I stared at Sakura, needing a second to process what she’d said. Out of habit, I almost joked about how good her pronunciation was, but thankfully didn’t.

What to do, what to say—I didn’t have a good answer. I didn’t want to hurt her, didn’t want to lie to her, didn’t want to give her false hope. A whole list of “don’t wants”. And worst of all was this body that didn’t want to turn her down. More than ever before, I felt the dysphoria, like I was just a ghost giving suggestions.

But I didn’t like her, not that way. She was a child to me. She looked like one, acted like one, and was one.

A mind and body at odds, what was I to do? Especially when every second I took must have been torture to her. Thinking of that, I understood what she’d said before confessing and realised why she was practically falling apart.

She was a child and I was an adult, so it was my responsibility to care for her.

“Sakura,” I softly said, yet she still froze up like I’d shouted, her every muscle tensed and gaze stuck on the ground between us. “I am happy to hear that, but I cannot return your feelings right now.”

She took in a deep breath, her lips trembling, then let it out, lowering her head even more.

“And it’s okay, I don’t mind if you saw me. You’re my best friend and always will be and I trust you to respect me,” I said, trying to read her reaction. Unfortunately, she didn’t look up at all. “If you need some time, I understand, just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

This time, she at least nodded.

After waiting a few seconds to see if she had anything else to say, I said, “Oh, I forgot something in the classroom. You don’t have to wait for me if you’re in a rush, but, if you’re not, I’ll meet you by the gate.”

With that, I gave her a wave that she couldn’t see and, watching for any kind of reaction the whole way, shuffled out the room, even lingering in the doorway for a couple seconds.

My heart still ached. It wanted to stay with her, to beat alongside hers. I understood that now. I didn’t understand why. Wasn’t this supposed to be someone’s heaven? So, why would this body have those kinds of feelings by itself? I’d assumed that everything had been “made up” the moment I arrived, including the memories, but now….

Was this a heaven full of people like me, real people given roles to play? That seemed like the sort of thing that goddess would do.

As much as I tried to distract myself, I eventually reached the classroom and, rather than the nothing I’d forgotten, I found Natalie. Worse, she found me, noticing as soon as I opened the door.

I really wasn’t in the right state to talk to anyone right now.

Nothing to do about it, I walked over. “Shouldn’t you be in club?” I said in English.

“Shouldn’t you be walking home with Sa-ku-ra-cha-n,” she said, singing Sakura’s name (and honorific).

No good answer to that, I fell into my seat, deflating onto my desk.

After a moment of silence, Natalie said, “I was worried something was up, but didn’t think it was this bad. What happened—Sakura confess to you?”

Even though she’d said it like a joke and I knew I shouldn’t react, well, reactions weren’t always easy to stop.

“No way, she did?”

I buried my face into my arms. “No comment,” I mumbled, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Well, I’m surprised you turned her down?” she said

If I’d accepted, I wouldn’t have been slumped on my desk.

“But, like, you’re still friends, right?”

Something about her tone gave me pause, delicate, but not just delicate… fragile. “If she wants to be,” I mumbled.

A second passed, then she said, “You don’t mind she’s gay?”

“Not at all,” I said, then my stomach dropped. Jerking upright, I looked straight at Natalie. “You’re not going to ask me out too, are you? Because I can’t handle that right now.”

The moment of panic passing, I became more and more embarrassed over my reaction, not at all helped by Natalie’s smug grin. “Think highly of yourself, don’cha?”

I turned away, pouting. It wasn’t my fault I was in some messed-up heaven.

Silence following, I pulled out my phone and sent Himawari a message so she wouldn’t worry why I was late. Once I finished, I looked at Natalie and found her with her phone out too. Our eyes meeting, she softly smiled and reached over, her phone left on my table.

There was a photo showing Natalie and another girl. “Dory”, if I had to guess, the only friend she’d mentioned. And if not for what had just happened, maybe I wouldn’t have noticed how close the two of them were sitting, wouldn’t have thought about Natalie’s hand on Dory’s thigh, or about Dory resting her head on Natalie’s shoulder.

But I did, reminded of how fragile Natalie had sounded a moment ago. She looked older, seemed more mature in some ways, yet was still a child.

“You make a pretty couple,” I softly said. Not sure what else I could have said.

Well, it was good enough, Natalie just bursting into a beautiful smile. She’d never smiled like that for me or Himawari or anyone else. “Long distance, like, never works, so I came here. But now I’m in Tokyo and she’s up in Akita and I haven’t even seen her once,” she said, and I’d never heard her talk like that before either, her voice so gentle, lacking her boundless energy, yet so full of something else.

“At least there’s no time zone difference,” I said.

Chuckling, she nodded. Before silence settled, she said, “Hey, are you… going back to the bath house?”

“Mm, I want to take Hime-chan again,” I said, then reached over and patted her shoulder. “And you, if you want.”

“Really?” Natalie asked, a spark back in her voice, smile on her lips.

“Hime-chan loved having you over—and so did I,” I said, smiling back.

She stared at me for a moment, then looked down, blinking, her mouth scrunched into a shy smile. “I’ll go.”

My smile fading, I quietly added, “I hope Sakura can come too.”

“Yeah,” Natalie whispered.

After a minute with nothing else said, I excused myself, no reason to keep Himawari waiting. The whole way out of school, my heart pounded and I only realised why when I reached the gate and found myself looking for Sakura.

She wasn’t there.

The whole walk home was a blur, greeting Himawari a string of nonsense. “Sorry, I’m feeling tired. Call me if you need help with your homework or cooking,” I said, patting her head.

She didn’t fuss, just hugged me tight. “Okay, I hope you feel better,” she quietly said.

Then I was in my room. Alone. Alone but for my thoughts, memories, pain. Curtains drawn and light off, I tried to sleep to escape the spiral.

But there was no escape.

“You’re unloveable.” Two voices, two languages.

“It’s your fault your dad left us.” I believed her, always had. I was a sixteen-year-old girl and it felt like the whole world was against me, wanting me to be an adult, treating me like a child, mocking me for anything I did.

My fault he had an affair, my fault for driving him away, all my fault.

“It’s disgusting you want me to like you.” “I” believed her. I was fourteen and I missed my mother and thought my stepmother would love me like my mother had if only I was a good girl. So I did everything I could to please her, desperate for any love after my father had ignored me since my mother’s death.

My fault for being clingy, my fault for being disgusting, all my fault.

Then—

Head pounding, I curled up, breath quivering in my throat.

A scream: “Can’t you do anything right?”

And there was Himawari, smaller, hunched over, but no tears. Even as her own mother screamed at her, there was no reaction at all.

But that—

Vomit burned at the back of my throat.

I thought maybe she’d love me if I also shouted at Himawari. And I considered it, and I breathed in, and I had the words on my lips, then she raised her hand and I froze. I froze and did nothing, in complete disbelief the entire time, cowardly watching as that hand came to slap Himawari across the face.

In that moment, I understood she didn’t even love her own daughter.

Himawari just took it, stumbled, the red mark clearly stinging, but didn’t sniffle or cry, unshed tears clinging desperately. That was what it meant to be her daughter, and that wasn’t the daughter I wanted to be.

A single tear fell, dripping onto the floor. She raised her hand again. “Don’t think acting cute will—”

It wasn’t the daughter anyone should be.

The fog had lifted, but the memories still blurred. I got between them, hugged Himawari, waited for the slap to hit me instead, but it never did. Tried to speak to my father. “Don’t get involved in their family business,” he said.

What family was left between them?

I shook, silently crying, face pressed into the pillow.

Despite my father’s words, my stepmother changed to ignoring our existence and I did my best to help, keeping Himawari away, putting her to bed and helping her bathe and all that. Until eventually he had to move for a new job and I suggested we just stay here.

And it was amazing and scary and drove me into the ground. I wanted so badly to be an adult, still was a child. I couldn’t handle school, work, and caring for a child. Everyone else—the Fujiyamas, Toyama, even Natalie—were trying so hard to help me, and I was still failing. I was failing them, I was failing myself and, worst of all, I was failing Himawari.

“Sakura….”

Her name slipped out, and I understood.

I was unloveable.

Sakura, who was always there for me, whose smile made me smile—how could she have loved me back? I was a failure, worthless, disgusting. Even if she did “love” me, it was only because she didn’t know me. She loved the me who loved Himawari, didn’t know the me who’d watched Himawari be slapped and did nothing. She loved the me who worked hard, didn’t know the me who’d spend hours every night messing up, desperately searching online to try and make things work, barely living on a few hours sleep from collapsing at my desk.

I was unloveable, unworthy of love, and that realisation had cut the last of my will.

The day I—this me—woke up in class, I was going to give it all up. Go crawling back to my father, beg him. What dignity? I just wanted to protect one little girl, and I couldn’t do that.

I couldn’t even do that.

If “my” mother knew how much of a failure I was, she would’ve been so disappointed. She wouldn’t be able to forgive me. And when I told Himawari we’d have to live with my father and her mother again….

I was unloveable.

Every heartbeat hurt, chest so tight, barely able to breathe. This was “me”. This poor, poor child. I just wanted to hug her and tell her she was wrong. None of it was her fault. None. That she did so much for Himawari, coped so well with a situation no child should be put in, and I was so proud of her. That her mother would be so proud of her.

But I couldn’t: she was gone, only I was here.