Chapter 8:
For The Golden Flower I Stole In That Rain
"You should sit with me on the bench."
The words hit like a dropped book in an empty library—sharp, sudden, and loud despite the silence around it.
I blinked. "...Huh?"
Was she talking to me?
She was.
It was just the first day of my suspension turned pilgrimage and Kousaka-san already dropped her first bombshell.
Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 played in my head. The infamous motif—those four fateful notes—reverberated somewhere in my mind like an intrusive thought. Da-da-da-dum, "Thus fate knocks at the door!". That’s what they said the opening was. A call to arms. Or maybe a warning. Either way, I knew that line was meant to be crossed, and that I couldn’t unhear it anymore.
It was the arrival of inevitability.
"Do I need to repeat? I have no plans on buying."
And the sharper tone snapped me from my trance.
"Ah-uhm..."
I fumbled like a child caught in the act of stealing food when she stared down at me with an expression that could only be described as ‘Try to do something disappointing’, as she waited for me to respond to her invitation.
"I mean, it’s not like you have customers right now," she added, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear before turning around.
She walked back to her dimension, as usual.
And I was left thinking if it was a one time offer.
I looked over at my dango stall. No one was in line. No kids, no old men, no couples. Nothing but the breeze.
My hands turned cold. From the wind? Or nerves? Didn’t matter.
I wiped them on my apron and stepped out from behind the stall. The cash register was locked. All skewers covered. I was out of my empire.
Each step toward Kousaka-san felt like walking into an unknown world, a place with its own gravity. I’ve watched her from this distance for weeks. But approaching it—her—felt like trespassing.
“Pardon my intrusion.”
I sat slowly beside her. Not too close, of course. There was a three-foot rule I instinctively honored when it comes to women.
Self preservation? Perhaps.
Fear? Not the right term.
One thing is for sure, it's a mechanism.
After days of quiet routines—me grilling and selling, and Kousaka-san sketching, we finally shattered the thin glass wall between us. Right on the first day of December.
She didn’t look up. But her pencil slowed. But it still dragged invisible shapes into meaning.
A full minute passed and I am already losing patience. She might have no way of noticing it—but sweat is already trickling down from my temples.
Why are we so silent?!
It's not the first time that we're next to each other, but I can't help but feel otherwise.
We might have been closer when she took care of me at the apartment, but this is way different. It wasn't on our own accord. It was a mutual agreement.
"So," she finally began, flipping her sketchpad closed. "How was the suspension?"
I choked.
"You make it sound like a vacation." I managed to speak in a shaky voice. “I already said it's not.”
“To me it is. Women are always right.”
Unfair.
I never thought that there's unwritten inequality between genders.
"I was filling out schoolwork I missed, and watching mold grow on my ceiling."
Her lips curved slightly, as if amused. "You always talk like your life’s a novel."
"Maybe I’m just trying to make it interesting."
The wind rustled the trees above us.
“Still, what you did was stupid.”
"I know."
Kousaka-san looked at me, expression unreadable. Her blue eyes held an ocean of thoughts she didn’t usually bother to translate into words.
"It’s not the first time someone said that," she murmured. “Ever since I moved here in middle school, I got bullied for my slurred accent and the majority thought I was seducing them.”
"So I came in to make a difference."
"And what? You’re going to fight every idiot who has a mouth and an opinion?"
I didn’t answer.
She leaned back on the bench, letting her shoulders relax. "You’re reckless."
"As always. You might even visit my funeral first before knowing my birthday."
And then—I heard something that felt too foreign for my own ears. Kousaka-san's lips were covered, and she was chuckling.
Over a joke I didn’t even think could crack ice.
It was quiet, breathy, but unmistakable. Like hearing a familiar song in a foreign language.
Kousaka Akari, the girl whose resting expression could cut glass, the girl that never acknowledged people, actually laughed?
My brain short-circuited. If this were a shoujo manga, flowers and sparkles would be exploding behind her right now. But in reality, it was just the dry winter wind and the faint creak of the bench beneath us.
Still, I couldn’t help but look at her like she’d just revealed a secret passage behind a bookcase. A hidden room in her personality I didn’t know existed.
"What?" she asked, noticing my stare. The corners of her mouth still curved with the remnants of amusement.
"You laughed," I said, like I was pointing out a rare animal sighting. “Like, actually laughed.”
She raised an eyebrow. "So?"
"I didn’t think you knew how."
She scoffed, a mock-offended sound. "I'm not a cryptid, Shimizu. Anyways, if you're really concerned about your previous statement, I'm honestly interested to know your birthday."
"Ah, Kousaka-san isn't as scary as I thought."
"Excuse me?" she said, raising a fist. My stomach tensed like muscle memory—she already hit me there yesterday, after all.
"...February 13. Aquarius, probably the least interesting zodiac sign."
She gave a slow nod. "Mine’s December 18th. Sagittarius. The cool one."
That would be in two and a half weeks…
"So we’re...incompatible? Or is that just astrology propaganda?"
Her head snapped to me, eyebrows scrunched.
"What are you implying? That you're interested in me romantically?"
I snapped from my seat, as if this golden porcupine set me on fire.
"Of course not!" I shrugged, waving my hands defensively. "There's no way that two people like us can go that far together!"
I looked away, my face warming up. Despite the ridiculousness of such an accusation, I didn’t hate the way she said it.
"Is that so? Why are you being so defensive?"
I tried to scramble for a formidable defense statement, but instead, my body had other plans against her teasing.
And I looked at her, really looked at her, no matter how embarrassing or creepy she might label me.
Ice meets hazel.
And the words just slipped from my mouth, definitely from an organ I didn't know was still capable of feeling things like this.
"Because your statement…it might be true."
A heartbeat.
Then two.
We fell silent.
Kousaka-san's mouth gaped lightly, as if assessing if I returned the teasing or I was truly genuine.
I wished I could reel those words back, stuff them into a box, and pretend I never felt anything. But I’d already cracked the surface.
And she heard it.
“...At least, someday. I don't know,” as I lowered my gaze to the ground in shame.
I was someone that never spoke unless necessary, never outstanding, never talented, rarely ever successful, yet somehow, despite all those negatives, I can single out something positive.
Although I may have no way of knowing who she was beyond the surface, I can honestly say that she's someone that I can get easily attracted to.
No, it wasn't because she was beautiful. It was this complex feeling of familiarity of seeing her everyday for 8 months and the curiosity of our distance.
I still remembered the warmth of that umbrella over our heads on that rainy day. The way the raindrops pattered gently around us, and how she muttered a soft thank you like it hurt her to say it.
Since that day, I have become self conscious. I cleaned up the apartment often. I ironed my uniform. I checked if my tie was crooked. I bought cheap perfume. I took hygiene more seriously. No words and expressions can describe this shitty feeling I am currently in.
Because we already crossed that line and rewritten all our hidden rules.
"Why?"
She looked directly at me.
"Because despite everyone calling you scary, I still think you're a great person, Kousaka-san."
The wind picked up so cold and fast that I felt freezing along in it. The orange leaves from the balding camphor tree hit me across the cheek like snowflakes, and we held both our gaze longer than intended, deeper than expected.
"That's just your imagination, Shimizu. I'm not the person you think I am in your head."
She didn't wait for my reply as she stood, picked up her things and started turning around.
I was left glued to my seat thinking over what kind of ecstasy overwhelmed my ability to form rational decisions. I stared blankly at my feet, trying to piece together what just happened. Then it all came crashing in.
Perhaps I don't mind if the real Kousaka-san and the one on my head were two different people.
Maybe this imagination is more of a hindrance than a help. But I can't stop myself from believing in her.
It's still her, and I guess she's the one I want to be with wasting my life around.
“You can sit with me." she said quietly without turning around. The second I heard it, I was already out of my trance. "When you’re not busy.”
I looked at her. “Pardon?”
“You can come over,” she repeated, as if I’d failed to catch something obvious. “I don't mind at all. You're finally allowed.”
“You sound like my existence has just been promoted.”
“Yeah. From a creepy dango boy to…” she paused. “Tolerable.”
I hesitated.
For a moment, I wasn’t sure if she was joking.
But she turned away without waiting for my answer and started walking away with the same grace she wore every day.
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