Episode 50 — Waves Drawing Near

Side by side in our seats, swaying with the train, just like when we go home from school together. But the scenery through the window is entirely different — and Shion watches it with curious eyes.

“The houses are so close.”

Just as Shion says, the train we’re riding moves at an unhurried pace through the heart of the town. Houses close enough that you can make out the laundry on balconies, residential buildings standing near enough to touch if you stretched your hand out. Through that scenery, if the usual commuter train runs at a sprint, this one moves at a brisk walk. The interior too — green-toned throughout, with large ceiling fans looking down at us, circulating cool air by the most primitive possible method, keeping the summer temperature confined only to the landscape outside.

“That’s true. I wonder if the residents find it loud.”

I tossed out the idle observation, and:

“Sounds loud.”

Shion made a face. She’d seemed to hate the arcade noise too — she clearly couldn’t live on this line.

But brushing past my concern, Shion’s expression quickly settled back, and:

“But I kind of like this train.”

And she directed the destination of that like in entirely the wrong direction, and took hold of my hand. The carriage was almost empty, plenty of spare seats, no need whatsoever — and yet she leaned into me. But because that misdirection was not a misdirection for me alone, I quietly squeezed back the soft, cool palm. Gently received the weight and warmth against my shoulder.

“…It has a nice atmosphere.”

I arranged my words carefully, one by one, as if confirming each one — making sure not to misread, not to mistake. But Shion painted over all of that effort with the heat of a single sentence.

“I think it’s because you’re here, Uta.”

The ceiling fans turned with a clatter. The train alternated between small, frequent stops and starts, busy and gentle in turns. In that space between, my heart was pounding at an extraordinary speed. As if suddenly remembering what season it was, sweat pricked along my back — and the thought that this body temperature, this change in me, was being transmitted through our joined hands made me impossibly embarrassed.

Embarrassed — and yet wanting it to reach her.

“Me too — because you’re here, Shion…”

At the moment I said it — just behind the words, turning my gaze from the window toward Shion —

This time Shion turned her gaze toward the window. And with her free hand, she pointed toward something.

There, the sea stretched wide. The indigo that reflected summer’s glitter, and the clear blue sky, both there in the window.

It was unmistakably our destination — and yet what hit me was loneliness. As if my words had been swallowed by the sea. As if Shion had been taken by the sea. That alone was enough to bring something like a darkening sky over my mood, the opposite of the landscape before me. Just when I’d been cautioning myself not to misread — I was wishing for something further, grieving that it wasn’t coming. Tasting the saltiness of that contradiction, like swallowing seawater — when:

As if to blow all of it away, Shion turned toward me and said:

“The sea is beautiful…!”

Those violet-indigo eyes glittered far more brilliantly than any sun-reflecting surface. Her delight was like that of a carefree child, beauty and youthfulness coexisting with such ease — and facing all of that, there was truly nothing left to do but lose my words entirely.

“…It really is beautiful.”

I managed to echo Shion’s words somehow. The word left empty of its subject held a meaning only I knew — and I thought, turning the remainder of the sea-swallowed words gently on my tongue, that I wanted to say it out loud someday.

Shion, gazing at the sea, has no idea where my eyes are going. And like an equation — the answer to where this train, running through summer’s light, is headed, exists inside Shion’s eyes.

As if performing the task of confirming that answer, the announcement rang through the carriage.

“Next stop, Kaigan Koen-mae. Kaigan Koen-mae.”

At the announcement, Shion said — leaning in toward me from close range, pressing even closer:

“Let’s get off here…! The sea looks close.”
“Okay.”

I nodded gently. Wherever we got off, I thought naturally, there is nothing I want to see except what’s inside those eyes.

We stepped off one stop before our intended destination. A landscape like the border between town and sea spread before us.

“This is fun.”

We hadn’t even reached the destination yet, and Shion said it, swinging our joined hands back and forth.

“It is.”

I quietly tightened my grip on the single reason for that feeling, so as not to let go.

From the small platform, a short walk brought us to a bare, minimal ticket gate, with a notice indicating this was an unmanned station.

Just the two of us in the whole world — I thought, too sentimental by half.

“Just the two of us.”

Shion murmured it, tracing the shape of my heart exactly. That alone sent my heart rippling, stripping words away.

“Yes.”

Just that one word, carrying countless meanings.

Every one of those meanings had Shion as its object — and because that Shion was looking toward the sea. Through the empty ticket gate, we stepped out into the town the train had left behind.