Episode Eleven: Though I Cannot Compose Waka —December 2033—

Tomorrow after school, a parents’ briefing is scheduled regarding the teacher’s situation.

The teacher has been ordered to remain at home for the past few days and hasn’t come to school.

There’s something I absolutely must tell the teacher before the briefing. But if it were discovered that I’d gone to the teacher’s house again and made contact, this time it would surely jeopardise the teacher’s position.

　I’ve finally become calm enough to understand that.

So I decided to write a letter. Writing a proper letter like this is probably the first time since I was in secondary school.

For the past three years, I’ve only ever exchanged messages on my smartphone, so my hand holding the pen kept stopping over and over again.

　My inner voice, the things I wanted to tell you, kept overflowing. It was strange how trying to neatly contain them within the letter paper suddenly made it so difficult.

Still, I poured love into leaving my feelings in a visible form.

I want you to receive it, read it, understand it… I finally felt I understood, just a little, the feelings of those ancient people who composed waka poems.

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To my teacher,

They say people in the past conveyed their feelings through waka, but I don’t think I could ever write anything romantic or clever. Even after all you taught me in Japanese class. I’m sorry.

But I felt I absolutely had to tell you, so I decided to write this letter. I just want you to read it, for now.

　I faced Mum honestly, for real.

I looked her straight in the eye, one-on-one, threw everything I felt at her and took everything she threw back, and we came to terms with how I feel about her.

I haven’t reached the point of forgiving everything or loving her dearly, but I’ve come to realise I don’t have to force myself to feel that way.

You said it before, didn’t you? ‘There are as many lives as there are people. Each person has a story only they can write.’ Mum is Mum, and I am me. Thinking that way made things easier.

You know what, Teacher? I really think people need to speak their minds fully. Otherwise, what they feel or think just doesn’t get across at all.

I avoided talking to Mum too, but by laying everything out on the table, my feelings finally got through. And I feel like I understand Mum a little better now.

You’ve got this part where you give up from the start, thinking, “They won’t understand me anyway,” right?

　That’s no good. I get why you’re scared to try – it’d be sad if you tried hard and still didn’t get through.

But do it. You might feel like crying, but try hard.

I tried hard too. I reckon the usual you would say this, right?

“For me to run away when a student is trying to connect would be dishonest as a teacher.”

I want you to decide for yourself when to quit being a teacher.

　It’s like with love, isn’t it? Isn’t it cooler when you decide when to bow out yourself?

Ah, if only I’d kept that ‘Do Whatever I Say’ voucher.

Then I could’ve used it here without hesitation, begging you to stay on as my teacher no matter what.

But I’ve already used it.

So listen, teacher. At the parents’ meeting, make sure you explain properly (is that the right word?). Tell them there’s nothing between us, and fight to keep your job.

This is a request from just one student who adores you, nothing special.

One last thing.

I hate the thought of those noisy people causing trouble again, so please throw this letter away immediately after reading it.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Uehara Meisa