001

"Kiyoko~ Be careful, I can't keep dragging you away from people while you zone out all day!" she whines, her voice dragging out the 'y' in "day" like she's trying to make it sound more dramatic than necessary. The shorter female practically clings to me as I sigh, rolling my eyes at her antics. I've told her a hundred times, and yet here we are again.

"Hoshino-san, please stop calling me by my first name," I say, my voice stern and clear. "It's improper and almost degrading." I shake her grip off my arm as I stride forward, doing my best to ignore the annoying persistence.

She halts in her tracks, pouting as she watches me walk away. Her blonde bob almost bounces with each exaggerated movement, as if she's animated in some way. It's almost cute—if only she wasn't so exhausting.

The glistening frustration in her gaze is hard to miss—part annoyance, part hurt. Her lips purse tightly, as if she's ready to retort with some sharp remark or another overly familiar comment. I pause, waiting for her to lash out, but she surprises me. Instead of yelling or sulking, she picks up her pace and starts walking toward me again, her determination unshaken.

'How persistent is this woman?' I think to myself, biting back another sigh. 'I've declined her friendship more times than I can count, yet here she is, still acting as though she cares.'

I glance over my shoulder briefly, catching her determined gaze. There's something unnervingly genuine about it, almost as if she refuses to be discouraged by my cold demeanor. Her presence is starting to feel like a shadow, one I can't seem to shake no matter how many times I push her away.

For someone majoring in psychology, why can't she understand that some people aren't meant to be bothered?

It's ironic, really. Shouldn't she be the one person who understands boundaries? Hearing her footsteps approaching again, I feel my patience thinning. I momentarily stop in my tracks, ready to tell her off once and for all. Just as I open my mouth to speak, she quickly links her arm with mine, her face lighting up with that infuriatingly cute expression of determination she always seems to wear.

"Sorry, Kamiko-chan~ I guess I got too carried away with dragging you away from bumping into others," she chirps, as if she hasn't crossed the line for the hundredth time today. Her voice carries a playful lilt, one that somehow manages to make her apologies sound less sincere and more like an attempt to tease me.

I pause, her words sinking in as she gazes up at me expectantly. There's no use holding back anymore. I come to an abrupt halt and glance at her with a sharp, pointed look. "You're so annoying," I mutter, my voice flat and unforgiving.

But as always, my words don't seem to faze her. Instead of sulking or letting go, she just beams at me, flashing a bright, toothy smile that reaches her glistening pink eyes. That smile of hers could light up the gloomiest of rooms—too bad it's wasted on someone who doesn't care.

"Please just call me Sanshi! I'd hate for my best friend to call me by my surname," she says, her tone so casual yet filled with an unshakable warmth. The words catch me off guard. Best friend? I feel my chest tighten slightly, and an unwelcome flutter runs through my heart.

Before I can stop it, my cheeks begin to heat up. I quickly avert my gaze, hoping she doesn't notice the faint blush creeping across my face. Why does she always have to say things like that? My grip on the strap of my bag tightens, the familiar frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her still smiling, her expression radiant, as if the weight of the world doesn't exist in her presence.

I don't understand her—her persistence, her boundless optimism, or her stubborn refusal to let me push her away. "B-best friend..? Don't call me that, Sanshi-san," I stammer, my voice wavering despite my best efforts to sound composed.

Her reaction is immediate and infuriating. She throws her head back and laughs, a sound so carefree and loud that it turns a few heads nearby. Before I can pull away, she wraps herself around my arm, leaning her weight into me as if she belongs there.

"Oh, but of course, cutie!" she teases, her voice sing-song and utterly shameless.

I feel the blush deepen, and my pulse quickens. "Shut up now and let's go to class," I mumble, my voice barely above a murmur but loud enough for her to catch.

She tilts her head, mischief twinkling in her pink eyes, and replies with a simple, defiant, "No."

I halt, narrowing my eyes at her in disbelief. "No? I don't need you clinging onto me, and you need to go study if you want your degree," I snap, my tone harsher than I intended.

But instead of her usual playful comeback, she stops abruptly, pulling me to a halt with her. Her grip on my arm tightens just slightly, her bright expression fading into something quieter. "Stop. Please, just stop pushing me away," she says softly, her voice trembling with a mix of determination and vulnerability.

Her words catch me off guard. There's something in her tone—something raw and fragile—that I've never heard before. It isn't the teasing, carefree Sanshi I've come to expect. There's little hope in her voice, but just enough to keep her going, to make her speak her truth despite how much it might hurt.

"I don't understand why you keep pushing me away. I just don't." Her voice cuts through the silence that has fallen between us, a quiet yet piercing demand for an answer I don't feel like giving. She takes a breath, as if gathering her courage to say more, but I cut her off before she gets the chance.

"I don't have time for this," I say coldly, each word sharper than the last. "I'm going back to class. Stop annoying me, Hoshino-san."

Her face falls, just slightly, but the fire in her pink eyes doesn't dim entirely. "Fine," she says after a long pause, her voice tight. "I'll stop—just for today, anyway. But don't expect me to stop bothering you, Kamiko-san."

My brow twitches at the formality of the honorific, the slight edge in her tone not lost on me. Her voice picks up again, sharper, more determined. "I really don't know why you think your little insults are going to drive me away so easily."

She keeps talking, her words blending into the background as I let my thoughts drown her out. This girl… what a nuisance. Like an annoying ant infestation that just won't go away. I clench my jaw, suppressing the irritation bubbling inside me. But like all bugs, she'll break. I'll stomp on her persistence until it crumbles, and she finally realizes how pointless this all is.

Without another glance in her direction, I turn on my heel and walk away, leaving her mid-sentence. My footsteps echo against the pavement as her voice fades behind me. For a moment, I think she's given up. Finally using her brain, she realizes that dealing with me today is useless. Just like her.

But as I glance over my shoulder, just for a second, I see her still standing there. Her arms are against her sides, lips pressed together tightly, but she hasn't moved. She's still watching me, like she hasn't given up just yet.

I roll my eyes and keep walking. Let her stand there. She'll figure it out, eventually.

…

Walking past the class I said I was going to, I headed straight for the college exit. The door creaked as I pulled it open, and as I stepped outside, the wind immediately began to pick up. It swirled around me, sending litter tumbling across the sidewalk. "Thank God I wore my jacket today," I muttered under my breath, pulling it tighter around myself. The cold wind cut through my clothes, but at least I wasn't shivering just yet.

Still, the gusts blew my hair in all directions, sticking strands to my face and blocking my view. "Great," I grumbled. "Lip gloss making my brunette hair stick to my mouth. Of course, this is how my day's going." The walk home seemed like it would take forever, but at least my house wasn't too far from campus. It was close enough for me to walk, not having to rely on the bus.

I turned the corner, the dampness of the streets sticking to my shoes, and noticed the stairs leading up to my house were a little slick. The rainfall earlier in the afternoon had left its mark, and I had to tread carefully as I made my way up. My heart beat a little faster as I gripped the railing to steady myself. Finally, I reached the front door, fumbling with my keys. After a few attempts, the door swung open, and I stepped inside, greeted by the warmth of the house. The contrast between the cold air outside and the heat inside made me shiver, my body instinctively seeking the comfort of the warmth.

Despite being only 19, I lived in a house that most people my age would dream of. A three-story house with a sprawling front and back yard—luxurious, to say the least. But I didn't live with my parents. I didn't need to. They were far enough away from my school, and frankly, I was old enough to stand on my own. I loved and cared for them, but their constant hovering and the orders they gave me were stifling. I was independent, and I liked it that way.

How did I afford this? Simple: my grandpa. He left me his entire inheritance, a fortune built from years of hard work. Despite the fact that we were never particularly close, he always made sure to support me, even if I wasn't part of his immediate circle. His death didn't hit me the way it might have hit someone else. If I'm being honest, it left me feeling a little more relieved than sorrowful, especially after seeing how much money I was handed.

I sighed, pushing those thoughts aside. My mind was filled with enough annoying people—Sanshi, mostly—that I couldn't afford to let myself get lost in the past. I was eager to get out of the grimy clothes I'd been wearing all day, especially since Sanshi had been all over them, clinging to me like some kind of emotional barnacle.

I made my way upstairs, opening the door to my bedroom and quickly shedding the clothes. But before I could get changed, a loud bang echoed from outside my window. My gaze shifted instinctively, and I froze, seeing something strange stuck to the glass. A white feather, stained with blood.

"Gross, what the hell just flew into my window?" I muttered, my face twisting in confusion and disgust. I quickly dressed in more comfortable clothes, eager to get away from the unsettling sight.

Downstairs I went, walking towards the source of the disturbance. The wind had died down a little, but the air still held that chill. When I reached the window on the first floor, I crouched down to get a better look. My heart sank when I saw what had caused the mess—a dove. It had collided with the window with such force that it had left blood smeared across the glass, feathers littered around it.

I felt an unexpected pang of sorrow as I stared at the poor creature, lying lifeless on the ground. The sight left a hollow ache in my chest that I couldn't explain. Despite my usual coldness and indifference, there was something about this that tugged at me. The dove's fate seemed almost symbolic in a way I couldn't quite grasp, like an omen that I couldn't ignore. I crouched closer, my stomach churning at the sight of the blood and the broken body.

"God… poor thing," I whispered under my breath, my voice soft and full of sorrow. The wind still rustled in the trees around me, but in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped. Kneeling down, I carefully lifted the dead dove in my hands, feeling its lifeless weight settle into my palms. The blood on its feathers felt like an unholy stain, one I could never wash away. Without a second thought, I gave it a brief prayer, my words quiet, barely audible, as I asked for its peaceful rest.

The birds had always been a symbol of purity to me, something sacred and untouched in a world that often seemed so far removed from anything innocent. People, too often, treated them like nuisances. Tossing them aside, stepping over them like they were nothing more than the dirt beneath their feet. It made no sense to me. Why did something so pure have to be cast aside and disregarded like it didn't matter?

As I carefully dug a small hole in the backyard, the sky above me began to shift from a dull gray to a muted orange, signaling the coming of dusk. The world felt heavy, almost suffocating, like the weight of everything I couldn't control was pressing down on my chest. As I laid the bird in the earth, I thought about the cruelty it had suffered—how something so fragile, so full of potential, had been reduced to nothing.

I patted the dirt over its body, my hands trembling as I did. People always treated creatures like this, like they were worthless. The world had always been so indifferent to the suffering of the innocent. Doves were no exception, even though they were supposed to symbolize purity, hope, peace. But that was all a myth, wasn't it? In this world, purity was just another dream, another illusion we couldn't hold onto. Humanity couldn't grasp it.

I stood there for a moment, looking at the fresh mound of dirt, my mind spiraling into dark thoughts. Why do people treat such pure beings like they are below dirt in their eyes? I wondered. They'll never understand. I loved animals, but especially doves. There was something about their quiet grace, their gentle flight, that called to me. Their religious significance—the symbol of peace, the messengers of God—meant more to me than I could express. They were the only creatures that seemed to hold any meaning in a world that was so fractured.

Purity, I thought, brushing dirt off my hands. Something this world lacked more and more with each passing day. We lived in a time where the concept of purity was foreign. It was something to be mocked, something to be destroyed. No matter how hard someone tried to preserve it, to cling to it, the truth always remained the same. Humanity was weak and pitiful. We couldn't stop ourselves from corrupting everything we touched.

No matter how many machines we made, no matter how much progress we claimed to achieve, the end result was always the same. The truth was ugly, and we couldn't hide it. We were always going to be flawed. Even the most well-intentioned actions had the potential to turn to ash in our hands. Everything was tainted, polluted, and nothing could be undone.

I stood up, brushing my knees off, and looked at the grave. The wind blew again, carrying the faint scent of rain as the first drops began to fall. It wasn't much, but maybe it was enough to cleanse the world, if only for a moment. "Rest in peace," I muttered, as I wiped my face, feeling the dirt on my smudge, I got up to leave. To shower myself clean of the filth the grave digging did to me. "The world may not care, but at least I do."

With that, I turned and walked away, the last traces of daylight fading behind me as the rain clouds fell into place, covering the sun; just like puzzle pieces fitting together.

…

Stepping into my room again, I slip off my slippers and strip myself of the clothes I just wore. Dirty with the earth outside from burying the blood-stained dove, the fabric is damp with the evening air, clinging to my skin as I peel it away. I hold the garments between my fingers for a moment, staring at the dark patches of dirt smudged against the fabric. The faint scent of soil lingers, mixed with something metallic—something I don't want to think too hard about. With a sigh, I toss them into the laundry basket, making a mental note to wash them separately.

I grab my towel from where it hangs on the back of my chair and make my way to the bathroom, my feet padding softly against the cool wooden floor. Reaching for the light switch, I flick it on, and the fluorescent glow spills across the room, illuminating the foggy mirror and the faint streaks of condensation left from my last shower. The small, enclosed space carries the familiar scent of lavender and soap, a stark contrast to the outside world I just came from.

Turning the faucet, I let the water run, the sound of it filling the silence as steam begins to rise. I glance at my reflection in the mirror, my eyes meeting my own. There's a dullness in them tonight, a lingering exhaustion that I can't shake off. My hands, still faintly dusted with dirt, grip the edges of the sink as I take a slow breath.

I don't know why I even bothered to bury it. The dove, lifeless and crumpled, its feathers stained in a way they were never meant to be. It wasn't mine to mourn. It wasn't mine to care for. And yet, I found myself out there in the cold, digging into the damp earth as if it meant something. As if it mattered.

Shaking my head, I push the thoughts away and step into the shower, letting the scalding water cascade over me. The heat bites at my skin, a welcome contrast to the chill that had settled deep in my bones. I close my eyes, listening to the water as it drums against my shoulders, drowning out the thoughts that still threaten to creep in.

I stay there for longer than necessary, standing beneath the stream until the air is thick with steam and my skin is flushed. Only then do I reach for the soap, scrubbing away the remnants of the night—the dirt beneath my nails, the phantom feeling of feathers against my palms, the weight of something I don't want to name.

By the time I step out, wrapping the towel around myself, the mirror is completely fogged over. My reflection is gone, swallowed by the haze. Maybe that's for the best.