Self and Others

Clunk.

The metallic impact of aluminum rang in my mind—Ao’s words kept banging on the door of my thoughts, trying to force their way in.

I’m drowning in my own head—even with the heavy rain, I can’t hear it—can’t hear anything at all.

Days have passed, and my thoughts still circle back to her. Ao.

I tightened my grip on the soda can.

“Trying to fit in… is tough, huh?” I muttered.

What’s the point—trying to fit in?

This world doesn’t let you win. Do too well, and people will drag you down. Fail, and they’ll laugh at you. That’s why I stay away. It’s easier. Safer.

I don’t belong.

My grip loosened. Forget it.

“It’s not like I’m built for things like these, anyway,” I said. “I’m better at pushing people away.”

I tipped the can, draining the last of the soda. It was light. Empty. Without hesitation, I tossed it toward the trash bin across the hallway. The hollow clang of aluminum echoed as it hit the pile of discarded things.

The aftertaste lingered in my mouth. It was sweet, artificial, fleeting.

This isn’t like me.

The hallway hummed with scattered conversations. Chatter, laughter—bouncing off the walls, drilling into my skull.

The rain tapped against the windows. Dull. Distant. I walked past it all.

By the time I reached the classroom—it was nothing unusual. Just another student finding his seat. The rain took my rooftop. Left me here instead.

The crowd drowned me with their noise. It rings—like my thoughts. Yet unlike a while ago, the rain was louder.

I eat my lunch alone, surrounded by the crowd. Noise, everywhere—like it was a social gathering. Laughter, chatter and rain—it all came at once, like my mind crumpled a paper and tossed it elsewhere.

Lunch passed by quickly—nothing unusual. Though, seeing Ao with her friends felt rare—or maybe that’s just me. Yet something feels off—a piece out of place.

Looking back, I remember—Sensei’s words: “I’d understand better.” Ironic. I don’t understand at all. What am I feeling?

The rain grows louder and louder. I couldn’t even hear the teacher speaking at the front. I stared at the gray, bland sky. A sky as gray and empty as me.

The rain swallowed the day—before I knew it, class was over.

I’ll go home.

Even without the rain, the sky remained gray and empty.

The playground.

Ao is not here.

I sit by the swing. Alone. With an empty can in hand. Hot chocolate.

The four cans of soda still stood. But the odd one out was missing.

I looked at the gap between the four cans—there I placed the hot chocolate.

“You should just be a hot chocolate instead.”

I went home. There was nothing for me outside anyway—it’s not a world I should meddle with. I repeat. I’m not built for things like these.

I contemplate. Just like the hot chocolate, the thought lingers—bitter, like an aftertaste.

But maybe—just maybe, that’s why Ms. Mitsuki said that.

I’d understand better.

Not logically. Not because I’m kind. But it’s because we’re the same.

A mirror, but a broken one. We’re shattered, scattered across—she gathers her shards together, I let my glass be scattered.

She pretends, she smiles, she connects—she gathers other people.

I avoid. Even though we’re made by the same glass, I still don’t fit.

Indeed, we are the same.

But we’re also different. She tries, I don’t.

The sense of familiarity is there. But the difference feels heavier than the rain.