135.5 Volume 5 Interlude: Saying Welcome Back to Miyagi - Story About Buying My Classmate Once A Week

Volume 5 Interlude: Saying Welcome Back to Miyagi With a convenience store bag in one hand and a new key in the other, I opened the door to my new home and stepped inside. "I'm home," I called out, a little louder than usual. No answer. It's natural, of course; no one is here to respond. But the silence is what pleases me. I repeat, "I'm home," just to savor the sound of my voice echoing back. Still no reply. This 'home with no family,' where I moved to attend university, is something I've longed for and finally obtained. When I was a high school student, I lived in a home where my "I'm home" elicited no response, despite people being present. It was a process that stripped away parts of me every time I uttered those words into the void. The joyful memories with my parents. The happy times with my sister. Every unanswered "I'm home" to people who wouldn't respond chipped away at the "happy me." But this new home doesn't take anything away from me. I never imagined that saying "I'm home" to an empty house would feel so wonderful. I'm genuinely glad that I moved here. Since arriving, I've said "I'm home" countless times, each time savoring the solitude even more. Yet, in about an hour—around two in the afternoon—this empty house will become "a home with Miyagi." This is even more exciting than moving into a home with no family. I've been eagerly waiting for the day Miyagi moves in. "I'm home," I whisper once more, untying my shoes. Although the entrance is narrower than in my family home, it suits me perfectly. I walk down the short hallway to the shared dining and kitchen area, place the soda and barley tea I bought in the fridge, and set the sandwiches and orange juice on the table along with my bag. Then, I sit down and survey the room. The furniture and appliances in the shared space were chosen by me using money given to us by our parents, taking into account price and design, and making compromises. Yet, I don't think they're bad. Ideally, I would have chosen these items with Miyagi, but she tossed the responsibility entirely to me with a message saying, "I'll leave it to you, Sendai-san." Well, that's just like Miyagi. I start nibbling on the sandwich I just bought. I'm not very hungry, but I push through a slightly late lunch. As I finish and sip on my orange juice, my phone rings. I pull it from my bag. Displayed on the screen is the name Umina, asking, 'Can I come over this summer?' Since moving here, I've received similar messages from Umina many times. She wants to visit, meet during the May holidays, and so on. These messages try to connect my high school past with the present, but they don't really stir my heart. Yet, it's not quite time to sever ties. So, when I reply to my high school friends, I bring back the high school me. 'I have a roommate, so it might be tough.' I send a neutral reply and place my phone on the table. What I want isn't a message from Umina. It's not even the occasional message from Mariko. It's a message from Miyagi, who rarely ever contacts me since graduating high school. Yet, my wish doesn't come true. It's only natural. She doesn't contact me without a reason. I slump over the table. Speaking of meaningless contacts, I received a message from my sister once. I sighed. Her message just asked if I had finished moving in, and I replied with a simple 'Yes'. Even though our communication has practically ceased, I don't understand why she went out of her way to send a message, and I don't even want to know. I sit up, finish my orange juice, and clear the table, hoping to overwrite these mundane memories. I display Miyagi's name on my phone. 'Should I come to pick you up after all?' Despite having asked and been refused already, I send the same question again. Naturally, I don't receive a prompt reply like I would from Umina or Mariko. But after waiting five or ten minutes, I get a curt response: 'I can manage on my own.' A dull reply, but it's just like her, and I'm grateful she replied at all. "I guess I just have to wait." I set my phone down on the table and get up. The rooms—my room and Miyagi's room—are next to one another, two doors right in my line of sight. Miyagi had said, "The first person to move in can pick their room," so I chose first, and the remaining room became hers. Although the rooms are the same size, the distinction between my room and hers is significant enough. I open the door to "my room." Unfamiliar furniture fills the unfamiliar room—a small bookshelf, a chest of drawers, a bed that is cheaper than before, and bedding. Everything is simple yet mine. The bed, at least, was bought with my own money. But until I graduate, I'll rely on my parents. Since I'm not living off my own funds, the ties to them aren't completely severed. So, even as a small gesture, I wanted my sleeping space to be something I obtained myself. I won't return to the home where my family lives. This is a reminder of that resolution, assuring me that having my sleeping space be my own will help me remain myself. I loop around the room and sit on the bed. Not everything in sight is new; some are old things brought from home, like books, clothes, and my mirror. But there's one thing that is missing. ──The piggy bank that could hold one million yen. It was with me since I bought it as a high school freshman. But it's absent from this room. Without an opening, I needed a can opener to access the funds for the contract on this place. Once opened, it ceased to be a piggy bank, hence I didn’t bring it. However, shortly, my roommate will arrive at this new home. "It seems unbelievable." I signed the lease for the room and handed the envelope to Miyagi on graduation day. That day, I didn't believe that Miyagi would choose to be my roommate. What I did was too forceful, and I thought it wouldn't be surprising if Miyagi refused. I get up, and circle the room again. The thought of becoming Miyagi's roommate today leaves me restless. I pace around the room, like an animal in a cage, before heading back to the shared space. I usually don't feel this agitated. But things involving Miyagi unsettle me like nothing else. Looking at my phone, I find no messages from her. I turn to the two doors lined in my view, and approach Miyagi's room. I knock, knowing full well there won't be an answer. Gently, I open the door and peer inside. The room is barren, empty. This is Miyagi's room, but no furniture or boxes have arrived yet, making it not truly hers. "I wonder what Miyagi will bring," I ponder aloud. Having visited her house once or twice a week—sometimes more—I can recall the room's contents. However, I don't know what she'll bring from that room, and thus can't imagine how this one will transform. Miyagi, true to form, keeps me in the dark about everything. In her room, there were manga and novels I read multiple times, eagerly waiting for their continuation. Yet, she hasn't mentioned whether those will grace this space. I close the door without entering and stare intently at my phone on the table. Time seems to crawl. Miyagi doesn't bother to send messages saying she's almost here or that she's just around the corner. Every minute feels extended; sixty seconds feel like a hundred or two hundred. It feels as if someone has warped my concept of time. While I know pacing won't make time pass faster, my feet move restlessly, leading me in circles around the shared space, and back to the chair, before getting up and continuing to move. Since the day we graduated, I haven't seen Miyagi. I've been anticipating this day for so long that now, waiting another ten or twenty minutes should be no problem, yet my body keeps moving. It feels like I can see the stretched-out time, and I can't stay still. I pause my fidgety legs, glancing once more at my smartphone. Searching online for anything we might need in the house becomes futile as the information slips away seconds later. After a few deep breaths, my ears perk up at the sound of what might be the front door. I stand up to investigate, only to see Miyagi appear as she opens the door to the shared space. I had sent her the key earlier, so I have no complaints about her not ringing the intercom upon arrival. But I wish she'd performed the simple courtesy of informing me she'd arrived. Even a message saying she’d reached the station or was in front of the house would have sufficed. But before I voice such grievances, there’s something more important I need to say. "Miyagi, welcome back." She looks puzzled as she stands there in a familiar hoodie and denim pants. "Welcome back? Not 'welcome in'?" "This is your home now too, so 'welcome back' is right," I reply. From the moment an open envelope replaced the pendant on graduation day, this house became Miyagi's. Thus, it was decided I'd greet her return with a "welcome back." "...I'm home," Miyagi responds, not explicitly prompted but completing the exchange nonetheless. I'm filled with joy—enough to shout from the window how happy I am. "I'm home" and "welcome back." I think I've been waiting for this very day when these two greetings would align. "Welcome back," I say again, and she responds with "I'm home" once more. I suggest she set her things down, offering, "Let me show you around." "No need, it's not that spacious," she remarks. "Sure, but it's more about the feeling," I chuckle. Miyagi places her luggage on the floor, and in her usual flat tone, gives a faint, nonchalant invitation, "If you really want to show it off, go ahead." Her lack of enthusiasm is expected, and it doesn't bother me. I guide her through the small house—laundry, bathroom, bath—and return to the dining kitchen. "This is the dining kitchen, and that's it for our shared areas. Your room is over there; mine's next door." "...Thanks. I'm going to put my things in my room." "Wait. Would you like something to drink? We have soda and barley tea." "No, I'm good," she replies tersely. But I’m not ready to let her slip away just yet. "We haven't seen each other in a while, so can we chat a bit? How have you been?" "Fine. You can tell just by looking, right?" she shrugs. "Even if it's obvious, I need to ask to make sure," I say. "Maybe so. And you...? Sendai-san?" "As you can see, I'm doing well," I reply with a smile, and the conversation momentarily halts. An awkward silence fills the kitchen, unusual and thick. Miyagi wraps her finger around her hoodie strings in contemplation. This silence feels different from before, too tangible to ignore. I tap the table, drawing her gaze before she unwraps her finger and turns away, repeating her earlier intentions of setting her things away. "I've been waiting for you, Miyagi," I find myself saying to her retreating form. "It hasn’t been that long. Graduation barely feels over," she retorts without looking back. "But I've been here ahead of time, so it felt longer. Your moving boxes arrive at four, right?" "Yeah." "Alright," I murmur, and the conversation fades away, as we're enveloped in silence again. The air was about to stagnate, so I raised my voice as brightly as possible. "Hey, Miyagi. Looking forward to living together." She turns, a slight wrinkle appearing between her brows, which she quickly smooths away with a finger before speaking softly, "…Looking forward to it." Miyagi retreats to her room. It's an unfamiliar room with an unfamiliar Miyagi. This new way of living won't be simple. Yet, I'm genuinely glad the token she chose on graduation day was the envelope.