I love communicating, the girl had once said.
Her voice sounded somewhat hoarse.
That was two years ago now. But Asai Kei had not forgotten about it, not one bit. The day of the week, the time, the weather, the color of her uniform, the shape of her fingertips, not even the angle to which her head was tilted. He could even recall the number of times she had blinked, but that would be pointless.
She walked down the hallway of the southern school building. Raindrops hit the window panes, and were pulled down, seemingly in time with her light breaths. It was as though the rain itself was paying her close attention. The continual, monotonous sound pushed one’s mind to inner reflection. The humid summer air carried a nostalgic scent with it, pulling along memories and emotions of bygone times. — I love communicating.
It had been raining on that day, too. The girl continued, whispering with the sound of the falling rain. — Words of happiness, quiet words, words to and words from, there’s so much I want to convey.
The Kei of two years ago didn’t get what she meant by that. Even now, he could only understand a little of its meaning. Surely, happiness could be found in being able to understand another human. Sometimes, they were words that brought happiness, and sometimes they were only a whisper.
He slowly walked down the hall. He stepped carefully, politely, one foot at a time.
In his memories, Kei asked the girl a question. What if the thing you had to tell someone was sad?
The girl answered. — I would devise a strategy to tell them. If I had to tell them no matter what, then I would use the right method, with the right words, and convey it to them in the right way.
Kei had agreed with her in his mind. But then, what if you yourself couldn’t understand the full meaning behind what you knew you had to tell them? Ultimately, he never asked her that question. And she died before he ever could.
Kei stopped, having reached his destination. The staff room. He knocked first, then opened the door. In the room, seated in the closest chair to the second window down, was a teacher. He had particularly unruly hair, and sleepy looking eyes. His name was Tsushima Shintarou. He wasn’t in charge of any of Kei’s classes. He had previously taught a mathematics class to Kei, and was currently his club’s advisor. Their relationship was a bit more familiar than just a homeroom teacher and student, you could say.
The teacher turned Kei’s way and smiled, “Yo.”
Kei walked up to him, and answered in a low voice.
“I have a message for you.”
“Ah, who could it be from?”
“The you of yesterday.”
Tsushima frowned as he brought his coffee cup up to his lips.
“The MacGuffin is going to be stolen.”
That was the entirety of the message.
It would’ve been nice if it could make someone happy, but that wasn’t very likely.
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