Fate. A predetermined supernatural power. The will of the universe. Fate is order. It writes, and rewrites, gives and takes. It spins vibrant red strings that flow into the world and connect people who are destined to meet, to love, to share a story...
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Think happy thoughts. Happy thoughts.
Cherry blossoms in winter.
A day at the pet cafe.
The night before my birthday.
I'm crouched on the grass with my hands locked over my legs and my face buried in my knees, hidden from the rest of the school in the narrow alley between the two buildings, my back against the wall. The shadows from the looming buildings cast me into darkness, and there's no red around me to dimly light up my surroundings.
I'm alone, and everything hurts.
My eyes are stinging, my chest feels painfully heavy, and my lips are pressed together to keep them from quivering. It hurts so much that I know that if I went back inside right now, I wouldn't be able to keep the pain off my face. I might end up crying at the first sign of a familiar face, and I don't want to put anyone else through that.
So I take a shaky breath, and continue trying to cheer myself up, because there's no one here to do it for me.
Window shopping with Kurumi-senpai.
Akito's home-cooked lunch.
Trivial squabbles with Ren that always end in laughter.
Train rides with Irina.
The weight on my chest eases up, a layer lifted with each name I recall. I close my eyes and keep going.
Irina's slender and kind fingers.
Irina's musical voice.
Irina's moon-like presence.
Irina...
Irina.
Irina.
"The fuck—so you were here."
My breathing comes to a stuttering halt and I gasp, looking up. "R-Ren?"
"Why did you skip class? That's not like you," he says, drawing closer. "Braids for brains has a whole search party out looking for you."
I pull my legs closer to my chest. Don't. Don't you dare read into that. You know better. I haven't been able to get Irina out of my head at all lately. Wisps of her voice echo in my mind at the most unpredictable times. The smallest things remind me of her. I crawl under my blanket at night, thinking about how her hugs feel warmer.
I've always dreamt up scenarios involving the two of us — holding hands on the ride home, going places together during the weekend, climbing onto the roof and snuggling under the stars. They were merely picturesque ideas, not possibilities.
They were not a version of what might have been, but thoughts leaning more towards maybe in another world.
I don't have the luxury to nurture these feelings, and it's been getting harder and harder to look past them, put them in the back seat. The wall of bitter truths and convincing lies that I built up around my heart to keep these feelings out is slowly crumbling. I'm so tired of Irina's painfully misleading behavior. I wish she would just stop.
