Unasked, Unanswered

@T1921

Episode 1: ‘See You Next Week’

I still remember the day I first spoke to her.

We happened to be sitting next to each other in the self-study room at the cram school.

“Is that math?”

She peeked into my workbook.

“Yeah.”

“You good at it?”

“Average, I guess.”

“Then, help me with this.”

Saying that, she placed her workbook in front of me.

When I looked at it, the problem was one even I could solve.

“For this part, if you do it like this…”

As I explained, she nodded a few times.

“I see.”

And then,

“Thanks.”

She smiled.

That was the extent of our conversation.

Despite that, from that day on, I started to become a little interested in her.

She was the complete opposite of me.

She could talk to anyone.

She’d casually strike up conversations with teachers, too.

After class, she was always laughing with someone.

To me, it seemed like she had it all.

So, I looked up to her just a little.

I wished I could be like that, too.

From then on, every time we ran into each other at the cram school, we started talking a little more.

About school.

About tests.

About a movie we’d seen recently.

None of these were particularly remarkable.

But I enjoyed talking to her.

I wanted to talk to her more.

That’s what I started thinking.

One day, on the way home, the two of us walked to the station together.

“Hey.”

She said,

“What kind of person do I seem like?”

It was sudden.

“What kind of person you are……?”

“Like, am I cheerful or serious?”

I thought for a moment.

“A cheerful person”

When I answered that, she smiled.

“I see.”

She said that and looked straight ahead.

“It’s hard to really know yourself, you know.”

I didn’t really understand what she meant by that.

I didn’t ask her anything else either.

We arrived at the station.

“Well then, see you next week.”

She waved.

“Yeah. See you next week.”

I truly believed that next week would come.

So, at that time, I didn’t think anything of it.

Three days later, she died in an accident.

When I heard the news from my cram school teacher, I couldn’t say a word.

All that came to mind were her last words from that day.

—See you next week.

That “next week” never came.

The teacher informed me of the funeral arrangements.

It was up to me whether or not to attend.

I hesitated.

I wasn’t a close friend of hers.

We just attended the same cram school and talked a few times.

Still, I wanted to see her face one last time.

So, I decided to attend the funeral.

There were a lot of people I didn’t know at the funeral hall.

Some were crying.

Some even called out her name.

They were people who knew a side of her I didn’t.

In the photo on the altar, she was smiling.

It was a face I recognized.

Her usual smile.

Looking at that photo, I felt a pang deep in my chest.

I don’t know anything about her.

I don’t even know her favorite food.

I don’t even know about her family.

I don’t even know what her school life was like.

What kind of friends she had, her likes, and her dislikes?

I hardly knew anything about her.

But I thought that was just the way it had to be.

I thought there was still time.

I’d see her again next week.

Eventually, we’d start talking more.

Then, naturally, I would start to know her better.

That’s what I thought.

After the funeral, people gradually began to leave.

A little ways off, a woman who looked like her mother was standing there.

She was talking to someone.

Her eyes were red and swollen.

I didn’t go up to her.

I didn’t know what to say.

But as I watched her, I thought to myself…

This person probably knows a lot more about her than I do.

It was obvious, yet I felt strangely envious.

On my way home, I walked to the station alone.

It was the same path I usually walked with her.

Even though it was the same path as that day, today it felt unusually long.

I wish I had talked to her more.

That’s what I thought.

I didn’t particularly want to talk about anything special.

I should have asked her what her favorite movies were.

I should have asked her what her favorite food was.

I should have asked her a little more about school.

Even that question she asked that day, “What kind of person do I seem like?”

I should have thought it through more carefully before answering.

I thought I could ask her anytime.

I thought we could talk anytime.

So, I did nothing.

Even after I got home, that’s all I could think about.

I was sad that she was gone.

But more than that—

If only we had a little more time.

That was the only thing that kept weighing on my mind.

Episode 2: ‘An Unfamiliar Face’

A week had passed since she died.

When I went to the cram school, the teacher was preparing for the lesson as usual.

I sat in my usual seat, too.

The seat next to me remained empty.

There was no one on the desk.

Even though it was just that—the seat being empty—the sounds around me seemed distant there.

Even after class started, I couldn’t concentrate.

I opened my workbook.

I followed the numbers with my eyes.

But time and again, my gaze drifted back to the seat next to me.

I felt as if someone was still there.

Of course, there was nothing.

The class ended.

Just as I picked up my bag to leave, the teacher called me over.

“Excuse me, can I talk to you for a moment?”

“Yes.”

The teacher placed a workbook on the desk.

It looked familiar.

The dog-eared cover and the small scratch on the edge—it was the one she had used.

“This belongs to her.”

“…… I see.”

“Her family is supposed to come pick it up, and I hear her mother is coming today.”

Hearing those words, I stopped holding my bag.

I should just go home.

Even though I thought that, my hand was already putting the bag back down.

“Aren’t you going home?”

“…I’m going to stay and study a little longer.”

The words she spoke echoed faintly within me.

Even if I opened the workbook, probably nothing would sink in.

Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to go home.

I wanted to talk to her mother.

To someone who knew her.

To someone who knew the side of her I didn’t.

A little while later, the entrance to the cram school opened.

“Hello.”

A woman’s voice was heard.

I turned around.

It was the woman I’d seen at the funeral.

Her mother.

The teacher spoke up.

“Thank you for the other day. Here’s your daughter’s workbook.”

“Thank you very much.”

Her mother received the workbook.

Holding it in both hands, she stared at the cover for a while.

Her finger slowly traced the edge of the cover.

The teacher looked at me.

“This young man is a student at the same cram school as your daughter.”

I made eye contact with her mother.

“My daughter’s friend?”

“No……”

I denied it immediately, but my words sounded a little cold.

“We go to the same cram school, and we only talked a few times.”

“I see.”

The mother smiled softly.

“Even so, thank you for coming to the funeral.”

“No……”

It wasn’t something that deserved a ‘Thank you’.

I thought that, but I couldn’t quite put it into words.

Her mother held the workbook.

She was about to leave just like that.

Just as I thought that, I plucked up the courage to speak.

“Um……”

“Yes?”

“Did she study with this at home too?”

Her mother glanced at the workbook.

“Yes. She studied a lot.”

“I see.”

“She was such a serious child.”

Those words left me slightly bewildered.

Serious.

I was surprised that anyone would describe her that way.

The image that came to mind was her smiling face.

She would casually strike up conversations with her teachers.

As soon as class ended, she was always talking to someone.

She peeked at my workbook, and when she found a mistake, she laughed gleefully.

I tried to put the word “serious” onto that face.

But it just didn’t quite fit.

While I was thinking about that, her mother asked me a question.

“What kind of girl was she, from your perspective?”

“Huh?”

“You were looking at my daughter’s photo the whole time at the funeral, weren’t you?”

I was a little surprised.

Apparently, she’d been watching me.

What was I thinking at that moment, looking at her in the photo?

“…… I thought she was a cheerful person.”

I replied.

“She could talk to anyone, and was always smiling.”

The mother fell silent.

I felt like her expression had changed just a little bit.

She looked as if she were smiling, yet also as if she were troubled.

“I see…….”

“Is that not the case?”

I blurted out the question without thinking.

Her mother didn’t answer right away.

“Well, she did have that side to her.”

“That side, too?”

“Yes.”

Her mother remained silent, staring at the workbook as if deep in thought.

And,

“She wasn’t a very talkative child at home.”

I couldn’t say a word.

The empty seat next to me suddenly felt distant.

“She spent a lot of time in her room. Even when she was with her family, she wasn’t the type to talk all the time.”

Her mother’s voice was quiet.

It didn’t sound accusatory, nor did it sound sad.

That made it even harder for me to find the right words to say.

Her face popped into my head.

Her face, laughing with someone at cram school.

Her face, talking with her teacher.

Her face when she showed me a problem.

Each one was definitely the her I knew.

But those faces wouldn’t fit into her mother’s words.

There were two different hers, in two different places.

That’s how it felt.

“… I see.”

At last, that was all I could say.

Even to myself, it felt like a terribly hollow reply.

Her mother nodded.

“Yes.”

A little later, her mother left.

Even after I heard the door close, I couldn’t move right away.

The workbook was no longer on the desk.

But the scratch on the cover—which had been there just a moment ago—still lingered before my eyes.

I was left alone in the cram school.

I looked at the empty seat next to me.

The sound of a chair being pulled out.

The sound of pages turning.

When I tried to remember, only trivial details came to mind.

Yet, I couldn’t picture what her expression had been like at home.

And then, the words spoken that day.

—What kind of person do I seem like?

I answered that she was a cheerful person.

At that time, I thought it was the right choice.

Even now, I don’t think it was a mistake.

But that wasn’t enough.

What kind of expression did she have on her face when she asked that question?

I couldn’t remember.

I think she might have been smiling.

I feel like she was a bit troubled.

She also seemed like she wanted to ask me to repeat myself.

But it’s no longer possible to confirm it.

I started to reach out toward the seat next to me, then stopped.

Even if I touched it, nothing would come back.

Still, I wanted to know more about her.

How did she spend her time at home?

What was she thinking?

When she was smiling in front of me, how did she really feel?

The more I wanted to know, the more the paths to finding out seemed to close off.

I want to know more about her.

That’s what I thought.

But—

The more I learned, the more I felt like there were more and more aspects of her I didn’t know.

That night, for the first time, I recalled her words from that day over and over.

—What kind of person do I seem like?

I answered, “A cheerful person.”

At that time, I thought that was enough.

But now, that answer feels a bit distant.

Episode 3: ‘Sumire’

After that, I attended cram school a few times.

The seat next to me remained empty the whole time.

That empty seat—which I wouldn’t have even noticed before—now caught my eye for some reason.

One day after classes ended, I stayed behind in the study room.

Just as I was about to close my workbook and head home, someone spoke to me from behind.

“Hey.”

When I turned around, a girl from the same cram school was standing there.

“Do you know how to do this?”

Saying that, she placed a workbook in front of me.

“This part?”

“Yeah.”

I looked at the problem and explained how to solve it.

“I see.”

She nodded a few times.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She closed the workbook.

Then, she suddenly glanced at the seat next to me.

“…That girl used to sit there a lot, didn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

I knew right away who she was talking about.

“Did you know her?”

“We go to the same school.”

“Oh, really?”

I was a little surprised.

“Were you in the same class?”

“Nope. We’re in different classes.”

She smiled.

“But we’ve talked a few times.”

After hesitating a bit, I asked.

“What was she like at school?”

“What do you mean?”

“Um…… Was she cheerful?”

She thought for a moment.

“Hmm……”

After a short pause,

“She wasn’t really the talkative type.”

She said,

I fell silent.

It was just like what her mother had told me.

At home, she didn’t talk much.

Even at school, she wasn’t particularly cheerful.

Yet, the girl I knew was always smiling.

“She talked a lot at cram school, though.”

When I said that, she looked a little surprised.

“Really?”

“Yeah. She talked to everyone.”

“Hmm…”

She smiled a little.

“I guess it depends on the place.”

“I guess so.”

“But I don’t think I know everything.”

For some reason, those words lingered.

I thought for a moment.

Her at home.

Her at school.

Her at cram school.

They’re all different.

But I don’t know which one is the real her.

“What kind of friends did she hang out with at school?”

When I asked, she thought for a moment before answering.

“She spent a lot of time alone, I guess.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah. Like during break time and stuff.”

I fell silent again.

This was a side of her I didn’t know.

“But it’s not like anyone disliked her.”

She added.

“If you talk to her, she’ll talk back normally. And sometimes she says really funny things.”

“Is that so?”

After hearing that, I didn’t ask any further questions.

I was still a little afraid to ask anything else.

It felt like every time I discovered a side of her I didn’t know, the girl I knew inside my head grew a little farther away.

“What else did she do at school?”

When I asked, she thought for a moment.

“Hmm… there’s actually quite a lot.”

“Quite a lot?”

“Yeah. But it’d take a while to explain right now.”

Saying that, she glanced at the clock.

“It’s already this late.”

“Oh, you’re right.”

“I’ll head home first.”

She slung her bag over her shoulder.

“Well then, see you later.”

“Yeah. See you.”

After walking to the door, she turned around.

“I’ll tell you the rest next time.”

“……Okay.”

She gave a small smile and walked out of the study room.

I was left alone in the study room.

I looked at the empty seat next to me.

I want to know more.

That’s what I thought.

I had a feeling that if I knew more, I would understand someday.

Episode 4: ‘Left Unasked’

After that, every time I met her at cram school, I asked her a little more about it.

“About our talk the other day…”

When I brought it up, she smiled as if she remembered right away.

“You mean Sumire?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you that curious?”

“……Yeah”

She thought for a moment and then began to speak.

“Well, I’ll tell you a little more about what it was like for her at school.”

“What kind of girl was Sumire at school?”

“She was quiet.”

“She was often alone during breaks.”

“I see.”

“But she wasn’t gloomy or anything.”

She smiled slightly.

“If you talk to her, she’d chat normally. Sometimes she’d say really funny things, too.”

“Oh, really?”

“Plus, she was surprisingly stubborn.”

“Stubborn?”

“She absolutely wouldn’t budge on anything she didn’t agree with.”

I chuckled a little.

I had no idea.

“What else?”

Hearing this, she thought for a moment.

“Hmm……”

“I guess she liked listening to other people talk.”

“Just listening?”

“Yeah. She doesn’t talk much about herself, but she really listened to what others had to say.”

I kept those words in my mind.

I’ve discovered yet another side of her I hadn’t known.

After that, every time I met her at the cram school, I listened to her story.

Things that happened at school.

Stories about when she was talking with friends.

How she sometimes walked home alone.

How, when someone confided in her, she’d listen to the very end.

The more I listened, the more I discovered a side of her I never knew.

At cram school, she smiled a lot.

At school, she often spent time alone.

Apparently, she didn’t talk much at home.

Still, no matter what story I heard, it didn’t seem like a lie.

Rather.

I think all of those sides were truly her.

At home, she’s quiet.

At school, she’s quiet.

At cram school, she often laughed.

When she was with someone, she often talked.

When she was alone, she became quiet.

I tried to arrange them one by one in my mind.

But they didn’t quite add up to a single person.

She’s cheerful.

She’s quiet.

She laughs a lot.

She’s alone.

She’s a kind girl.

She’s a bit stubborn.

Which one was the real her?

No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t find an answer.

But then, one day, it suddenly occurred to me.

Perhaps I was wrong from the start.

I thought one of them was real and the rest were fake.

But people aren’t that simple.

Even I am a little different when I’m at home compared to when I’m with someone else.

Maybe it’s the same for her.

When I thought about it that way, I felt like I understood a little bit.

I’d been looking up to her.

She seemed to have something I lacked.

She’s cheerful, can talk to anyone, and is always smiling.

To me, that was all I saw of her.

Looking back now, maybe I wasn’t really seeing her—I was seeing the version of her I wanted to see.

I looked up to her.

When you look up to someone, you tend to focus only on their shining qualities rather than their shortcomings.

I, too, had moments of uncertainty.

There are nights when I want to be alone.

There’s a side of me I don’t want anyone to see.

I had never even considered something so obvious.

To me, she had always been a “cheerful person”.

So, I didn’t even try to find out what lay beyond that.

By the time I wanted to know, it was already too late.

I remember the walk home that day.

We walked to the station together.

She suddenly asked me.

“What kind of person do I seem like?”

I thought for a moment before answering.

“A Cheerful Person”

She said,

“I see.”

She smiled.

Why didn’t I ask more questions back then?

Why did I just let that question end there?

Now, there are so many things I want to ask her.

What was she thinking?

What was troubling her?

And why she asked me that question back then.

But.

I can’t ask her anymore.

She’s gone now.

There was no way to find out the answers.

I was waiting for the train alone on the station platform.

As I gazed across the tracks, I thought back to that day.

If only we could speak one more time.

This time, I’d ask her properly.

“What kind of person do I seem like?”

If I asked her that, she might smile again and say,

“I don’t know myself.”

Maybe that’s what I would say.

That would have been fine.

I wanted to hear the answer.

From her own lips.

In her own words.

But that’s no longer possible.

I never really understood her, not even until the very end.

Even so.

Even if I didn’t understand everything, I wish we had talked more.

The answer from that day: ‘A Cheerful Person’.

I still don’t know if that was right.

But there’s one thing I can say now.

I wanted to get to know her.

But the time needed for that was already gone.

To ask that question.

To hear that answer.

I can’t do that anymore.

That question, along with her life, was left unasked.