The first time I saw her was after school in my first year, I think. It was in the corridor between classrooms, on my way to fetch my things alone after being confessed to by the third boy? since starting high school and signing a money contract.

A girl walking towards me.
Her black hair illuminated by the pale orange of the setting sun, her fringe pinned back.
　She wore glasses, yet the eyes visible beyond the lenses were inorganic. Though our gazes must have met, she showed no change in expression, as if she weren’t looking at me at all.

“(She’s from another class).”

I didn’t voice it. I didn’t show it on my face.
The poker face was one of the survival tactics I’d cultivated since childhood, and it didn’t waver even now.
　Inside, though, I observed the girl before me, bathed in the sunset, and pondered various things.

It hadn’t even been half a year since I’d enrolled.
But the class’s initial buzz was already beginning to subside. When that happened, even information about other classes would reach me, someone without friends, through my boyfriend.
Rumours about this person or that person.
Mainly, those kinds of rumours – evaluations of specific individuals.
　Amongst those rumours, I’d never heard one describing someone with characteristics like the girl standing before me now.

Indifferent to others.
Indifferent to herself.

A lack of thirst for life. That inorganic expression.
Yet, she didn’t even want to think about dying.
She was simply living the present moment, complacently.

At that moment, she too remained silent, her expression unchanged.
　But I understood. That’s how she appeared to me.
Why was that?

“(Ah, she’s just like me.)”

Because she resembled me.

I’d encountered a mirror image. The name tag colour indicated she was in my year; it read “Kuroda”.
Still wearing a name tag properly after half a year must mean she’s either exceptionally conscientious or a non-confrontational type who dislikes standing out and avoids trouble.
　She seemed like she could be either.
Honestly, it didn’t matter either way.

This girl Kuroda and I are alike.

But she couldn’t do the things I could manage.
So I couldn’t say we were completely identical.

She should learn to navigate life better.

Unusually for me back then, I think I felt like offering advice.
Advice to make life easier, even if it remained dull.

　I forced a smile.

How long had it been since I’d changed my expression?
Even to ex-boyfriends or boyfriends, I only ever showed a calculated, controlled version of myself. Changing my expression to speak to someone was something I rarely did.
I did it for her, as a special favour.

As a thank you for making me feel something akin to affection.
In other words, as a service.

I’ll show you.

“Hello there! You’re a first-year, right? Which class? I’m surprised to see someone still here this late. Club activities? Oh, could it be the brass band?”

I chatted cheerfully, laughing brightly.
Swaying to the right, swaying to the left.
A bright, friendly girl. I calculated and played that part based on that knowledge.

　To state my thinking at the time: I was indeed expressionless most days, but I was confident I could manage a smile when needed. I’d done it several times before, so I fancied I knew how to make people like me.
This girl, Kuroda, was no different. I’d make a favourable impression, and she’d imitate me, calculatingly navigating her own life from then on.
　Teacher and pupil in the school of life. I might have foolishly thought along those lines. A mere fifteen-year-old girl, after all.

And at that moment, my shallow thinking was utterly shattered.

First, she stopped walking.
Her eyes remained locked on mine, unchanged.

“(There, try smiling yourself).”

　A smile can be a powerful weapon, greatly aiding in smoothing things over.
When trying to get close to someone, a smile makes it easier.

But she didn’t change her expression.
Remaining expressionless, only her eyes shifted for a moment, as if they were finally clearly focusing on me standing before her.

And then she.

That girl, Kuroda, with eyes as beautiful as a night fairy lurking in the forest—

　She merely gave a slight nod, said nothing to me, and walked past.
This time, I was so startled I stood rooted to the spot, dumbfounded.

It was the first time.

For the first time, I felt genuine interest in another person, unrelated to money or anything else.

◇

“Why did I forget, Mashiro?”

Kuroda Mashiro, her head resting on my shoulder, asleep on the train home. Yes, Kuroda. That girl from back then was Mashiro.
Nearly a year had passed since that day.
Now in our second year, hardly any students properly attached their name tags to their uniforms. Even the diligent ones kept theirs in their pencil cases most of the time. It wasn’t enforced by school rules, so naturally, name tags were only worn at weekly assemblies or formal occasions.

　Not that I used that as an excuse, but even after being in the same class for a while, even when I spoke to her and heard her name from her own mouth, I hadn’t remembered her.

Huh? The moment I felt that niggling doubt was precisely when Mashiro stroked my head in the hotel.
Even though the current Mashiro and I should be vastly different, a sense of familiarity returned.
　My curiosity was piqued, and I felt a sense of a long-empty void being slightly filled.

Then, suddenly, I felt an overwhelming urge to confirm her existence. That’s why, on the day I went to the hotel with that Mashiro, I threw my arms around her.

Even though I hadn’t fully recalled that Kuroda yet, I needed to confirm the fact that someone so much like me truly existed.

　I wasn’t alone.
I needed to know.

And it was only just now that I clearly recalled that Kuroda from back then.
Mashiro fell asleep almost immediately as the train swayed, and I drifted off too for a few minutes.
The scene I saw in that hazy, mist-covered dream was the sight from that day.

“Mashiro, you’ve changed quite a bit, haven’t you?”

I stroked the head of the girl leaning against me, sleeping soundly and utterly defenceless.
Back then, she’d pinned her fringe back so her eyes were visible. But now, those same eyes were hidden behind her fringe like a curtain.

“Are you afraid of others, Mashiro?”

She was asleep.
No matter how much I asked, she wouldn’t answer.

“People are frightening, aren’t they? Trusting them is frightening too. I wish someone would tell me how to trust others, if there’s a way.”

Masahiro must have discovered a different method to mine.
I learned how to calculate and smoothly manipulate people. But Masahiro, I think, learned how to live alone, without needing to engage with others.

I suppose she and I are a little alike after all.

　We both share the flaw of being unable to trust others.
And yet here we are, side by side, swaying on the train.

Leaning against each other, trying to draw close.

Perhaps, with Mashiro, it wouldn’t be so bad.

After all, she’s the first person I’ve ever taken an interest in.
A girl with an aura unlike anyone else.

　I tilted my head further, resting it on top of Mashiro’s, who was sleeping with her head on my shoulder.
Huddling together. Supporting each other.
Perhaps this is how we learn.

A smile slipped out.

I didn’t even realise it myself.
I was smiling so naturally I didn’t notice.

My eyelids felt heavy.

Following Mashiro’s lead, I decided to sleep too.