"Well, aren't you still miserable and pitiful, making a girl sit in silence for half an hour?" she said with her awkwardly pretended smile, looking downwards.
The boy sitting beside her clenched his fists, veins protruding, his knuckles turning white. His breath hitched, but he swallowed it down, refusing to meet her gaze. He stammered, glancing sideways, "It's... it's been... it's been seven years. Seven freaking years since you disappeared, and now, suddenly, I get your call, and you ask me to meet. Then you say I'm making you sit in silence. What do you expect from me? We—no, the whole village—were worried for years. Just what...?" He couldn't continue; warm tears began to fall from his face. His voice was filled with sorrow, but he didn't dare to look at her. Instead, he remained crouched, head down, his legs trembling slightly.
"You still haven't..." After a long silence, she rested her elbows on her legs, trying to compose herself.
The atmosphere became tense. She could feel the pain in his voice. She knew he would be sad, and angry, but she needed to know the depths of his wounds and make amends.
She needed to open her wounds and let the red sparkle flow down if that was what it took. But if she did that, the blood would not begin to clot. She needed to go slow.
Suddenly, his phone rang. He looked at his mobile, straightened up, and then went back into a crouching position. This man is 23 years old and has an impressive physique; anyone who sees him can tell he is a fitness enthusiast, and the most respected man in his city, But at that moment, he looks just like a child, sobbing, nobody else has even seen me shed a single tear in the last 7 years, only she knew, how much of a cry-baby he always was.
After a long silence, she was about to say something when she heard him sobbing, and she lost it "You think it was just you who suffered? I'm still suffering till now. Shut up. Shut up! And stop this crying, you aren't a child anymore and I am alive, SHUT UP!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, but he didn't get startled.
She continued, "You think it's just you who is pitiful? Only you can feel it. Only you who need help. Just look at you. You've become a selfish bastard. Can't you understand? I was hurt the most. Two years in and out of therapy. Two years! Not a single day before that where I didn't have to rely on medicine. I was there in this country, alone, suffering. I still feel it now."
Tears fell to her fingertips on her face. "I am also here, not you alone," she said, her tears rushing down her face, warming her cold, pale cheeks.
"Look at me, once. Don't crumble away. Look at me, Harushi!" She forced him and held his face between her hands and forced him to look at her.
And she got scared, shocked, taken aback. It was not the face of a man in his 20s but a child crying his soul out, with nothing left. No one to stop him. No one to take care of him. His face was full of tears, red eyes, snot everywhere, smeared on his face and clothes. Nobody to hold him.
The shock she got couldn't be described, but she knew it was difficult for him also. But to this extent?
At that moment, she found herself unable to restrain her emotions any longer. For many years, she had tried to suppress thoughts of the past; however, now witnessing the condition of the individual who had once provided her with stability proved to be overwhelming. She allowed her feelings to surface, and they both moved towards one another, embracing and weeping as if they were exhausted children. How many years have it been since the warmth of their friendship could be used to extinguish the flames of their grief?
It was like time had stopped. The cold, dry breeze, the bustling echoes of people, the honks of the crowd, the chaos of the city, it was like nothing existed. And why should it? In that moment, it was just them, reduced to zero in a world of two. Those gone by, even they would be saddened by this scenery, sorry for leaving them—a mistake with none of their fault.
"I am sorry, Harushi. I am sorry. I didn't have a choice back then, what else could have I done, it was not in my hands, I was forced," she said, not moving away.
Harushi trembled, "Eva... Eva, I am sorry. I left you. I was so miserable in my own suffering. I couldn't think of you, Renne."
They both just stayed like that, shedding each other's names. Even nature gave in. In front of such a serene view, a downpour started, like even the sky was weeping.
Eventually, a vibration broke through the moment—a phone call, sharp and unwanted. Harushi pulled away slowly, still breathless. Their clothes were soaked now, rain slipping down their faces like second tears.
He looked at her one last time—her hair stuck to her cheek, her eyes swollen yet peaceful. He didn't want to go. Not yet. But the ringing wouldn't stop.
"I'll come back," he said, barely audible.
Eva nodded, almost like she had been expecting those exact words all these years. "I know."
He turned, began walking, then broke into a run. The streets shimmered under the rain, the crowd just a blur around him. But something tugged in his chest—an ache, or maybe a calling.
As he reached his car, panting, he glanced back. The bench was empty now, but somehow... still full. Full of something that had been left behind. Or maybe something just beginning to return.
He shut the door, wiped his face, and made a quiet promise.
Tomorrow. I'll come back.