own pettiness stung sharply.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Fujinami Kaho. ‘Fuji’ like the mountain, ‘nami’ like waves. Kaho, like summer and sails.”

“Summer… sales…?” I mumbled, picturing a garish red-and-yellow sale sticker on a discounted item.

“Not the selling kind, the sailing kind,” she clarified.

“Sailing… huh? Wait, what…?” My mind, still stuck on stickers, fumbled the kanji entirely.

“…Did that not land? I was sure this intro would stick, but I guess I need more practice,” she said, bowing her head slightly.

“No, no, my bad. I’m just slow to catch on…” I felt my cheeks heat up, embarrassed by the exchange. What was this strange feeling? It wasn’t like Shiori-san’s witty humor. Fujinami-san was a type I’d never encountered, and as I rummaged through my mental drawers for how to handle her, I came up empty. The budding fangs of jealousy crumbled away.

“I shouldn’t chat too long during your shift. I’ll take this,” she said, placing a book on the counter—something about politics or international affairs, oddly not law despite her being in law school.

“Yes, welcome!” I slipped into customer-service mode. “Would you like a book cover?”

“Sure, please.”

“Understood.”

“I’ll help, Ayase-san,” Asamura-kun offered.

“Thank you, Asamura-san.”

Beep, beep, beep—I scanned the barcode and passed the book to him. With practiced ease, he wrapped it in a cover, his movements gentle, almost feather-like. Fujinami-san paid with a casual swipe of her smartphone, the act as natural as buying tea at a convenience store. A paper book, a symbol of tradition, bought with cutting-edge tech—it felt like a surreal contrast, one I wouldn’t have noticed if Asamura-kun or Shiori-san hadn’t pointed out such things before.

With a light “See ya,” Fujinami-san gave a small wave and nod, then left the store with a relaxed gait that made me wonder if her spine was made of liquid. Just then, Kozono-san, who’d been out on the floor, slipped back behind the counter and whispered, “Was that super tall person just now someone you know, senpai?”

“A friend of Asamura-san’s, apparently,” I replied.

“Uh… Ayase-san? Your tone sounds kinda…”

What, prickly? No way, I was fine. No reason to be jealous.

“She’s super pretty, model vibes… Yuuta-senpai, for real?” Kozono-san pressed.

“No, no, it’s not like that!” Asamura-kun protested, flustered.

His pitiful, far-from-suave reaction was so endearing that a “Pfft” escaped my lips.

“Ayase-san? Wait, why’re you laughing?” he asked, bewildered.

“It’s nothing,” I said, brushing it off.

“Huh…?”

Yeah, it was nothing. If Asamura-kun were some dishonest guy messing around with Fujinami-san, that’d be a huge deal, but I trusted he wasn’t like that. I’d just been caught up in a fleeting moment of jealousy, not genuine worry. This was just playful teasing. The real anxiety lay ahead.

This laughter wasn’t mocking Asamura-kun—it was mocking myself. Am I okay? That kind of laugh, almost comical in its absurdity. If I was getting jealous over Fujinami-san, who’d been introduced so openly, how would I handle next month’s changes?

After the day after tomorrow, I’d quit this job. My shared time with Asamura-kun would shrink drastically. The shift ended, and as always, we walked home side by side along the familiar path. But the scenery differed from our high school days. For one, the time had changed. Since April, I’d been working shifts starting at six or seven p.m., depending on when university ended, and leaving at midnight. Back in high school, labor laws forced me out by ten, but now, free from that, we could stroll through late-night Shibuya. Not that we were out to party.

Shibuya past midnight was a different beast from nine p.m. The vibe felt a step less safe—more people were drunk than pre-drinking, and most sensible folks had caught the last train home, leaving a higher ratio of less savory types. Conversations around us were noticeably louder.

Another change: Asamura-kun wasn’t pushing a bike. I’d asked him why once. Apparently, there was nowhere to park it. In high school, he could leave it at school or cram school. Near the bookstore, there was a spot free for up to two hours but paid after that. Now, as a university student, parking near the station meant paying from the end of classes through the end of his shift. Even though his workplace and home hadn’t changed, his commute looked entirely different.

It was hard not to wonder how much could shift with just a small change in lifestyle. What would happen to me? Even Shibuya felt different at nine versus midnight, and Asamura-kun’s habits had transformed drastically from high school to university. I was quitting the bookstore to start an internship somewhere new. My rhythm, my scenery—everything would change.

Anxiety crept in. And with it, I realized how much I’d been spoiled by spending so much time with Asamura Yuuta. The reason my jealous, clingy side hadn’t spiraled out of control was because I was content with our gentle, calm relationship, basking in the comforting warmth of our love. That was only possible because we’d had so much time together.

After tomorrow, that world would end. The environment where we shared so much would break apart, replaced by one where I could barely see what he was doing. I wouldn’t know how he worked with Kozono-san at the bookstore, what they talked about. Did Shiori-san still drop by sometimes? What about Fujinami-san? All of it would be out of my sight.

I knew that was normal—most couples were like that. If someone pointed it out, I’d have no comeback. Over-controlling a partner’s life was bad; being overly possessive was absolutely not okay. I got that, obviously. Yet Mom’s words echoed back. The refrain began again.

What does it mean to get married? To become family? To have children—

“You okay?” Asamura-kun’s gentle voice cut through my spiraling thoughts.

Thank you, Asamura-kun. I could say it in my heart.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” I replied. Before I knew it, the cool, guarded mask I wore had brushed off his kindness with those words.