I’ll Be Waiting Too

CHAPTER-21

Two weeks passed before I realized something was wrong.

At first, it didn’t register as anything unusual. We had always moved in fragments, days where we met briefly, weeks where timing refused to align. Distance had become part of our rhythm, an unspoken compromise between schedules and expectations and the lives we were trying to build. So when a few days went by without seeing Issei, I told myself it was normal.

He was busy.
I was busy.

That was how it always went.

I sent a text anyway, something casual, something light.

Did you eat today?

No reply.

The next day, another message.

I passed the café near the park. Thought of you.

Still nothing.

I didn’t panic. Not yet. I told myself he was studying. Or working. Or asleep with his phone buried under a pillow somewhere. Issei wasn’t the type to constantly text back, and I had learned not to read too much into silence.

But by the end of the first week, the quiet began to feel… heavier.

I called him once, then twice. Each time, the call rang until it cut off, unanswered. No message. No explanation.

A small knot formed in my chest, tight and unfamiliar.

Maybe his phone broke, I reasoned.
Maybe he’s sick.
Maybe he just needs space.

The second week came with no answers.

That was when the unease settled in fully, curling around my ribs like something alive.

I stood in my apartment one evening, phone in hand, staring at our message thread. My last sent text sat there untouched, unread. The little delivery mark mocked me.

“I’m overthinking,” I muttered aloud, though my voice lacked conviction.

But my body already knew before my mind did.

So I grabbed my coat and left.

The walk to his apartment felt longer than usual, every step echoing with memories, late nights walking home together, quiet laughter, his calm voice reminding me to breathe when everything felt too loud. The reminder of those moments only made the silence sharper.

When I reached his building, the hallway was empty, the lights humming softly overhead. I stood in front of his door for a long moment, hesitating.

Then I remembered.

The key.

He had given it to me one night after I joked about how often I forgot things. “Just in case,” he’d said, smiling like it was nothing. Like it didn’t mean trust. Like it didn’t mean stay.

My fingers trembled slightly as I pulled the key from my bag.

The lock turned easily.

Too easily.

The apartment was quiet when I stepped inside. Not the peaceful kind of quiet, the kind that felt abandoned. The air was cool, still. No music playing. No familiar hum of presence.

“Issei?” I called softly.

No answer.

I closed the door behind me, my heart beginning to pound. The space looked the same at first glance: couch untouched, bookshelf neat, curtains drawn halfway. But something was missing.

Something essential.

I walked farther in, my footsteps slow, cautious, as if I might disturb the emptiness.

That was when I saw it.

A folded piece of paper on the counter.

My name written on it.

My breath caught.

I didn’t pick it up right away. I just stood there, staring at it like it might disappear if I looked too closely. The room felt smaller, tighter, like the walls were pressing in.

Finally, with shaking hands, I unfolded the paper.

Kana,
I had to step away for a while. Please don’t worry. Keep being amazing, keep singing, and living your life the way only you can.
I know it's sudden but I know you are smart enough to understand what I am trying to do :)
I’ll wait in the park again someday… I cannot tell you when, but I will.
-Issei

I read it once.

Then again.

And again.

Each time, the words sank deeper, heavier, until my chest felt hollow.

“Step away?” I whispered.

That was it. No explanation. No warning. No goodbye.

I sank onto the edge of the couch, the note crumpling slightly in my grip. My mind raced, searching for logic, for a reason that would make this hurt less.

He didn’t tell me.
He didn’t give me a choice.

And yet… even through the ache, I understood.

The rumors had already started back then. The label meetings. The careful words. The be carefuls and think about your futures. He had seen it coming long before I did.

He had stepped away so I wouldn’t have to.

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I didn’t let them fall. I sat there for a long time, surrounded by traces of him, his jacket still hanging by the door, a mug left in the sink, the faint scent of coffee and something familiar.

I pressed the note to my chest.

“I hate you,” I whispered, my voice breaking.
Then, softer, “I miss you.”

Life didn’t pause for heartbreak.

Days blurred into rehearsals, interviews, fittings, stages that grew larger and brighter with every passing week. The song climbed higher. My name was spoken more often, louder, echoed by voices I couldn’t see.

And yet, in the quiet moments in taxis, dressing rooms, empty hallways, I thought of him.

The park.
The bench.
The promise.

I didn’t know when. I didn’t know how.

But I carried it with me.

(A FEW MONTHS LATER)

The night of the concert arrived sooner than I expected.

The venue was massive, lights blazing, thousands of voices filling the air with anticipation. Backstage buzzed with movement, technicians calling cues, managers murmuring last-minute instructions. My heart pounded in my chest, steady but fierce.

I stood alone for a moment, microphone in hand.

Few months ago, I would have looked for him in the crowd.

Tonight, I closed my eyes instead.

Sing, I told myself.
This is still yours.

The lights dimmed.

The crowd roared.

I stepped onto the stage, the spotlight washing over me like warmth, and for a brief second, everything else faded away. The noise, the ache, the unanswered questions.

The first note left my lips, clear and steady.

As I sang, I felt it, every moment that had led me here. The love. The loss. The quiet promise that lingered like a melody unfinished.

Somewhere, in the vastness beyond the stage lights, I imagined him listening. Not in the crowd, not yet, but somewhere under the same sky.

Waiting.

And as my voice soared through the venue, filling the space with everything I couldn’t say aloud, I knew one thing with absolute certainty:

No matter how far apart we were, the music would always find its way back to him.

And someday, when the world allowed it, so would I.

END CHAPTER-21