half a month after momo's phone was broken.
That morning, the sky looked like a blank page.
Pale white, almost shapeless.
Just like me—still holding onto words I didn't know who to say them to.
Momo sat at the far end of the long bench in the school's back garden.
It was quiet, save for the birds and the wind brushing through the leaves.
I walked toward her without much thought.
My footsteps stirred the gravel into whispers, and she turned her head.
Smiled—a small smile that felt like a tiny window into my own world.
"Forgot your book again?" she asked softly.
I shrugged and sat beside her.
Close enough to feel warmth, far enough not to touch wounds that hadn't healed.
"I didn't come for book this time," I said.
And she didn't ask anything else.
We sat for a long time.
Sometimes silence feels more honest than words.
She took out two small packs of biscuits from her bag.
She handed one to me.
"If you can't talk," she said as she opened hers, "sometimes just eating together is enough."
I chuckled softly, for some reason.
Maybe because it was the most human thing I'd heard in a while.
Sometimes we don't need explanations…
We just need someone to sit beside us and stay.
---
In class, we sat side by side.
She doodled strange flowers sprouting from people's heads in her notebook.
"Cute," I said.
"Creepy," she replied.
"Cute because it's creepy."
She smiled again. This time wider—more like a child laughing at the absurdity of the world.
And for the first time… I felt a little lighter.
---
At the library, we shared songs through a single earphone.
Sometimes, I'd lean my head on the bookshelf.
Sometimes, when the music got too sad, I'd pretend to fall asleep so I wouldn't have to explain why my eyes were stinging.
"Ray…" she said once.
I turned to her.
She didn't say anything.
Just looked at me for a long time, as if trying to touch a memory she never owned.
"If you could erase one memory," she finally asked, "which one would you choose?"
I paused. For a long time.
Then answered softly, "I wouldn't erase anything. Because if I erase one… I might lose the reason I'm still here."
She looked at me. This time with something more than sympathy.
Maybe understanding.
Or pain that had no name.
And in that gaze, I understood: We all hide a world that can never truly be spoken.
---
That afternoon, rain fell without warning.
We ran together beneath the corridor's roof.
Soaked, laughing.
Not loud laughter, but the kind born from the relief of not being alone in the rain.
Momo looked up at the sky, stretching out her hand to catch the drops.
"I don't know why I like rainy days," she said.
"Because the world cries with us?" I offered.
She nodded gently.
"Or maybe because rain makes everyone pause for a while… and just feel."
We stood in silence.
And for the first time, I understood what it was like to feel silent without feeling lonely.
---
Beatrice still came sometimes—in the fallen petals, in unfinished dreams, in the scent of overly bitter tea.
But she wasn't a ghost anymore.
She was a part of me, learning how to let go.
And Momo…
She wasn't a replacement.
She was someone who stayed beside me even when I didn't know who I was that day.
…
The rain had stopped.
We were still sitting under the school corridor, together, our breath blending with the mist clinging gently to the leaves.
"There's a rainbow," I said, pointing at the sky now splitting with color.
Momo simply nodded, but her eyes squinted—holding back a laugh for reasons I couldn't understand.
Then she began tracing a rainbow in the air with her finger, pretending to be a great artist.
I mimicked her.
And for the first time in a long while, I felt like a kid again.
Light, silly, and… not needing too many reasons to laugh.
Then, in the midst of our jokes, I pointed to her half-open bag.
"I just realized. You haven't used your phone at all this past week?"
She froze.
The laughter we'd just given birth to vanished like it had never existed.
The air turned strange—suddenly cold, even though the sun was still trying to shine.
"Your phone… is it still broken?" I asked quietly.
"I've never seen you use it."
And just as I turned to see her expression—smack.
That small hand slapped my cheek.
Fast.
Without warning.
But not hard.
Not physically painful…
What hurt was the emptiness that followed.
I stood still.
Even the wind seemed to stop.
The laughter that echoed moments ago now gone as if it never belonged here.
"…why?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
Momo bit her lower lip.
Her eyes shimmered, but didn't cry.
Her face seemed torn between guilt and something deeper… angrier… more wounded.
Then she ran.
Ran without looking back.
Without explaining.
Without a single closing word.
I didn't chase her.
I just stood there, watching the rain that hadn't fully left,
and realized there was something broken inside her…
something I wasn't ready to touch.
...
for the first time since I crawled out of my own darkness,
I felt… maybe I had touched someone else's wound without meaning to.
Maybe I wanted so badly to be seen,
I forgot others were also trying to heal themselves.
---
I don't know how long I stood in that hallway.
The sky had stopped showing rainbows, and Momo's footsteps had long faded.
I thought back—her odd smile when I brought up the phone.
The way her eyes halted the moment I mentioned it casually.
And the slap…
It wasn't out of anger.
It was out of despair.
My feet carried me into an empty classroom.
I sat at my desk, staring at the chalkboard as if it held an answer.
Then I pulled out my notebook and turned to the very back, where I often spilled words I didn't want to hear again.
"You're an idiot, Ray."
"You held on so tightly to something already gone, you forgot that clinging too hard can hurt."
Momo wasn't Beatrice.
And more than that—Momo knew I was still keeping that girl's shadow in the corners of my vision.
Our laughter today…
The connection I was slowly building with her…
Maybe all of it felt like repetition to Momo.
Like she was only filling in for someone else.
Like I was practicing how to love someone who was already gone, through her.
And it hurt to realize that.
Not because I was slapped.
But because I deserved it.
"She just wanted to be herself, Ray."
"But you placed your wound on her shoulders, hoping she'd heal something that never belonged to her."
I looked at my right hand—the one that had pointed at her bag with friendly intent.
Now it felt heavy.
As if it carried guilt.
Momo knew that what I cared about wasn't her phone, but what might be inside it.
I realized that too, from the beginning, and yet I asked with such confidence, pretending to care.
But the truth is, at that moment, all I was thinking about… was Beatrice.
Then, slowly, I wrote again:
"I'm sorry, Momo."
"You're not a replacement. You are someone whole, full of your own wounds and laughter and light that doesn't have to resemble anyone else."
"I was the one who hadn't yet learned how to see you as yourself."
And I don't know why, but my eyes began to sting.
Maybe because I hated how often I hurt others while trying to heal myself.
Without thinking, I muttered under my breath:
"You really are an idiot… Ray..."