“It’s just a convenience store bento.”
“But it’s our first meal together in our new home, right?”
Otoha was an illustrator.
I had met her at an exhibition she was hosting in a rundown building that was practically in ruins.
A painting on the street-side sign had caught my attention, and—drunk as I was—I wandered inside.
I had never cared about art before. But heartbroken and vulnerable, I had found myself drawn to a small painting of two little birds nestled together.
To me, they looked like the Match Girl gazing into a warm home filled with light.
I stumbled into the exhibition hall. And that was how I met Otoha.
She greeted me with a gentle smile, looking like a fleeting vision of happiness flickering within the glow of a matchstick.
At that moment, I felt like I had to seize her—or she would vanish forever.
I had always lived in a world of competition.
Even in relationships, I saw love as a game of winning and losing.
I enjoyed out-arguing brilliant women.
I competed over knowledge, over promotions.
I hated losing to Akane, but winning against her all the time was boring, too.
She was the perfect rival—sometimes I won, sometimes she won.
Being with her had pushed me to grow.
And deep down, I had always admired her, not just for her intellect but also for her beauty—the untouchable Madonna of our university days.
That admiration had made our rivalry special. Even when I lost, I didn’t resent it. Even when I won, I never looked down on her.
It was different from competing with a male rival.
When we broke up, I thought I was finally free from competition.
But the moment I heard that she had found a new boyfriend and was moving overseas with him—
It felt like I had lost.
Before, I had been able to accept the occasional “loss” to her.
But now that we had broken up, losing became unacceptable.
I felt an overwhelming urge to find someone new, to get married before Akane did, to flaunt my happiness.
In other words—I was drunk.
No, I was deranged.
“Marry me and come to Hokkaido with me.”
It was a reckless proposal, made right after we met.
Otoha didn’t answer.
She just smiled, looking mildly troubled.
I thought she was playing hard to get.
I felt like if I didn’t act fast, I would never meet someone like her again.
At the time, I was completely ruled by that irrational fear.
Looking back now, it’s clear that Otoha wasn’t the kind of woman who knew how to play hard to get.
She had probably just been too bewildered by the suddenness of it all.
But back then, her calm smile had seemed almost noble to me.
0 Comments