Cognition Without Exception

Takumi sits on the couch in the main room of the apartment, lying all the way back on the cushions, staring at the massive TV resting on the wall.

A replay of a talk show he’d been on is running, with him regurgitating the same lines as every other interview. The same fake smile, shallow naivety and humble persona.

He watches the interview in silence, before glancing at the clock above it, the time being 14:58.

Open your eyes to the world, Yuna. I’ll help you see the truth. I’ll make you understand the difference between my place and yours.

Takumi checks his watch, but the clean glass reflection only makes him see himself. Takumi fixes his hair, then goes back to watching the TV.

Takumi’s focus rests on the clock, enveloping the room in a cold silence, with only the rhythmic ticking left.

In one minute, the beginning of understanding’ll happen for her, and she’ll never be able to look straight at me ever again. Only up.

At exactly 15:00, Takumi’s doorbell rings, and he buzzes it in.

Yuna heads into the apartment, taking no time to bask in the size or value of it.

Takumi’s left eye twitches slightly, noticing her not reveling at the fact of being in his extravagant house. He breathes in slowly to calm himself, he can’t let his plan fail.

“Pardon the intrusion” Yuna obligatorily says

“Let’s study in my room, It’s easier to focus in there” Takumi suggests, turning and walking away, not waiting for a reply.

They enter his room, surrounded by his posters from movies, sitting down at his desk.

“Sora-kun, we’re going to start with ma-”
“Let’s start with history.” Takumi interrupts, choosing the subject instead of listening.

“Okay, history it is then” Yuna agrees without a second thought.

Yuna begins to tutor Takumi on ancient history, making him take notes and reiterate.

Yuna speaks on facts of the time, depicting events and important dates for the course content, Takumi scribbling the notes down and being hollowly polite. Something he’d perfected over his lifetime.

The nature of tutoring is that the tutor themselves guides the path of learning to better understand, and the student tries their best to comprehend.

Takumi allowed Yuna to guide him, but not without interjecting about something related to himself. Without fail, each and every time, she would correct his attempts to steer the topics.

“Wasn’t the battle of Thermopylae in 480BC? I remember that from a role I played when I was younger in a period drama.” Takumi interrupts once more, guiding the conversation to his favorite topic.

Yuna shoots a brief glance at Takumi “Yes, it was in 480 BC, but that’s not relevant at all. Focus on what happened and why, not on media appearances”

Cold. Everyone’s supposed to know me, supposed to love me. When they see me, they can’t help but react in awe.

Takumi’s eyes drift from the textbook to Yuna’s face, her black hair tied up in a bun, a few stray strands still hanging over her eyes. Her once gray and uninspiring eyes grew a fierce emerald-green haze, with her complete attention at the books in front of her.

He could’ve sworn her eyes were gray. He can’t understand why they changed. Looking now, they were unmistakably green. Simple, sharp, and unforgiving.

Were her eyes always so vibrant?

Takumi shakes his head at this absurd shift in thought, then proceeds to try another tactic.

“You ever imagine what it’d be like to live in that period? I think someone like me would be no less than king, wouldn’t you say?”

Yuna replies immediately, and simply:
“There’s a chance. But that doesn’t change the outcome in the slightest. It doesn’t change the lesson either, so let’s get back to work.”

What is this girl? She’s…she’s ignoring me. She’s treating me like I’m….like I’m another faceless person in the crowd…

Takumi’s eyes now directly look at Yuna, scanning for some fracture he can use, some flaw he can exploit.

And, for some reason…I just won’t look away. I can’t. I need her attention. I need her to see me…but she’s not looking. This is…something new.

Takumi’s fingers grip the pen in his hands tighter. Every experience, every performance, his nature, and his instincts were crying out, screaming for Yuna to notice. For her to look up at him. To see him on his pedestal. But she continued, unfazed. Continuing to scribble notes down, asking questions, and keeping Takumi on task.

Takumi’s irritation is getting the better of him, incessantly tapping his pen on his booklet, in the exact same rhythm as a clock would.

The room falls to a complete standstill. All noise but the rhythmic tapping of the pen has disappeared, without focus, they cease to exist.

“Yuna” Takumi says monotonally, staring at his booklet.

“Do you even know who I am?”

The tapping stops. Yuna pauses, but not because she’s unsure. Because she’s contemplating whether or not the question matters.

“I do”

Takumi looks up to meet her eyes.

“Then why are you acting this way?”
“Like what?”
“Like I-”

Takumi stops his sentence before it ends. The unfathomable weight of nothing sat heavily in his throat, trying to crawl its way out to be heard.

Yuna stares into Takumi’s eyes intently, like she’s peering into his thoughts.

“You’re acting like I should be putting you on a pedestal, like I should revere you”

“I don’t.”

Inescapable silence fills the space between them.

“You don’t care?” Takumi quietly asks

“I never said that” Yuna hastily replies

“It doesn’t change anything.”

His grip tightens on the pen once more, holding back anger and frustration.

“What am I then? What does someone as meaningless as you see?” Takumi spits out, attacking Yuna with his questions.

Her answer comes without any hesitation.

“A student. Like the rest of us.”

Takumi’s stomach dropped, and his mind went blank.

That word caused more damage than any insult could.

…

The remainder of the study session passes by, in complete silence.

Yuna packs her bag almost rhythmically, and once the time hits 17:00, she stands to take her leave.

Yuna bows from courtesy, remaining professional. And completely distanced.

“See you next week” she says politely.

Then she exits.

She closes the door behind her gently

Takumi stays in his chair.

The looming presence of his posters feel like they’re getting closer. The faces stare at him, the face he once wore are frozen in a permanent look of being important. Of being noticed. Of being given attention.

He glances at his phone on the corner of his desk to check for notifications, but stares at the reflection in the glass.

His reflection stares back at him, warped.

She never misunderstood me.

She never ignored me.

Static grows strong in Takumi’s brain, all color pouring out until just black and white remain.

She saw me.

The deafening ring of silence pierces Takumi’s ears. Left with a new revelation, one he never wants to feel again.

For the first time, Takumi didn’t want to be seen.

Because being seen was the same as being nothing.