[Serina Mikage POV]
Even after our lunchtime strategy meeting ended and afternoon classes began, my attention drifted toward the window time and time again.
As I copied the mathematical formulas lining up on the blackboard into my notebook, my mind was busy drafting the opening lines of a letter.
To the person who saved me.
To my savior.
To you, whose name I do not know.
None of them were wrong. Yet every single one of those phrases felt far too distant to address him as he had been that day.
If it were merely about the fact that he had saved my life, calling him a savior might have sufficed.
However, that was not all I remembered.
He had turned his back toward me when I couldn't walk, telling me there was no need to rush. Every time I said I was scared, he reassured me again and again that he wouldn't leave me alone. Even though he had suffered burns and merely speaking must have been agonizing, he had tried to keep me calm right until the very end.
Amidst the spreading flames, he had treated me not as some nameless rescue victim, but as a person.
That was why I didn't want to reduce him to a single word like "savior."
"Mikage, are you listening?"
Hearing the teacher call my name, I hurriedly looked up.
"I'm listening."
"Then what is the answer to this equation?"
I looked at the blackboard.
I had been copying it down until a moment ago, but I had no idea which problem he was asking about. A small giggle leaked from the seat next to me, and I cast my eyes down to my textbook, trying to hide my embarrassment.
"...I'm sorry. I wasn't listening."
"Good to see you're honest. Make sure you solve the problem before the end of the day."
"Yes, sir."
The teacher resumed the lesson.
I turned back to my notebook, but in the corner of the page, without even realizing it, I had written That person.
Flustered, I crossed it out with a line and continued writing down the formulas.
I had to concentrate on class right now.
I could write the letter after school.
Even though I made up my mind, the words I wanted to tell him kept multiplying inside my chest.
Thank you for saving me.
Are your injuries all right?
Do you remember me?
Have you forgotten our promise?
I wanted to ask all of them, but whenever I thought about that very last one, my heart grew restless.
If I knew he remembered our promise, maybe we could meet again.
I could see his face in a place that wasn't burning, ask for his name, and speak with him in a voice different from that day. And beyond that, the promise of eating crepes together would be waiting for us.
Together. Just the two of us.
The moment that phrase crossed my mind, the tips of my ears burned.
I turned my face toward the window so no one would notice, letting the breeze blowing in cool my flushed cheeks.
◇◇◇
After school, I stayed behind in the classroom alone.
Rio and Kotoha had gone ahead to the staff room, saying they would consult our homeroom teacher about whether we could deliver the letter through the police. Miu had headed to the library to check published articles and official announcements about the fire.
A single sheet of letter paper lay on my desk.
Unable to decide on an opening line, nearly ten minutes had already slipped by.
When writing a letter to someone whose name you don't know, how are you supposed to address them at the very beginning?
To the person who saved me.
I stared at the first words I had written down.
It wasn't wrong. Still, it felt somewhat distant and formal, like something anyone rescued from a fire might write.
There had to be a way to address him that properly captured what he had done for me that day.
I erased it and placed the tip of my pen on a new line.
To you, who did not leave me alone that day.
This time, I didn't erase it.
He had come to save me.
He had carried me on his back.
Despite being burned, he had kept protecting me.
Yet what remained deepest in my heart was the fact that, in a building where everyone else was gone, he had never left me alone until the very end.
More than the flames or the smoke, I had been terrified of being left behind. I thought no one would find me, that I would simply vanish, all alone in that place.
To a girl like me, he had offered the same words over and over again.
I won't leave you behind.
I will never leave you alone.
Don't worry.
Every single one of those words had sustained me until we made it outside.
Recalling the voice lingering in my memory, I penned the next sentence.
I was discharged from the hospital safely and was able to return to school. My friends are all safe as well.
Having written that far, I remembered the sight of the severe burn covering his right shoulder down to his arm.
I had been able to return to school.
I could talk with my friends, eat lunch together, and spend days that were hardly any different from before.
Then, how was he doing?
Would his injury heal? Was it still painful? Could he move his arm? Did he regret carrying me on his back?
There were countless things I wanted to ask.
And yet, when I tried to touch upon his injury, the tip of my pen froze.
If I wrote that he had gotten hurt because of me, he would surely deny it.
It had been the same back then.
Every time I apologized while riding on his back, he repeatedly told me not to worry because it was his own choice. He even forced a smile, claiming the burn he sustained while shielding me only hurt a little bit.
He was clearly pushing himself, yet right until the very end, he had never tried to make me feel indebted to him.
Even so, if I didn't mention it at all, it felt unbearable, as though I were pretending such a severe injury had never happened.
After hesitating, I slowly penned the words.
I am still constantly worried about the injury you suffered. But even if I apologize, I have a feeling you will tell me not to.
I paused there and reread the words on the paper.
If it were him, he truly would answer like that.
Softening his mouth in a troubled smile, he would say it was something he did of his own accord, so there was no need to apologize.
It wasn't as though I clearly remembered his face. And yet, I could easily imagine that exact expression.
So, please let me thank you first. Thank you so very much for coming to save me, for staying by my side, and for letting me return to my friends.
I gazed at the completed words.
Thank you so very much.
It was supposed to be the proper phrasing to convey my gratitude, but looking at the words concluded in the past tense made me feel as if our connection were ending right here as well.
Conveying my thanks, and that was it.
Without ever revealing his name, we would never see each other again.
Just imagining such an ending made the depths of my chest ache.
I still haven't written the thing I want to convey most.
I took a small breath and began writing the continuation on the paper.
I still remember the voice that told me "don't worry" so many times.
A voice that was raspy and surely different from how it normally sounded.
Even though I couldn't recall his name or his face, the sense of relief I felt when hearing those words remained deeply ingrained within me.
Even if I had dreams about the fire in the middle of the night, recalling his voice allowed me to steady my breathing. Even when a boy spoke to me at school and my body unconsciously stiffened, simply thinking that he was the only exception settled the depths of my chest.
Did he remember the words he had spoken so many times?
As for me, I knew I would never be able to forget.
I have not forgotten the promise from that day.
Going to eat crepes.
Having him tell me his name once we got outside.
Seeing his face in a place where nothing was burning.
I didn't know how seriously he had taken the promise made in that situation. Maybe he had just played along to encourage a terrified girl.
Even so, for me, it was the hope that had allowed me to make it outside alive.
I want to eat crepes with this person.
I want to ask his name and meet him once more.
Because I wished for that, I had been able to believe in the path leading beyond the flames.
Wrapping my arms around his shoulders and putting all my strength into clinging to his back, I had imagined the scenery after the two of us made it outside countless times.
If not for that promise, my heart might have broken halfway through.
If you haven't forgotten either, it can wait until after your injuries heal. Please meet with me and tell me your name.
Up to this point, it wasn't strange.
It felt natural as a letter meant to convey gratitude, check on the other person's well-being, and ask for their name.
However, the words I was about to write next felt a little different.
Keeping the pen tip near the paper, my hand stopped.
What if I'm the only one who remembers the promise?
What if, to him, those words back then were nothing more than a way to distract me from my fear?
What if everything was considered over the moment we made it safely outside?
Thinking about that made me afraid to keep writing.
Even so, if I sealed it without writing it down, I would surely regret it.
I put strength into my trembling fingers and turned the wish that had remained in my chest into words.
I don't want the promise from that day to be one that only I remember.
The moment I finished writing, a loud thud echoed in the depths of my chest.
Written like this, it wasn't just a letter to say thank you.
It showed I wanted him to remember as well.
It conveyed that I wanted to meet again and move forward to what came next after that day.
The more I reread it, the less the ink hid my true feelings.
"...Isn't this a bit heavy?"
I murmured in the empty classroom.
There was no reply.
Maybe I should erase it.
Wouldn't he just be troubled if someone whose name he didn't even know told him not to forget a promise?
I reached toward the eraser.
However, my fingertips stopped just before touching it.
It wasn't that I wanted to trouble him.
Nor did I want to use the promise to force a meeting.
Even so, I wanted to see him.
I wanted to speak face-to-face.
I wanted to see the face that had been hidden by the smoke.
I wanted to confirm the state of his burn with my own eyes.
And even if it was his left hand that bore no burns... this time, not to cling out of fear, but of my own will, I wanted to try touching that person's skin.
The moment such a thought crossed my mind, heat spread from my ears to my cheeks.
"...What am I thinking?"
I reflexively placed both hands over the letter.
There's no way I could fall in love with someone whose face I don't even know.
This is just gratitude, a sense of relief, and wanting to fulfill a promise.
No matter what the other three said during lunch, that was still what I told myself.
And yet, when I tried to erase it, the depths of my chest strongly resisted.
I didn't want to make even my desire to meet him out to be a mistake.
In the end, I pulled back the hand I had reached toward the eraser.
Taking one last deep breath, I lowered the tip of my pen onto the empty space on the paper.
I will be waiting for the day we can go eat crepes together.
The moment I finished writing, my face grew hotter than before.
—I will be waiting.
Those words I wrote caught my eye more than any other sentence.
The more I reread it, the less it looked like a letter expressing gratitude. It seemed just like a love letter waiting for a reply; if Rio read this, she would make a huge fuss without a doubt.
Once again, I directed my gaze toward the eraser.
Even so, this time, I didn't reach for it.
If I were merely saying thank you, there was no need to write about the crepe promise. There was no reason to tell him I was waiting, either.
The reason I wrote it anyway was that I truly wanted to meet him again.
I still didn't know what this feeling was.
However, even without knowing, wishing to meet him should at least be permitted.
The evening light pouring through the window cast a faint shadow over the letter.
At the very end, I penned my name: Serina Mikage.
I didn't know that person's name.
Nor did I know the name of this emotion yet.
Even so, the promise exchanged between the two of us was real.
I carefully folded the letter and placed it into the prepared envelope. Even though no one was watching me, just holding the envelope made my heartbeat quicken.
He would read this.
The person who carried me on his back that day would follow each and every word written for him with his eyes.
Just imagining that scene made my body hot all over again.
Just as I was about to put the envelope into my bag, the voices of Rio and the others drew near from the hallway.
The classroom door opened, and Rio, who entered first, locked her eyes right onto the envelope in my hand.
"Did you finish writing?"
"More or less."
"Show me."
"No."
I reflexively pulled the envelope close to my chest.
A smile instantly spread across Rio's face.
"I haven't even said anything yet, and you're already hiding it like it's your most prized treasure?"
"You just told me to show you."
"I was thinking we could check the contents together."
"There's no need."
"Did you properly write about the crepe promise?"
I didn't answer.
Seeming to guess the answer from that alone, Rio covered her mouth with both hands.
"You wrote it."
"Don't make a fuss."
"I'm not making a fuss. Right now, I'm holding it in with all my might."
"It's written all over your face."
Kotoha placed a hand on Rio's shoulder, pulling her away from between us.
"If she doesn't want to show it, don't try to read it."
"I know, I know. I just asked a little bit."
"That 'little bit' made Serina's face turn bright red," Miu pointed out flatly.
"It's not red."
"Your ears are red too."
"That's just the sunset hitting them."
"The ear on the opposite side of the window is red too, though."
"Miu, you don't need to look so closely at everything."
Just as I tried to put the envelope into my bag to hide it, Miu tilted her head slightly.
"So you didn't erase it."
"Erase what?"
"The sentence that makes it obvious you want to meet him."
"...Why are you assuming I wrote that?"
"If you hadn't written it, you wouldn't be holding it like that."
Flustered, I lowered the envelope I had been clutching to my chest onto the desk.
Being stared at by all three of them at once made the heat in my ears intensify even further.
"Anyway, this is a letter meant to be passed along through the police. It's not something to show you three."
"Yeah. That's why we won't read it," Kotoha answered gently. "As long as you were able to write the words you wanted to tell that person, I think that's enough."
"...I was able to write them."
"In that case, let's go ask the teacher if we can hand it over."
"What did the teacher say?"
When I asked, Kotoha's expression clouded over just a little.
"She said the school can't hand it over directly, but she will check if it can be delivered through the police. Though it doesn't seem certain that we'll get a reply right away."
"Even that is fine."
I didn't know when it would arrive.
Depending on his circumstances, there was a possibility he might not accept it at all.
Even so, it was better than waiting around without doing anything.
I put the envelope into my bag and stood up.
There was no guarantee it would reach that person.
Nor was there any certainty that I would receive a reply, or that he would accept my wish to meet.
Even so, for the first time, I was able to give shape to the words I had kept hidden inside my chest.
I didn't know that person's name, nor the name of this emotion.
Yet, as long as I remembered the promise, that person was not a dream seen amidst the smoke.
Someday, he would read this letter and know that I was waiting.
And when we met again and I learned his name, would I finally understand the true nature of what was making my chest burn like this?
I still couldn't find the answer.
Clutching the bag that held my nameless feelings, I left the classroom together with the three of them.