~ CHAPTER 10 – Between Us ~

{ Yasuko Aikawa POV }

It’s amazing how two people can live side by side and still feel a world apart.

We pass each other in the hallway. Share the kitchen. But we don’t talk — not really.

Not about the truth between us.

Not about what she gave up.

Not about what I found.

The silence feels heavy now. Not angry. Not cold.

Just… unfinished.

I think about asking her every day.

But the words never come out right in my head.

And when I look at her — my sister, who used to feel so far above me — she doesn’t look powerful anymore. She looks tired.

Like someone waiting for a storm that might not come.

Maybe I’m the storm.

Shoichi knows something’s bothering me, but he doesn’t pry.

He just draws near me in quiet places — the quad, the greenhouse, the back corner of the library — and lets the stillness wrap around us.

And somehow, in that quiet, I start to breathe again.

Not fully.

But enough.

One night, I pass Masumi’s door and pause.

My fingers hover over the frame.

Knock or don’t knock.

Ask or stay silent.

But before I can decide, I hear something inside.

A sound I don’t recognize at first — not words, not movement.

Just… breath.

Tight and shaky.

Like someone trying very hard not to cry.

I step back, heart twisting.

And for the first time, I understand:

Whatever she’s been carrying…

She’s been carrying it alone.

Not because she wanted to.

But because she thought she had to.

I go to my room and close the door.

Because I’m not ready to face her yet.

But I will be.

Soon.

*

*

*

{ Masumi Aikawa’s Point of View }

She won’t look me in the eye anymore.

Not really.

She says “good morning” like it’s a formality. She nods when I speak. She answers questions with clipped words and half-smiles.

But I can feel it.

Something’s changed.

I sit on the edge of my bed, staring at the envelope on my desk — the original agreement.

The one with her name on it.

The one I intercepted.

I should’ve burned it. Shredded it. Tossed it out the day I took her place.

But I kept it.

Maybe as proof to myself that I’d done something right. Maybe as a reminder that even if she never knew, I would.

But now…

Now I wonder if she found it.

I hear her footsteps outside my door — soft, hesitant. They stop. Stay. Then fade.

She was standing there.

I know she was.

My chest tightens.

She’s close, but I’ve never felt farther from her.

I lie down, arm over my eyes, trying to breathe past the pressure building behind them.

I’ve spent so long being strong for everyone else.

For her.

For our parents.

For the version of myself that doesn’t break.

But tonight, in the quiet, I finally feel it:

I’m tired.

Tired of being the shield.

Tired of holding a truth that’s slowly pulling me apart.

I don't cry.

Not yet.

But my breath starts to shake.

And I wonder how long it’ll be before she asks me the question I’ve been dreading.

Because when she does… I don’t know if I’ll be able to lie.

*

*

*

{ Yasuko Aikawa’s Point of View }

It’s nearly midnight when I wander into the kitchen.

I’m not really hungry.

I just needed to move. To breathe. To do something.

The light’s already on.

Masumi’s there, sitting at the table with a half-empty mug of tea and a tired look on her face. She startles a little when she sees me.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asks.

I nod. “You?”

She shrugs. “Tea helps.”

I cross to the counter, grab a mug, pour water. The silence stretches — not heavy this time. Just quiet.

Careful.

“I used to hate how calm you were,” I say suddenly, not even sure where it came from.

Masumi lifts an eyebrow. “Used to?”

I glance at her. “Still do. Sometimes.”

She huffs a soft laugh into her mug. “It’s not real, you know.”

“What’s not?”

“This.” She gestures vaguely to her face. “The calm. It’s just how I survive.”

The honesty in her voice catches me off guard.

And for a moment, I forget to be suspicious. I forget the note. The lies. The silence.

I just see my sister — tired, unraveling — and I don’t feel angry.

I feel something closer to… sorrow.

“You don’t have to survive everything alone,” I say quietly.

Masumi looks at me then — really looks.

Like she wants to say something.

Like something’s trembling on the edge of her lips.

But she doesn’t speak.

She just nods once. Slow. Careful.

And for the first time in years, we sit at the same table and it doesn’t feel like war.

It feels like maybe, somehow, we’re beginning to see each other.

Not completely.

Not yet.

But a beginning.

*

*

*

{ Tetsuya Hinami’s Point of View }

She’s late to meet him.

Not very — just ten minutes. But Masumi Aikawa doesn’t do late.

When she finally arrives at the café, her hair’s slightly windblown, her coat misbuttoned at the top.

It’s the first time he’s seen her out of sorts.

“Sorry,” she says, breathless. “Lost track of time.”

He stares at her for a moment. Not judgmental. Just… curious.

Because something’s different.

There’s something softer in her eyes today. Something cracked, but not broken.

Like she stopped holding everything so tightly for once.

He doesn’t ask.

He just gestures to the drink he ordered for her.

“Green tea,” he says. “Figured you could use something steady.”

She smiles — not her usual sharp, defensive kind.

This one’s quiet. Grateful.

“Thanks,” she says.

And for a moment, they don’t feel like two people being forced together.

They feel like two people… learning.