It didn’t last long.

The conversation we had, I mean. It was a touching reunion, but just like any other — it was awkward. Too awkward, I’d say. We didn’t have much to say to each other, and the gestures we’ve exchanged are many. Body language is a crazy thing, isn’t it?

Look, all we said to each other after that wonderful exchange was regarding the weather. That’s it. Literally. Seriously? Saying it’s awkward is simply an understatement when this situation is presented.

Nevertheless, I wasn’t going to let this joyride come to an abrupt and anticlimactic end. This comes as no surprise: I was over the moon. Maybe such a description is exaggerated, but there’s not enough adjectives out there to showcase how boisterous I was. My happiness can’t be put into words, and so does my awkwardness. That’s perhaps why our little interaction feels so out of touch. Yet, I can’t help but see that we both are glad to see each other again.

No. More like, she was glad I approached her. She’s a carefree and reserved girl, but that does not equate to her harboring any hobbies to recluse to. She’s got friends, and she hangs out with them. Yeah, she’s just a normal girl. Nothing wrong with that though, I’m glad to see her — and it’s more comforting to see her doing so well after what feels like so long.

I wanted to approach her, and albeit I did not; I’ve always been watching her from afar. This is the first time in forever that I can tell myself for certain:

Oh how glad I am to see her doing just fine.

Just being able to tell isn’t enough. I have to actively talk to her to see what’s up. The silence was suffocating, but I’ve made the reluctant and valor choice to not back down from this. So no pulling on the strings or wagging my tail for something to occur, I’m going to be the driving factor.

And so, with my heart beating still, and my lungs breathing in the same air as her, I asked, “so… how was work? Part-time, I mean.” I tried my best to come off as easygoing. Of course, the drawback was that it was paper-thin. She and I both knew I forced that one out because I’d nothing else to inquire, but I was curious. So I asked.

“Hm?” She perked up, “oh yeah — my work, ofcourse,” she looked up at the sky. “It was alright. Nothing much.”

Silence followed. I expected this. I didn’t expect it to be this quiet, though.

“Hey, do you know?” She opened up to me. I was a little shocked, but the thought of her trying to keep the ball rolling lifts my spirit. “The word ‘irregardless’, it isn't actually a word.”

She pointed her index finger up, around eye level. She was full to the brim with excitement. “That’s because it has the same meaning as regardless. Get it?“ She locked eyes with me again, and although it was just a friendly gesture — I can’t help but back away a little.

“It’s going to be on the test, y’know.” She smirked.

Personal space is what they all call it. I just call it being a chicken. I’m aware of that, but I’ll change my ways. Why was I so emotional over all this in the first place? My life’s barely started for me to start forging regrets now. I shouldn’t be thinking about the future yet. But the thought of losing her boggles my mind ever so slightly.

It moves in accordance with my body. The notion of wanting change drives me forward.

“Well—“ I positioned myself. “Thanks for the reminder.” I pinched her cheek, “Do you remember when you were into music?” I laughed, “you were so into it you asked your mom to buy you a guitar?”

My voice was shaking, containing the laughter. “And she said no because you’re just gonna stop playing after a week?” I laughed. I swear that shit wasn’t funny but I still let out a chuckle.

With an indignant voice, she punched me on the back. “Stop it!” She pouts, showing distress. Perhaps she was embarrassed, it was ages ago after all. “You do know I cried out to my mom—“ She raised both arms and gently put them on both of my shoulders. “I was practically on my KNEES just begging her about it.”

I was still laughing. She shook me. Irritated, she exclaimed, “and her answer was a resounding no every time!” She almost sounds too natural. Almost like we’re back in the old days, once more.

“Pardon me, ma’am…” I broke out, hinting that I was getting somewhat dizzy from the shaking. “Something else I wanna ask—“ I peered a little into her open, unzipped bag. “You still not over it?”

Sometimes people never really move on from the past. I think that’s a very human thing. We hold onto so many things, and familiarity hits closer to home than originality.

“Yeah,” she glimpses into her bag, rummaging it and pulling out a book on Amadeus Mozart. “I’m still a big fan of music.” She smiles softly, with her eyes looking endeared by it. “I just can’t let go of some things, no matter how hard I try.”

However, I believe that change propels us forward. Perhaps it’s sudden to finally think this way, knowing I was so indifferent to change just this morning. But I don’t want to keep being gloomy for the sake of it. I’ve been so fed up with so many troubles in life, especially with the absence of my father and the financial issues we’ve been in; perhaps it’s time to look forward to the good stuff now.

Noticing how poignant this has come, I tried to lighten up the mood. “Hey, do you know?” I looked at her. Devoid of any anxiety now, I inched closer rather than backing away.

Her eyebrows went up. She was a little surprised. I was slowly going out of my comfort zone, and she’s seemingly appreciative of it.

“If there wasn’t a main competitor for Einstein — the absolutely brilliant mathematician David Hilbert, whose own stature might even infatuate most students — he probably wouldn’t be seen as the great man he is himself now.”

I’ve been reading books, too, you know. It was to get closer to you, but now, I believe it to be for my own sake too. I’ve come to evaluate myself.

I closed my eyes for a bit, trying to piece together the memories. She tilted her head, but she was eager to listen.

Yeah. She’s delighted. Her soft smile dawned on me. I’ll keep trying my hardest.

She imposes a question, “why is that so? Is there a reason behind it?” Her gaze was as-if she’s staring right into my very soul.

“W—“ I stammered, and coughed. “Ehem,” I pointed my finger at her. “What do you think of competitions?” I replied to the question with a question. Oh boy, that’ll surely throw her in for a loop.

“Huh?” She rested her fingers under her chin, “Uhm, it’s good for both parties? To make us work harder?” She put her fingers down, and shrugged. “I guess?”

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Yup.” I nodded, agreeing to her. I’m happy to know she’s following up with what I’m saying. Her engagement makes me feel lighthearted.

I began to follow up on my previous point, “if there wasn’t a competitor of such height and ranking recognizing Einstein as an admirable and intelligent person — the theory of relativity, in this case — who would really see his potential? Hilbert had stolen the theory after reading some of his papers—“

She cut me off, “—and some of Dr. Hilbert supporters quietly suggested years later that it had actually been Einstein who committed plagiarism, when that wasn’t the case, correct?” She continues, “you’ve been reading and studying well, Natsuyuki-kun.” She got a little red.

She prefaced that she knew the answer, but led me on. At least, that’s what I think. “Well, ‘irregardless’—“

“I like that reference.”

I chuckled, “it was still David who realized Einstein’s talent when none did, right? Of course, this is in spite of his resentment and jealousy towards Einstein.”

“Hm,” she scratched her cheek, admiring my ability to articulate myself and regurgitating all this from the top of my head. I think. She’s even better, of course, she’s just being humble is all. She’s probably not sure whether to be in awe or give an even more detailed response. Regardless, her engagement was at its peak.

“I beg to differ,” she stared at me with a straight face. A serious tone accompanied her. And as a foreword to her response, she imposes yet another question, “isn’t life about how we communicate?”

“What do you mean?”

“Languages: therein lies abstractions of the verbal and nonverbal expressions. They’re our attempts to understand each other more with not just words, but also what words can’t say.”

I don’t get it. I really don’t. It just feels like she’s already offrailed to another topic altogether.

“Don’t you think we rely a lot on words? On what we say to each other?” She inches closer to my face, and stared directly into my eyes. “What about body language? Social cues?”

Her presence was suffocating. It was alluring, but it’s made it so hard to breathe. I can’t help but gulp down my saliva, along with all my anxiety to try to power through this.

“Do you feel it…?” She holds my hand and rests it on her chest. “My heartbeat.”

“Yeah,” it’s beating fast. And loud.

“See, honesty isn’t just a virtue. It’s also a language. It’s the same as what I’ve said. We use all our senses to perceive art: with our eyes; or music: with our ears. That’s why seeing a good art piece or listening to something can evoke emotion, seemingly communicating with us.” She pauses, gripping my hand harder.

“If you show people your willingness to listen.” She lets go of me, and walks away slowly, “if you look at people genuinely,” she stops. “If you’re being honest and transparent, not just to others, but to yourself too—“

She ran up to me.

I was shocked. But then I felt it. The rays of light fractured and dawned, and as the crimson sunlight began to wrap itself around, so did the warm fragrance envelop me. My hand feels her warmth, kindness, and joy.

She caressed my hand, “such a thing wouldn’t happen. Instead of stealing Einstein’s ideas for all the fame and glory, he’d have the capacity to feel what Einstein feels.”

I was absolutely lightheaded. I didn’t know what to feel, or how to make sense of what she’s saying, but I’m sure I’ll understand eventually. However, I'm not yet ready to let my thoughts pass like the clouds, adrift with nowhere to go and naught a purpose.

“Look, I might not know the full context, but based on what I know,” I locked my gaze with her. “Isn’t it sad? Instead of stealing it? Why didn’t he help him advance it?” I was actually curious as to why that’s the case. “They could’ve shared the glory, perhaps.”

“Bingo.” She smiled with a sassy look on her face. “Communication is art. Just listening shows your appreciation.”

I was still confused, to be perfectly honest. She’s such a complex character, and she always ends up complicating matters at hand.

“Life is just like music, don’t you think?” She remarked.

Yup. This girl’s kind of a little crazy in the head.

Her eyes ran past me, looking into the horizon. “Same like songs,” she runs forward onto the pavement and stops, quickly turning back to look at me from afar. “When there’s a beginning, there’s an ending too.”

“I still don’t get it.” Despite that, I was absolutely stunlocked. She was basking in the morning sun. The light was quick to make an outline of her, drowning my vision as the light permeated and blinds me momentarily.

She beamed up. “You’ve got your whole life to figure it out.” She looks forward, “the future is still far away.” She begins to walk, leaving me behind. “There’s no rush in doing anything.”

I get what she means. I really do. We’re both so young, and our lives barely started. Nevertheless, I still don’t want to lose out on what seems to be a crucial moment in my life. They say youth is overrated, but it’s when we realize ourselves most. Who we want to be, and what we want to be.

What we actually want in life, however?

“Chinatsu-senpai!” I shouted, calling out to her. “Tell me, deep within your heart,” my heart was beating loudly. My voice was shaking. My body, however, acted on its own. “What is it that you really want?”

I got the gist of what she's said. If I follow her line of thinking correctly, then she deems these ‘languages’ like honesty to be a pivotal part in communicating. It does help and improve our relationships, surely, but it's not necessary.

I then told myself:

What about the times where being honest is a bad thing?

Sometimes, you need to lie your way out of something. Sometimes, you need to divert people from the truth to keep their feelings and heart intact. Sometimes, lying can even save someone — and the vision of being the reason someone lives in a lie scares me to no measurable extent.

Maybe I don't understand it fully, but for what I know, I'll tell her straight up.

“You said that life’s just like music, right?” I shouted. My jaws dropped as-if there's no tomorrow, unwary of others hearing me or if I don't get an answer straight away. I just need to ask her. Of course I'm scared to know the answer, but I'm also hopeful.

I followed up, “that would mean,” I stepped closer to her in anticipation, “that we've got choruses, high and low notes, and lyrics… right?” I wasn't sure if I was making any sense. Perhaps it overcomplicated it even further, and made this story too hyper-focused on such superficial questions.

I told myself before that I don’t want to live without knowing more about her. To preface that, I asked what she really wants in life, what she thinks is her meaning — her purpose. It doesn’t have to be grand. It doesn’t have to be something materialistic, it can be just anything.

“You've incorporated something like that, and viewed life with such a fitting mentality,” I was allured and in absolute awe of how she interprets life with such analogy, it's somewhat allegorical. “Surely you know what to do in your life?”

Unlike me, she's probably had everything planned out. She knows what she's going to strive for, and she knows it'll make her happy; all the while balancing fun and joyous stuff to do. That way, it's optimal. I mean, she gets to enjoy work, and live life well and off… isn't that a good deal?

Why am I so hung over this so much, though? Am I really that scared for the future?

Perhaps I'm being too emotional for no reason whatsoever? I'm not exactly depressed, but as teenagers, I can't help but fear adulthood. Knowing my financial predicament, I could be dead the moment I graduate. Give it three months, and the landlord will kick us out. The rent's due several months, even right now. Not even flipping burgers or anything can cover that, and my mom's work isn't that well off itself either.

The only reason I'm still going is to support my family. I did so many things reluctantly to help her out. I don't want to kill myself off, because that'll just put her in a worse spot. What asshole of a son does that?

Hell, why am I even ranting? I'm probably projecting all this onto her. I look like a dumbass. But I just want to know if she knows — life's greatest question — maybe then, I'll have another reason to keep on living. If I know her answer to that, it might help me make my own reason.

She turned around, gently smiling. “Well—“ she looks at her watch. “Right now, I don’t want to be late for school.” She raised her hand, waved, and stuck her tongue out with one eye closed. “Mrs. Erina wouldn't take it lightly if you're late for school.”

Oh fu—