Chapter 4 — It’s Getting Dark

I do not remember exactly what I said.

That bothered me for years.

I remember teasing her about something. I remember laughing. I remember her starting to answer and then suddenly going quiet.

Her smile disappeared.

She pressed a hand lightly against her stomach.

At the time, I did not notice that part.

I noticed only the silence.

The old voice in my head returned all at once.

Too much.

I stopped smiling.

“Hey.”

“Hm?”

“Are you mad?”

She blinked. “What?”

“Because of what I said.”

“No.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

She shifted her weight.

For a second, her hand returned to her stomach.

Then she looked toward the road.

“I think I'm going home.”

My stomach dropped.

“Already?”

She looked toward the sky.

“It’s getting dark.”

It was not that dark.

“Oh.”

“See you.”

“Yeah.”

She hurried away.

I remained beside the swing.

The playground felt strangely large after she left.

I replayed the afternoon.

The joke.

Her silence.

Are you mad?

No.

I think I’m going home.

It’s getting dark.

I knew that kind of ‘no.’

People said they were fine when they did not want to explain why they were upset.

I had done it myself.

By the time I went home, I had a plan.

Tomorrow, I would apologize properly.

No jokes.

No excuses.

I would tell her I was sorry.

And after that, I'd be more careful.

I wouldn't tease her too much.

I wouldn't say something stupid just because I knew she'd usually laugh.

I could do that.

If being a little more careful meant things could go back to normal—

then I'd be careful.

Maybe I would even bring the page where I had written our unfinished lyrics.

We could finish the second stanza.

Everything would go back to normal.

I was sure of it.

After all—

she had always come back the next afternoon. 112Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0hcM29uLbl

Tomorrow would fix it.

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