Gift from God

The phone screen lights up. Alarm creeps in, silenced instantly by Kichiro.
He hasn't slept. The pain kept him awake. His face is exhausted—eyes sunken in, waxy skin.

Downstairs, voices rise and fall. His sister and mother. Another fight.
A slap echoes through the house. Then silence.

Kichiro grabs his backpack, slings it over his shoulder. He opens his door, moves down the hall. His sister barrels down the hall, shoulder-checking him hard. She locks herself in her room.

He saw.

His sister's face, covered in tears. Cheek burning red. She avoided eye contact.

In the kitchen, his mother sits alone at a table set for five. Plates untouched. Food steaming. Kichiro walks past without a word.
He leaves the house.

Kichiro walks past a convenience store on his way to school. He suddenly hears a familiar voice. Kenji and his friends are smoking around the corner. Kenji sees something in the distance but shrugs it off. Kichiro instinctively ducks into another alley, just before he's noticed.

He arrives at school. This time there's something different. Someone's already in class—unusual.
A girl.

Her name is Reiko. One of his classmates.
Long black hair. A thin frame beneath the clothes. She was shorter than him.

Kichiro sits at his desk, just behind her, two desks away.
The atmosphere is weird. Silence. He's curious.

Her head stays bowed. Same position as his. She's staring at the desk. Hasn't looked up once.
Kichiro's used to being ignored. This was different. She didn't ignore him. She didn't observe him either.

He stands suddenly, chair scraping loud in the silence. She doesn't react.
Kichiro walks out of class. At the door, he glances back—and catches her looking at him. He rushes to the bathroom.

He sees his face in the mirror. Bruises still purple under his jaw. He washes it. His lips start moving. A word comes out:
"God?"

He returned to class, heart pounding. Kichiro tried to look at her again.

He knew it.

He could feel God's presence radiating from her. She was a gift. A sign. Sent by God.
Suddenly a smile creeps onto his face. He notices it—and hides his face in the desk.

Classes ended.
Kichiro watched Reiko all day—between lessons, during breaks, when she thought no one was looking.

After school, Kenji waited as always.
The blows came. Kenji's fist connected with his ribs. Crack. It was the same, but different. Kichiro barely felt them. His mind was elsewhere. With her.

Alone on the roof, he walked to the rail. Cold metal under his fingers. Yesterday's despair felt distant. He looked down—

There she was. Reiko. Walking across the yard.

A smile spread across Kichiro's bruised face. Trembling, he looked into the sky and whispered:
"Is this your gift, God? Your way of saying sorry?"

He walked home lighter than air. The door opened to the smell of morning food gone stale. The table still set for five. Plates untouched.

Kichiro grabbed one plate. Cold rice, congealed fish. He carried it upstairs to his room.
Chewing mechanically, he searched his drawer. Found the yearbook. Flipped pages until—

There.

Reiko's photo. Last year. She was smiling. Not at him. For him. He knew it.
He smiled back.

Scissors cut carefully around her face. Precise. Reverent.
He peeled the backing off, pressed the photo against his chest—just below the collarbone. Close to his heart.

Loud music shook the floorboards. His brother. Louder than usual. He didn't care.
They'd stopped caring too.

Kichiro touched the photo under his shirt.
She was with him now.

Always.