The second lesson came around, and it was math, boring as hell.
After some time, the classroom doors swung shut behind us, marking the end of the lesson and the beginning of our journey into this new task with Ayumi. As we stepped into the hallway, Ayumi's suggestion about heading to the quieter courtyard seemed like a welcome idea.
"Sure, the courtyard sounds good," I replied with a nod, a flicker of anticipation bubbling within me.
Navigating the bustling corridors, we exchanged casual chatter, a blend of nerves and curiosity palpable in the air. The anticipation of what lay ahead lingered between us, our steps carrying us closer to the serene haven outside.
The courtyard welcomed us with a gentle breeze, the sunlight filtering through the trees casting dancing shadows on the ground. Finding a secluded spot with a few unoccupied benches, we settled down, the forms laid out before us, waiting to be filled with the echoes of our thoughts and experiences.
Ayumi's fingers traced the edges of the paper, her gaze flitting between the questions and me. "Shall we start?" Her voice was soft.
"Yeah, let's give it a go," I replied, feeling a mix of anticipation and uncertainty stirring within me.
The first page presented straightforward inquiries: name, age, and hobbies. Ayumi's slender fingers hovered over the paper for a moment before she began writing, her penmanship delicate yet confident.
"Yamamoto Kenji," I echoed, scribbling my details with a bit more haste. Ayumi's handwriting reflected a certain elegance, a contrast to my rushed scrawl.
"I'm Ayumi Suzu," Ayumi said. I wrote that on the form.
The questions delved deeper on the second page, venturing into the territory of fears, aspirations, and personal desires. There was a big pause as we both hesitated, or that's what I thought. Ayumi didn't care much about it, our eyes briefly meeting before glancing back at the forms.
"Do you want to start?" Ayumi's voice was tentative, her eyes holding a mix of curiosity.
I nodded. "Sure." Taking a breath, I focused on the first question. "W-What's your greatest fear?"
Ayumi bit her lip, thinking it over. "Probably… losing my independence." Her voice softened at the end.
"I get that," I said quietly. "Mine's… snakes, I guess. They're just creepy."
Her eyes met mine briefly, a silent acknowledgment passing between us.
"I can't relate to that."
There was an awkward pause, so I quickly moved on to the next question after I finished writing her answer.
"What's a cherished childhood memory that brings you joy?" I asked her.
Her gaze softened, casting a nostalgic glow upon her features. She paused for a moment, as if wandering through the corridors of her past, seeking out a memory that held special significance.
"There was this one moment that stands out," Ayumi began, her voice carrying a hint of reverence. "It was the day I bought my first piano."
Her words carried a weight, a depth that hinted at a profound experience embedded in her recollection. I leaned in, captivated by the story she was about to unfold.
"It was a warm summer afternoon, and I was about eight years old," she continued, a soft smile gracing her lips as she revisited the memory. "I had been yearning for a piano for the longest time. I remember pestering my parents about it endlessly."
Ayumi's eyes glimmered with a mix of excitement and nostalgia, transporting her back to that pivotal moment in her childhood.
"One day, my parents surprised me," she recounted, her voice tinged with an unmistakable sense of wonder. "They took me to this small, quaint music store tucked away in our neighborhood. And there it was, this beautiful piano sitting in the corner of the store."
Her words painted a vivid picture, the anticipation, the excitement, and the overwhelming joy of finally encountering her heart's desire.
"I remember feeling this rush of emotions," Ayumi continued, her voice carrying the same elation she had felt that day. "It was like I had found a piece of myself in that piano. I couldn't stop smiling."
She described the intricate details, the glossy keys, the smooth finish, and the melodic tunes that resonated through the store as her fingers danced upon the keys for the first time.
"I sat there, pressing random keys, imagining myself playing like a pro," Ayumi giggled. It was the first time I ever heard her laughter.
Her story unfolded like a symphony, each note a testament to the depth of her connection with music, with that instrument that had become an extension of her soul.
"And you? What's your cherished childhood memory that brings you joy?" She asked me, looking at me and waiting for an answer.
"Oh, well.."
In that moment, a myriad of thoughts raced through my mind. How could I explain the absence of joyous childhood moments without revealing too much? I wrestled with the idea of fabricating a story, well, I could, I could just lie about my first time riding a bike, something I did not learn to do.
I gotta say something..
As I mulled over my response, Ayumi's presence seemed to bridge the gap between my hesitancy and a willingness to confide in her. Her warm, attentive demeanor created an atmosphere that encouraged vulnerability, a rare quality that compelled me to speak, despite my reservations.
"Five years ago… I was running around a park… And, a girl fell over me…" The words stumbled out, recounting the fragmented memory that lingered from that day with Ichika. Ayumi's curious gaze prompted me to continue, drawing out the story of the chance encounter that had left an indelible mark on me.
"It hurt me so I've cried, and she cared for me, she wiped my tears off my face, but..
After that, I've never seen her again…"
"How did she look? Maybe she's in the city, you know?"
"Nah, she's not here.. I would've seen her. I said.
"Well, we tried at least," Ayumi said as she wrote down my answer.
"So were you like in love with her?" She asked.
"W-what!? N-no.." I blushed hardly, at least she doesn't know this is about Ichika.
"I see I see…"
Suddenly my phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. I stopped and glanced at the screen.
"You should answer it," Ayumi said.
"I don't usually pick up unknown numbers," I replied.
"Yeah, but it could be important. Maybe from school or something… I think you should."
I hesitated, then sighed. "Oh… okay." I swiped to answer. "H-hi?" I said, my voice a little shaky.
"Oh?" A man's voice came through, unfamiliar. "Sorry, is this Jacob?"
"N-no," I replied.
"Oh! My bad, wrong number." The call ended before I could respond.
"Who was it?" Ayumi asked.
"Wrong number. They were looking for someone else," I said, slipping my phone back into my pocket.
Two questions later, the forms were finally done.
"Well, we're done." She said.
"How was it?" I asked her while standing up, and she stood right after me.
"Not so bad"
"Oh, the questions were too much for me," I said, hoping she meant that.
"Yeah, that too."
Too? She had ANOTHER reason. I'm gonna cry. Well, not really..
"S-See you in class," I mumbled, a touch of disappointment coloring my words. The bell's resonant chime provided a convenient escape, its familiar sound cutting through the awkwardness as Ayumi bid me goodbye.
I walked away with a sense of regret.
My mind concocted scenarios of how my openness could backfire.
But Ayumi, in her own right, had bared a part of herself too. The symmetry of our exchange offered a fragile reassurance that she might not wield my vulnerabilities as weapons against me.