Someone I Thought I Knew

Days passed, carrying winds that chipped away at the stiffness in my heart.

Beatrice was still far away, in a foreign land I thought I'd never reach.

But her shadow lingered—like a small lantern that never dimmed.

---

On the other side, the blonde-haired girl began to carve out a new space in my life.

We sat together in the school garden—a place I once felt was nothing but empty.

Now, it bore quiet witness to the fragile beginning of something that might become a friendship.

"I still remember Beatrice," I whispered softly, staring at the sky.

The girl nodded, her eyes quietly curious.

"You're different," she said gently. "But I know what it means to lose someone important."

I smiled faintly, because she was the only one who hadn't left—someone who appeared without noise, without promises.

We began talking about simple things—about longing, about fear, about the silence that sometimes weighed too heavily.

Sometimes, I felt like I was carrying two worlds at once: the one where Beatrice existed, though distant, and this new one, daring me to open up.

Beatrice, in the quiet of my thoughts, was still my shelter.

But this girl—the one whose name I hadn't yet known—was becoming the reason I stood up again.

---

One afternoon, as the sun crouched low behind the trees, I said,

"You know… Beatrice once told me that sometimes we have to let go of something to find ourselves."

She looked at me, said nothing—but I knew she understood.

And I realized:

I didn't have to lose Beatrice to make space for someone new.

I didn't have to forget the past to unlock the future.

Because sometimes, the heart can hold more than one story.

---

That night, I wrote in my notebook:

"Beatrice remains the shadow that walks beside me. But now, I'm learning to walk with someone else. Maybe… this is the start of a journey I've truly chosen for myself."

In silence, I felt something begin to grow—not a replacement, but a companion.

A new kind of courage born from imperfection.

And I knew:

This journey is still long.

But I'm no longer afraid.

Because I'm not walking alone.

---—---—---

Her name is Momo.

She told me two weeks after we started sitting together in the garden, like a quiet ritual that had never been planned.

"Momo?" I repeated, smiling slightly. "Sounds like a small animal."

She laughed. "Or the sound of someone just learning how to speak."

And from that day forward, Momo became part of my days.

---

I never imagined I could talk that much to someone again. But Momo… was different.

She listened. Not always understanding—but never running away.

Like a shadow that wasn't frightening, just… constant.

And somehow, every time I felt like sinking into my own silence, she appeared—inviting me to sit, or walk, or simply letting me be near her.

---

I've learned a lot from the past—from Beatrice.

How not to force a story. How to keep a healthy distance. How to wait for someone to open up without tearing them apart.

I tried to use all that to keep this bond intact. Don't break it. Don't lose it.

Because this time… I wanted to get it right.

But maybe because I tried so hard…

I couldn't fully let go of Beatrice.

She left without a word. No goodbye. No token I could keep as proof.

No final message. No "take care." Not even a reply to the one, two, seven messages I sent after she left.

She vanished like fog too early in the morning to be remembered.

And it left a hole nothing else could fill.

Some nights, I still see her in my dreams—her back turned, sitting on a now-empty school bench, staring out the window.

And sometimes, I ask myself:

Did I hurt her without realizing it?

Did she leave because I was too strange?

Or was I clinging to someone who never truly felt close to me in the first place?

---

That day, Momo and I sat in the garden again.

The sky was overcast, and leaves fell as if the season couldn't decide whether to stay or go.

I turned to her.

"Your country… it's Japan, right?"

"Yeah," she said cheerfully, biting into a strawberry sandwich. "But I was born in London, so… a bit mixed. Why?"

"Beatrice was sent abroad through a student exchange program. Did you ever meet her? Or hear of her?"

"Oh, yeah! There's a girl from this school at my old school now," she said, eyes lighting up. "Her name's Beatrice! I remember! Curly hair, tall, kinda weird… but really sweet. She once invited me to lunch when she saw I was alone. Super kind! She Always smiling at everyone."

I froze.

Blood drained from my face.

"Beatrice?" I repeated quietly. "You're… sure her name was Beatrice?"

Momo nodded eagerly. "Yeah. Do you know her?"

I swallowed. "I just… was curious. Do you still have her contact?"

"Oh, sure! We chat often. Here, I've got her number."

She pulled out her phone and scrolled through her contacts.

She showed me the name: Beatrice S.

I looked at the digits…

It wasn't the number I knew.

Not the number I had dialed.

Not the one that once pulled me from my darkest night.

Something bitter crept through my chest.

Without thinking, I murmured, "Can I see it more closely?"

My hand reached toward her phone.

But before I could touch it, Momo flinched—maybe startled by how fast I moved.

"A-Ah!"

She reflexively pulled her hand back.

The phone slipped from her grasp.

Like the first rain that comes before you're ready,

it hit the stone path with a loud crack.

The screen flickered, then went black.

We both went silent.

I stared at the broken glass, and it felt like watching a shadow I had once called a friend shatter into pieces.

The phone had fallen with a sharp sound.

Something broke between us, too.

We sat there in silence. Even the world seemed to hold its breath.

Momo was frozen. So was I.

Only the leaves rustled in the wind—thin, hollow.

And for a moment, it all felt like a dream misaligned in time.

"I… I'm sorry," I finally said, my voice barely audible.

Momo lowered her head, then slowly knelt to pick up the phone.

The screen was dark. A crack sliced through the corner like a wound.

She examined it, then gave a small nod. "It's okay. I think it'll still work later."

But her face didn't match her words.

Her hand trembled slightly.

---

I wanted to explain.

That I just wanted to be sure.

That I'd lost something too big, and when I saw that name on her screen—the name that once meant home—I just wanted to know…

Was it really her?

Or just someone with the same name?

Momo sat back on the bench, but didn't look at me.

And I didn't know where to begin.

"I… I just wanted to know," I said quietly.

"Why?" she asked—not angry, just… flat.

I inhaled. "Because Beatrice… she once meant so much to me. But she left without a word. And now, I don't even know… if she disappeared on purpose… or if I was never important to her at all."

Momo was silent for a moment.

Then she asked softly, "You loved her, didn't you?"

Her question was like light finding the darkest place inside me.

"I… I don't know," I answered truthfully. "Maybe not love. But… she once made me feel like I wasn't just a shadow. She sat beside me when no one else would. She… saw me."

Then I looked at Momo.

"I'm glad we're friends. Truly. But I'm also scared… that I'm just repeating what happened before."

"Because of Beatrice?" she murmured.

I nodded.

"I don't want to lose you too. But I also can't lie: I'm not done with her. Not done with all the questions she left behind."

Momo was quiet for a long time, then looked at me gently.

"I understand… maybe I'm not someone who can replace Beatrice."

I wanted to say—this isn't about replacing. That it's not a choice between the two.

But my lips felt stiff. My words felt hollow.

"I'm just joking ray, hihi."

I smiled when I heard it, but it slowly returned to normal. Not because is not funny, I just feel like it's a fact and not a joke

"That number… it's different from the one I had," I said finally. "Maybe it's her. Maybe it's not. But I have to know."

Momo nodded slowly.

"When my phone turns on again, I'll send you a screenshot. I promise."

I nodded. Not quite relieved. Not quite at peace.

But it was enough—for now.

That day, we walked home in silence.

Our steps aligned, but our hearts still felt far apart.

And as the evening breeze stirred Momo's hair, I saw something in her that I couldn't quite touch:

Patience.

Fragility.

And a boundary I shouldn't cross too soon.

---

That night, I sat alone in my room.

My phone stayed silent. No new messages.

Not from Momo.

Not from Beatrice.

Not from anyone.

I stared at the ceiling, and for the first time… I let myself ask:

If Beatrice never saw me as a friend… did that mean all those memories were a lie?

Or… was I the one who had hoped too much for someone who only meant to pass briefly through my life?

---

I didn't know.

But I knew one thing:

I had to find out. Whatever the truth might be.

---

Sometimes, the most painful thing isn't the goodbye—

but realizing you might've been the only one who thought it meant something.

Maybe I was wrong. Maybe I overreacted.

but that doesn't mean I can just forget it and live like nothing happened.

even though I know the truth can be something that hurts, it's better than living a life filled with dilemmas.

for my curiosity. For myself. I have to find out.

And also I have to pay Momo back for her phone.