Chapter 22: Blank Spaces in the Prodigy’s Canvas (III)

We didn’t speak for a while after the ramen. The awkwardness that settled after a confession was too much.

And I know we were both tired from everything else—the exams, recounting our pasts, and now, the exertion of telling something that can pluck at one's heartstrings.

I think we’ve reached an impasse where I’m not sure what to say or do now that I know what developed silently over the span of two years I missed.

I walked Tsurugi-san to the train station, constantly seeing her steal moments to wipe the tears that continuously fell from her eyes. I had to endure the sight.

I must be strong.

Because Tsurugi-san isn't just a friend, she's someone that I care for deeply, or at least I used to.

“Thank you for walking me, Itsuki-kun. Be safe on your way.”

I can see it.

That’s the smile that shows up when crying would be easier, but dignity wins.

I don't want her to spend another night thinking about everything just like I did earlier, and I had to hit everything with raw honesty. I don't need to let this silence linger long enough for the answer to form on its own.

Because I'm not the one who runs away or dodges questions anymore. I knew the consequences. I knew the feeling when the world was turning upside down against you, and I don't want Tsurugi-san to experience it.

So I pulled her away without hesitation.

Without words.

Without a care in the world.

She didn't struggle, and that's all the permission I needed.

We jumped to another platform. Three stations. Ten minute walk. That's all it took for the two of us to reach Kobe Harborland Park.

And along the way, I did what I always did.

To comfort people around me before myself.

Tsurugi-san's frame shook against my shoulders while we sat next to each other on the train.

I let her sink to me and feel my warmth, even though the words I wanted to say right inside me were far more cruel than the last.

That’s the thing people don’t understand about rejection—it’s not always loud or theatrical. Sometimes, it would be just letting worlds shrink into your shoulders and let someone feel it for a final time. It's not really a consolation, I'm not even giving her false hopes.

It's our deep bond materializing through gestures. It's me letting her know she has my support by reminding her there's still room for her to breathe despite the obstacle in our path.

Even if it's impossible not to be hurt, at least.

"It's probably our last sunset as friends, huh?" she spoke whilst wiping the tears in her eyes.

We stood near the railing of the harbor, the Ferris wheel rotating slowly behind us. I stared into the water, trying to delay the moment.

In front of us, the skies were already painted red by sunset and stars like an endless canvas.

We had no idea how long this would take. And maybe we were both too afraid to look ahead into the future where we're just strangers again.

And now, with Tsurugi-san looking at me with eyes that held the weight of a thousand "what ifs."

Eyes that asked, without voice, Is it her?

Is it Kousaka-san?

I wish I could say no.

But even the changes I made myself was already an answer.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said. “About everything we’ve been through. Everything I’ve forgotten.”

She stayed silent.

“You were there. From the beginning. When I had no one, and no real reason to keep going.”

Back then, Tsurugi-san was everything. She was the one person who knew about my painting and the only one who believed in me even after I stopped believing in myself.

We studied and ate together. We took long train rides just to visit bookstores in cities we couldn’t pronounce properly. She saw me on the worst days, and never looked away.

And I realized just how many memories I’d misfiled.

How many smiles I’d shrugged off as kindness. How many late-night messages I’d taken as nothing more than shared boredom.

Every interpersonal relationship was shallow to me. I took it all as friendship.

Was I stupid? Or selfish? Numb enough for any effort to shake me?

No, it must be something deeper and something I wasn't able to prevent.

Because I believed in love before my parents left me.

Love in painting.

Love in myself.

Love in people.

The word and feeling was as colorful as the canvases I perfected before.

I had told her about the first time I burned a canvas. I had told her that I hated my birthday. I had even told her that I didn’t cry when my parents left, not because it didn’t hurt—but because the pain was too big to turn into tears.

And she had listened.

More than that, she understood.

But that was a tragedy, wasn’t it?

I only ever saw her as a friend. As something familiar, kind and safe.

A sister.

And for someone like me, whose ideas of love died when his family left—it was hard to believe love even existed in the first place.

Love was a trick—a game played by adults who got bored of their life’s direction.

But what if I had been wrong?

What if my heart was just late to the realization?

Yes.

Even now—even after all the nostalgia, all the warmth, all the things we shared, after I healed—I knew that I felt something for her.

Though my heart wasn’t calling her name anymore.

“You were kind to me when I couldn’t be kind to myself. You remembered the things I didn’t think anyone would care about. You—”

I bit down on the rest of the sentence.

“Itsuki-kun…”

A gull cried overhead. Somewhere, a ferry honked in the distance.

I took a breath.

“But,” I said softly, “the part of me that understands love…it didn’t exist back then.”

She stiffened.

“I thought love was a lie people told each other to survive. A word used when people are afraid of silence.”

The cold wind picked up. Her bangs fluttered slightly.

“It was only when I started healing,” I said, “that I realized love wasn’t about grand gestures or shared history.”

“It’s about presence,” she whispered.

“Yeah.” I nodded. “And by the time I realized that, I was already looking at someone else.”

I was thinking about Kousaka-san.

The girl who crashed into my life like a storm. Who cursed me in French and cleaned my kitchen like it offended her existence.

She saw me at my lowest and didn’t try to fix me—she just stomped the wreckage and kept on breaking me down.

It must have been counterintuitive, but that way, I became stronger.

Strong enough to pick up the broken pieces of myself.

By the time I realized what love was, I’d already given it away to her.

And now—

Now it was too late to take it back.

That’s what made it so painful.

Because to reject Tsurugi-san now wouldn’t just be about the present. It would feel like invalidating everything that came before, and erasing the future that is yet to come.

"You’re important to me. You always were. I think…you were the first person who made me feel like I could be normal. Like I didn’t have to prove anything to be someone worth being with."

I looked down at my hands.

They were trembling.

“You're beautiful, Tsurugi-san. I always admired your cheerful personality and your wits. "But I…" I paused, searching for the least cruel truth.

I'm not good with words when it mattered most, I knew that.

I just have to say something that expresses my thoughts, but hurts the least.

“...I wished that we stayed. Because when I healed, I knew that I loved you first.”

Her eyes widened.

“... Itsuki-kun…?”

“If we're standing on the same spot a year ago, things could've been different.”

Timing is cruel.

So as destiny.

And responsibilities.

Sometimes we build feelings out of nowhere without even knowing, and cast it all aside because we think it wouldn't last.

Priorities killed what could've been.

“I don't think that I could be someone fit to walk beside you anymore. I don't see myself or you that way.”

I don’t think I’m the one who can make her happy.

I never knew that words could be this fatal—and it all came from me.

And in her eyes, I saw her calculating too—trying to find a way to make it not true.

Trying to remember every moment, every laugh, every closeness, and force it into a shape it no longer could take.

“Thank you…for liking me, Tsurugi-san. And I'm sorry…if I can't return such feelings…”

My parents killed my chances, the silence killed hers.

I stepped closer, unsure if I was doing the right thing anymore.

And I feel like a jerk for being the first one to cry despite literally the one rejecting her feelings.

“…So,” she finally broke her silence, “that’s your answer?”

I nodded slowly. But the motion felt heavier than I expected.

I wanted to look away, to retreat into some neutral corner of the conversation where pain didn’t live. But that was the coward’s road. And I already owed her too much honesty.

“I’m sorry, Tsurugi-san.”

Her head tilted, and a soft, broken laugh escaped her lips. “You always say sorry even when it’s not your fault. Maybe it’s mine—for liking you so much, and never finding the right way to show it.”

She stepped forward once, closing the distance between us until we were standing within a breath of each other. Her eyes were trembling, but her voice tried to remain even.

“You were the first person I looked for every morning. And the last one I thought of before sleeping.”

My throat tightened.

“…Then I’m probably the worst kind of person right now.”

You should've been hating me.

It would’ve been easier if you cried. If you screamed. If you called me selfish, cruel and cold.

But why are you smiling?

That was worse.

I could’ve handled anger. I could've handled a beating or an hour-long scolding.

But to see this bittersweet expression in Tsurugi-san's face? I'm being crushed.

I was the reason she was hurting.

“No,” she said again, firmer this time. “You’re just the person I liked. And maybe that’s why it hurts so much.”

She chuckled again, a quiet, shattered sound.

“I used to think that if I held it in long enough, it’d go away. But I saw you changing. I saw you smiling more. Especially when she was around.”

She was right, and there's no denying that.

“I didn’t want to lose to her,” she continued. “But…I lost before it even began, didn’t I?”

There was no bitterness in her voice.

She was tired.

And I was afraid.

I already hit her with the tide she was swimming against for too long.

I don't want to impose more weight on her shoulders—I can't bear to watch her struggle so hard and lose herself in her selflessness, because it's my fault that she lost that battle in the first place.

“Tsurugi—”

“I know,” she interrupted. “You don’t want to hurt me. I also know that you probably thought I’d cry, scream, maybe beg you to change your mind.”

She wiped a stray tear from her eye.

“I wanted to,” she admitted. “I wanted to tell you that we could still work. That if we just gave it a shot—maybe…”

Her voice cracked.

“…maybe you’d learn to love me again.”

I didn’t answer. Because if I did, something inside her would shatter beyond repair.

So instead, I reached out slowly and found Tsurugi-san's hands in mine and held it.

Then, without warning, she leaned forward and pressed her lips in mine. It was deep and passionate, fired up with longing and desire to have more, but she also knew that it would be her last.

If the moon had been watching, even she might’ve wept at how winter wrapped around us—how our feelings clung to the air like frost.

Her lips trembled against mine, more from emotion than nervousness, and her hands gripped mine tighter like she was holding on to the last sliver of the version of us that could’ve been something else.

We were both crying when our lips danced against one another.

It was the kind of kiss that tasted like goodbye.

When she finally pulled away, she rested her forehead against my chest and whispered, “I knew you’d never love me like I wanted. But I didn’t want to lose this either. I don't want to break this thread between us.”

‘I don't want to break this thread between us’.

The words echoed in my head. Strangely enough, despite the turmoil between us, I understood that we both valued this friendship we built through the years. A connection like this isn’t easy to build, so we have to do everything in our disposal to keep it.

So I agreed, nodding curtly as our fingers slipped away from each other.

My hands hovered in the air for a brief moment.

Then I wrapped them around her carefully, thinking if I held her too tightly, she’d break for real.

In the end, we were still those two middle schoolers under sakura trees, talking about dreams that now felt like distant echoes.

She broke the silence with a solemn whisper.

“I guess this is the part where I pretend I’m okay and walk away with dignity.”

“You don’t have to pretend.”

“I do,” she said, pressing herself more against me. “Because if I don’t, I won’t be able to stop crying.”

My chest tightened.

“I’m not going to vanish. Even if I can't give you what you want…I want to still be there. As someone you can count on. As a friend, like our threads never parted.”

Tsurugi-san didn’t respond immediately.

Her shoulders shook once.

Then, with a sigh of resignation: “We’re really stupid.”

“I know.”

“We’re selfish.”

“I know too.”

She pulled back slightly, just enough to hold my gaze.

“But let’s do it anyway?”

I smiled, “Yeah.”

And we embraced once more. This time, it lingered and we indulged our warmth, disregarding the cold around us.

"I will be happy for the two of you, Itsuki-kun. I promise I will be."

"You don't have to force it," I whispered back. "I mean..."

"I know that it will hurt badly at first. But I will be brave through it, trust me."

"I always trusted you."

I can feel the warmth of her exhale against me.

“Take care of her, just like how you took care of me back then.” she whispered.

"I will."

The air between us felt lighter now, but still full of unsaid things.

Words I wanted to reach her heart.

I wanted her to be strong.

I wanted her to remain whole.

And the kind of friendship we cherished, to remain.

Hey, Tsurugi-san.

If you’re ever hearing this, I hope you’ll remember.

Don't waste your time chasing butterflies. Mend your garden, and the butterflies will come.

You loved simple things, right? That’s why you even stole that translated Mario Quintana poetry book from the library before.

After this, let’s move forward together.

Even on separate roads, let's still be comrades.

Not lovers.

Not strangers.

But something brave in between.

Because just like Amiel said, the best path through life is the highway.

We don't stop at obstacles.

We begin with them.