Final Episode: I Dedicate This Final Note to You

“Shion, Shiko-chan — ittekimasu.”

Seen off by Anon-san’s words, the two of us stood in front of the station. Hands gripped tight, fingers laced.

“Well then — shall we go?”
“…Yes.”

I confirmed Shion had nodded, then began walking toward the station, drawing her along by the hand.

The piercing cold threw our joined warmth into sharp relief. I gripped tighter, as if to burn the feeling into my skin. A small, unreliable hand. Smooth and soft, fingertips alone hardened — the history of Shion, engraved in her fingertips.

The station was crowded on a weekend, and the platform we needed was a different one from usual — the one heading to the airport. We held our hands tight so as not to lose each other. Same height as me. A slender body. A silver-white beauty, fragile. If I let go right now she might disappear — and yet this small girl, the Shion who always leans into me with such childlike sweetness, is heading somewhere far away.

For my sake, to keep being my ideal, she’s about to take flight with my existence as her reason. I don’t want her to be alone. I don’t want her to be lonely.

Even in the noise, it felt as though there were only two of us in the world. No words, no sound — only body heat, certain and real, connecting us. But the time to let go will come. A hand held too long becomes a chain — so toward the future where Shion can fly properly, I keep walking. Far outside the range of my commuter pass, to a destination I bought a ticket for — through the turnstile, and a train was already waiting at the platform.

Still without words, we got on. We gave our bodies over to the future running straight along the rails. Two seats were open side by side; we sat, and at the same moment the departure bell rang.

The doors closed, the train lurched and began to move. The heated carriage was warm — but that wasn’t a reason to let go, so we stayed linked. The train passed through stations, the sky appearing in the window. A blue sky that made the early morning snow seem like a lie. Far away, an aeroplane was gliding through it. I looked away from its arc and shifted my gaze to Shion sitting beside me.

And Shion had apparently been just about to lean against me at the same moment, and our eyes met at close range. The violet-indigo brightness trembled right in front of me. Helplessly caught by the beam from those eyes, unable to find words — and then:

“I was so happy.”

Shion murmured it quietly. I still couldn’t make my mouth form words, and tilted my head to ask her to go on.

“I was so happy. That time — you took my hand and brought me out to the shopping centre. I’d always been wishing, every time I got off a train, that you’d take my hand. And it came true and it was like a dream.”

Shion wrapped my hand in hers, prayer-like, and said it with tenderness.

“I was incredibly nervous and my heart was pounding — but I’m glad.”

I said it and stroked her head. Ran my fingers through that silver-bright hair. Shion narrowed her eyes contentedly, let herself be stroked, and dropped more words:

“Going on outings on the train was fun too. We got to see the penguin that looked like you at the aquarium.”
“There was also a spoilt baby penguin that looked like you.”
“I don’t look like one…”

She said it and leaned into me anyway. That contradiction is somehow dear and beautiful — what am I supposed to do about that.

There’s nothing to be done. Hopelessly, helplessly, I love Shion.

“That’s true. Shion is the older one after all.”

I ruffled her hair as I said it. In the motion, silver brightness glittered like stars.

“That’s right. Because I’m the older one, I walked up that slope without being carried. And the prawn cracker shop partway up — I want to eat those big prawn crackers again.”
“You didn’t finish them though. In the end I ate your share too.”
“You were happy to eat more, weren’t you?”
“Shion, you really do have that quality… don’t do that with anyone but me.”
“Why?”
“…Just because.”

Half concern, half possessiveness. Covering that smallness with words, I said:

“Next time we eat them, let’s split from the start.”
“Yes — promise.”
“Promises keep piling up.”

I laughed, a bit exasperated. But that’s fine, I thought. Binding each other’s little fingers with promise after promise — that way it feels like we’ll always be together.

Shion’s face lit up at my smile, and then she leaned toward me with a new wish:

“Oh, and I want to go back to the sea too. You said it, didn’t you — let’s look at the sea together.”
“Yes. Let’s look at it. Looking at the sea with Shion — that might be my dream right now.”

I repeated the words I’d sent into the music room the other day. Then they’d been a metaphor; now the wish Shion had spoken wasn’t a metaphor; and my dream is still, I suppose, a metaphor — a symbol for wanting to be Shion’s equal. But even that doesn’t matter now. Both can come true. I’ll let both come true.

Writing Shion’s beauty better than now, as beautifully as I imagine, as faithfully as reality — taking flight at the same height as Shion. And then, the two of us together, getting on a train and going to see the sea. I believe that future is out there, stretching ahead.

The train carrying us toward a single future swayed, steadily closing the distance to its destination. Several announcements sounded in my eardrums; any number of passengers got off; others replaced them.

Through all of it, we held hands.

All of that time, we exchanged words that were only ours. Our own world — and Shion laid sound over it too, that transparent bell-like voice:

“Hey, Uta.”
“What is it.”
“I want to listen to that song. With you.”
“All right.”

I nodded and took out my phone. The purple music-note strap swayed. Then the wired earphones too — I held one out to Shion.

“Put it in for me~”
“Yes, yes.”

As commanded, I leaned over and parted the silver hair and put the small black earphone into her small left ear. Against the expanse of pure-white skin, only the earlobe was flushed red, and that made me happy.

I put the other earphone in my own right ear. Drawn together like something tied by the cord running between our nearby ears, our soft warmth touched. I thought: I want to go on living like this, side by side, always. Each being the other’s wings, dependent on each other, going far. I want to see beautiful things together. The song about to play was made for exactly that — so that even apart, the words and the sound could be together.

We balanced the phone on both our knees, and I opened the mp3 saved in Google Drive. Pressed play.

Immediately: my trembling voice, and alongside it, disproportionately beautiful, Shion’s piano. That imbalance felt like us, and I thought: that’s good, actually.

Outside the window, the landscape flowed past. The swaying carriage, shoulder against shoulder. Even without the swaying we’d have leaned into each other to share warmth. Through one earphone each, my wishes and feelings rode Shion’s piano and sounded for the two of us alone.

Clumsy words and reaching-beyond-myself words, a trembling voice and a cracking voice — all of it is me, and I’m glad to be able to give it all to Shion. A little embarrassing. But glad.

And then, beyond the end of the lyrics, past the final note, a new song begins. Shion’s humming and, a beat behind, my voice mingle and dissolve into each other. Further still, the feeling that had overflowed — the words that had existed only in that after-school music room — rang out one last time:

“Let’s look at the sea from the same place — holding hands.”

A wish that couldn’t come true that time. Because the Shion who is playing piano can’t be touched. Hands can’t be linked.

But now it can. I grip Shion’s small, pure-white hand tight. Even if the distance grows between us after this — I’ll reach out again, any number of times, and surely it will come true again.

With that wish left behind, the song ended.

And then the silence arrived. A world without sound. And in it I noticed there was one thing I’d forgotten, and asked Shion:

“Come to think of it, Shion — we haven’t named this song yet.”
“That’s true…”

Through the cord connecting us, the violet-indigo eyes wavered. Words were drawn into that beam of light.

“What should we do — I can’t think of anything.”
“Actually — I decided on the song’s name from the very beginning.”
“Eh?”

Shion whispered it, like gently confiding a precious secret.

“I Dedicate This Final Note to You.”