Episode 81: Melting

At the usual meeting spot, the familiar car was parked, and the shadow standing beside it had a shape I knew well.

The shadow came running toward me, and as it drew closer it gathered substance and appeared before me in full.

“Uta!”

Shion’s transparent voice struck my eardrums — and that wasn’t enough, apparently, because she threw her arms around me.

“Shion, good morning.”

I said it while receiving that fervent embrace, and stroked the silver hair blazing in the morning light.

“The real Uta…!”

Shion pressed herself into me with a kind of grinding insistence, making contact with every part of her. I laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”
“Because it’s been so long… I was thinking of you the whole time while I practised.”
“That’s — thank you.”
“Were you lonely without me…?”
“…Very.”
“I was lonely too. So right now I’m very, very happy.”

We exchanged those simple feelings, looked at each other, smiled. I was caught up in the length of Shion’s lashes, the whiteness of her skin, the shimmer of those violet-indigo eyes — when I noticed a presence standing quietly behind the scene.

Watching us hold each other, Anon-san was wearing a smile of such perfect, textbook rueful resignation that it might have been illustrated.

I hurried to put some distance between myself and Shion — not entirely managing it, since Shion kept sticking close — and called out a greeting.

“Anon-san, good morning.”
“Morning, Uta-chan. It’s been a while.”
“It really has…!”
“You two are as inseparable as ever.”

Anon-san compressed whatever she actually meant into the word inseparable and looked into the middle distance. As if adding further context to that compression, Shion — still clinging to me — turned back toward her and announced:

“Uta is talking to me right now, not Mama…!”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“…Really?”
“Really, really. That said — stop clinging to Uta in the middle of the road and get in the car.”
“…Okay.”

After that easy exchange, Shion nodded with a show of reluctance, released the embrace, and took my hand instead, squeezing it tight as she walked toward Anon-san. Something had shifted between the two of them over the course of all those lessons — their back-and-forth was transformed compared to before, effortlessly natural and light.

I watched them with a smile, and yet for some reason I felt just a little lonely, and not wanting to let that feeling clarify into something nameable, I squeezed Shion’s hand. She squeezed back firmly, and we exchanged the feel of each other’s grip, filling every gap, as we climbed into the back seat Anon-san had opened for us.

We settled into our seats and fastened the seatbelts. Anon-san rounded to the driver’s seat, started the engine, and the car moved off slowly.

When the speed had steadied, I spoke toward the front.

“I’m sorry — having you drive me on such an important day, right before the competition…”
“It’s fine. I think being able to see you before the performance is the most settled Shion can feel.”

As if to confirm Anon-san’s words, Shion squeezed my hand.

At that feeling, I thought: these white, soft fingertips now laced through mine — these are the fingers that are going to make music today. These small fingers, fingers that look like they might snap at any moment, are going to stand alone on that stage and fight.

If my being here can ease even a little of Shion’s loneliness and fear — there is nothing more I could want.

“Thank you.”

I said it, moved by that feeling — and then:

“And I want you there too, Uta-chan. I want you to watch over Shion’s sound. Today especially — not that person, but Uta — you’ve been watching Shion all this time, and I want Shion’s music to reach Uta.”

Anon-san’s words, unusually charged with feeling. Her voice held a thread of anxiety, of anticipation, of something like guilt — and the weight and density of what she’d said left me unable to answer immediately.

At the red light, as though covering her own vulnerability, Anon-san picked up her phone and put music on through the speaker. The intro was something I knew well, and I forgot to answer and asked her instead:

“Is it all right not to listen to the piece Shion’s performing today…?”
“It’s fine. Human nerves don’t hold on that long, and I think Shion will be more relaxed with a song she loves.”

Anon-san’s voice was gentle. Shion, beside me, followed that:

“Yeah. It’s your favourite song, so that’s the best.”

At those words from both of them, without warning, my eyes grew hot. The loneliness I’d felt earlier — I felt its very nature dissolving. I wanted to protect this gentle, warm space. This was something I wanted to keep.

There’s almost nothing I can do for that. But I can be here.

I wrapped Shion’s fingertips softly in my palm, as if to keep them safe, and answered.

“Thank you.”