Episode Ten: The Desired Partner ―August 2032―

The sound of fabric rustling. The teacher, who had been lying on their back, turned towards me and our eyes met.

“Listen, you look better without your glasses.”

“Is that so? But contact lenses are such a faff.”

“How well can you see without them? Mind if I move closer?”

“…If you can’t sleep, shall we read a book?”

“Ah, you’re treating me like a child!”

“But you are a child.”

I know it myself. What I’m doing is no different from a child deliberately acting spoilt to test their parent’s affection.

Having grown up constantly reading my mother’s mood, what I’m good at is reading the atmosphere.

　And yet, even knowing that this will only make the teacher draw a stronger line, treating me as a child, I deliberately provoke the teacher to draw out ‘those words’.

How foolish, how simple-minded an action, born of such a straightforward thought process. I reached out and took the teacher’s hand.

As if testing the teacher, who was watching my movements intently, I grasped the slender wrist, lifted it up to near my face, and gently touched my lips to it.

　She must have been startled. Her eyes widened.

“Did you know a kiss can mean different things depending on where you place it?”

“…No. What does kissing the wrist signify?”

A kiss on the wrist signifies ‘desire’.

But I didn’t answer the teacher’s question. Let her carry that desire to know, let it gnaw at her. Let me linger in her thoughts until she looks it up. And let her agonise over what words I truly want to hear from her.

Well? Teacher. I’ve never truly loved anyone, but unlike you, I have dated men.

Can you still call me a child?

She let out a faint sigh, then smiled softly.

“Uehara-san, it seems you really want me to say… ‘It’ll be alright. I’m sure you’ll find a wonderful love someday’…”

Her matter-of-fact voice reached my earlobes, carrying a warmth. Why is this woman so thick-skinned and usually completely oblivious to the atmosphere, yet she notices the important things?

It’s embarrassing to have my thoughts read, yet I’m also glad she noticed, so I can’t quite find the right words.

“N-no, it’s not like that at all…!”

“I can’t offer unfounded encouragement to push you forward, so I can’t give you the answer you want. But know this: I’ll always be on your side, cheering you on, no matter what.”

My eyes stung, and the words welling up deep in my chest choked in my throat, making it hard to breathe.

I felt my heart beating stronger than ever before. The vibrations must have reached the teacher sharing the bed with me.

“I… I’m starting to feel sleepy. Shall we turn in?”

Let’s end this conversation now. If I don’t clearly draw it to a close, the teacher will worry about me and won’t sleep.

If I’d shared the same story with Wataru or any of my ex-boyfriends, they’d surely have tried to comfort me physically.

Holding hands, embracing each other. There’s a definite sense of reassurance that comes from skin touching skin. I’m not that type, but I can understand why some girls become dependent.

But with me and the teacher, I don’t think we could use sex to ease loneliness or change our moods. We’d just rationally talk things through and come to terms with our feelings ourselves.

Thinking about it, and this is purely speculation since I have no experience, maybe with women, there’s a reassurance that you won’t lose your rationality, and a loneliness where escape isn’t allowed.

　If that’s the case, it might offer more reassurance than falling for a man. So, could it be that I, who fundamentally distrust men, am starting to feel drawn to my teacher, who is a woman?

…I don’t know. Or rather, I suspect overthinking this sort of thing is misguided. They say it’s not good to dwell on things before sleep, so I’ll just go to sleep now.

“Yes, you’re right. Goodnight, Uehara-san.”

“Goodnight, Sensei…”

　After the bedtime greetings, several minutes passed without conversation. Hearing the steady rhythm of her breathing, I gently opened my eyes.

My eyes had grown accustomed to the darkness, allowing me to see the teacher’s face mere inches away. I’d thought it when I did her make-up, but the teacher without her glasses is truly beautiful. Perhaps it’s her hair down, but her whole impression changes, making her seem even more stunning.

　Honestly, how can she sleep so soundly with a student in the same bed? How can she sleep? …Am I the only one whose thoughts are being disturbed?

I let out a sigh loud enough that the teacher could easily have woken. Taking advantage of her sleep, I found myself staring intently at her sleeping face, drawn in as if by a magnet.

　Even sleeping under the same quilt, this close, there’s no way I could possibly know what the teacher is thinking. Conversely, even if I were to think something creepy while looking at the teacher’s sleeping face, the teacher wouldn’t know a thing.

In the end, to convey one’s feelings to another person, words are necessary.

But even though I am concerned about the teacher, I don’t think I harbour the kind of feelings Ryōka has for Fuwa, or the kind my mother might have for her boyfriend.

　Is it just that I lack awareness due to inexperience? Or is it simply that I lack the resolve?

Drowning in a sea of thoughts, yet perhaps due to our mingling body heat in the bed, my eyelids gradually grew heavy and I began to doze off.

I think I dreamt of the teacher.

I don’t remember much, but it was a very happy dream.

　　　　　　　　　　☆

The next morning. When I woke, the teacher wasn’t beside me.

Anxious, I bolted upright, but hearing sounds from the kitchen brought relief.

What on earth was the teacher doing? Running my fingers through my hair, I climbed out of bed.

Stepping out of the bedroom, I immediately saw the teacher arranging paper plates on the table.

“…Good morning, teacher.”

“Ah, good morning, Uehara-san. I’m preparing breakfast now.”

On the table lay the macaroni salad I’d made yesterday, white rice, and oolong tea poured into paper cups. Even though it was just served on paper plates, the thought of her preparing it for me made me smile.

“Thanks. You’re an early riser, aren’t you, Sensei?”

“Getting up at six is a habit, even on days off. Today, I did manage to sleep in a bit, though.”

The teacher, who was so strict with herself, looked slightly embarrassed. …It’s only eight o’clock. If she calls this sleeping in, then to her, someone like me who normally wakes up after noon during the summer holidays must seem utterly degenerate.

“I’ll use the sink.”

I did the bare minimum of washing my face and skincare, then sat down opposite the teacher, bare-faced and with my hair all messy. She already knows all my embarrassing bits anyway, so there’s no need to put on airs in front of her.

When the teacher clasped her hands together, I mimicked her and murmured, “Let’s eat.” After taking a bite of macaroni salad, the teacher, who had just swallowed some white rice, asked me.

“Is it tasty?”

“Of course it’s tasty. I made it myself.”

“Well, that’s true. …Heh heh, I’m sorry. That just hit a funny bone.”

Watching the teacher laugh like that, somehow I couldn’t stop laughing either.

Just an ordinary morning, nothing special. I wish every morning could be like this. Waking up to find someone there, exchanging “Good morning”s, saying “Let’s eat” and having breakfast together – just an ordinary morning.

It seems I want the teacher to be that person.