Haruka can’t pinpoint the exact moment she decided to run, or the intricacies of the fight that made her do it. She does remember Jiji towering over her, which seems ridiculous because he wasn’t that much bigger than her, but that’s what he was doing—towering—and backing her into the edge of the table. A man turned to rage, stretching himself wider and taller, preparing to strike. Baba was screaming because she knew what was coming and Haruka was terrified so she hit him in the face. It was a cross between a smack and a punch and it landed with a horrible sound. The man she had loved with her whole heart, now a wet-eyed alcoholic bubbling over with unspoken grief. He went to hit back but the scream that erupted from Baba’s mouth stopped them both in their tracks. Jiji stepped away and walked out of the house, to his fields. It wasn’t long before Haruka followed for good.
The day after the fight, when Haruka told Kai she was coming to Tokyo, was the day the messages stopped. There was nothing. Only the small grey confirmation that he’d read it. At first, Haruka thought that maybe his phone had broken or he was somewhere with no signal. Usually he replied within minutes, even seconds. Haruka scoured his profile for signs of interaction. She trawled through his followers to find the girl he had moved on to. She spent hours after school in her bedroom scrolling and scrolling through the words they had sent each other, re-reading until the meaning was sucked out and bone dry, twisted with abandonment. Until her left wrist was aching and numb.
Kai? she wrote.
Kai, are you there?
Are you okay? I’m worried about you. Please reply. Please. I’m coming to Tokyo. I’m coming. Where will I find you?
I miss you.
You know that time you told me you sometimes think of killing yourself ? Well, I feel that now. All the time. I want to kill myself. Help me. I don’t know what to do.
I miss you.
I love you.
Where are you?
Did I do something wrong?
Here’s a photo of me from last night . . . Thinking of you . . .
Seriously, I’m worried now! I’m calling you. Pick up.
Okay. I guess you’re either dead or you don’t love me anymore. I really hope it’s not the first thing. I’d rather you didn’t love me anymore. Because I love you, Kai. I always will. Maybe you got scared and that’s okay. Just know I’m not angry. All I have is love for you and if you’re not ready for that then that’s fine. I love you. Forever. Come back to me when you’re ready. I’m waiting.
She posted photos of herself that she thought would make him love her again. Selfies with eyes pulled wider with an app. She threatened him with suicide, moving on, silence. None of it worked. He was snuffed out and she was left in the dark.
Of all the heartbreak Haruka had felt in her sixteen years, Kai’s abandonment was the most obliterating. More so than her mother’s death, her father’s absence. Death is an ending. There are songs and rituals and sympathy to mark the passing. The grief is noted and it marks you among others. How do you grieve a boy you have never met? How do you explain that grief to anyone without sounding like you’re insane? When Kai stopped replying, he left Haruka in purgatory. A living, breathing body in a coffin, crying out, six feet under with no one to hear her.
Everyone leaves you in the end. All you have is yourself, whatever that is. What am I now? Nothing. I have been fried, my cells have been blanched neutral and meaningless. I suppose I better get on with it.
I suppose I better build someone else.
She deletes her Instagram before she leaves. She knows that if she doesn’t, she will agonise forever in the spaces between his username and hers.
Waiting for him to bubble up beneath her like a brook in spring.