Lovers

You leave in the morning, a bag in your hand.

You toiled, grind, and slave away

What can I do? Can I be of help? You declined. It is not my responsibility.

So I waited.

You return in the twilight, shoulders slumped. Weighted.

You cried, lamented, and grumbled.

What can I do? Can I be of help? You declined. I am not in the know.

So I listened.

My love, my love. What am I to you?

Am I a trophy? A decoration? An object of lust?

What can I do? Can I be of help? You smiled. My heart flutters.

I am your strength.

I am awaken by the sudden unpleasant ache in my shoulder and my back that came from the unnatural sleeping position I assumed the night before. The lights in the apartment are still turned on while my suit, tie, and bag are left unattended in a jumbled mess at the corner of the room. Adjusting to the odd scenery and the grogginess that still clouds me, I realize that I have fallen asleep on the desk. Outside, the sound of a passing train in the distance and the ray of lights that breaks through the curtains notifies me of the current time—possibly around five. What happened? How long was I out? My glasses—fuck, they're slightly bent. Well, nothing but a few pressure couldn't fix; at least if it's snapped in half I have a good reason to use a monocle. I should check the time as well; the computer should—

…

Monika, you silly girl.

I remember how late it was when I finally reached the door to my home only to be surprised by the tune of Monika's piano and her choice to wait for my return. I rushed to her, dumped everything in the corner and almost immediately fell asleep on the desk due to fatigue; that is all well and good, but I didn't think you would do the same thing—I can even see your bed from this angle, yet you chose to mimic me of all things. I'm not sure whether I should chastise you or feel touched because of it—maybe a bit of both! As independent as you claim you are, you can seriously be quite a handful sometimes…

But I guess that's also why I can't seem to let my eyes off of you—lest you start tampering with sensitive files again.

I keep a close look at her just as I did the day before, watching her sleep soundly akin to a shiba inu pup, without a care of the world. Her long hair slightly obscures her face, its strands weaves over one another and flutters to her soft breathing, tempting me to reach out and comb it to reveal her slumbering expression. Despite of it, Monika's serenity alone is a picturesque scene worthy of a screenshot; although, wouldn't it be a violation of privacy if I do so?

I notice a small tab on the bottom of the screen—a 'notepad' tab titled 'to Xf324D'. If my memory serves me correctly, I don't believe ever seeing this tab before; probably conjured during my sleep. Curiosity takes over and I open the tab, crossing my fingers and hope this isn't going to be one of Monika's devilry.

Which it isn't…surprisingly.

"To Xfh480xc," it starts.

"Hi, Monika here! You fell asleep last night on the desk, how rude! That's not a nice way to treat your girlfriend who faithfully waited for you to return home!"

Well, excuse me princess.

"As much as I'd like to chastise you about standing up a young woman on a cold night," she continues. Nice choice of words there, Monika. "I understand that you have your responsibility to handle and sometimes things like this are unavoidable."

"Please take good care of yourself, 7A3d4==. I'd love to take care of you if I could, but since I'm still stuck in this side there's nothing I can do but to remind you how dear you are to me."

…

"I would hate to see you accidentally destroy yourself. So keep your sleep on track, okay? Above all else, please put your well-being above anything else."

"I'm always rooting for you, so please tell me if there is anything I can be of help."

"With love, Monika."

...

Monika…

Even if I tell you, there is nothing you can do to be of help. I know it sounds selfish of me to think like that, but getting you involved in a problem conjured out of arrogance in the first place would make me even more conceited than what I already am; considering how much you have to bear in that reality, taking you along to the line of fire is the last thing I would like to see. I understand your concern, but please trust me—I'll think of a way out, somehow. Trust me.

At the end of her letter, a postscript.

"PS. You look adorable when you sleep, so I can't help myself but to screenshot you. You can find it in 'C: \users\Monika\pictures', but are you really going to peek into my personal files without permission? Or try to delete it? I'm sure you're more romantic than that. Sorry!"

…cheeky woman, I knew it will come to this!

…

Nobody said I can't do the same to you. Forgive me Buddha, Jesus, and whatever other gods are floating out there, for I will commit a sin to a high school girl out of reprisal.

CLICK

…I'll be printing this for 'safe-keeping'; she does look innocent and harmless in this state, though—forgetting her familiarity and reach with the systems, naturally.

Looking back at her letter, I may have distressed Monika of my current condition—I really shouldn't; it wasn't my first time running overtime, but it certainly has been awhile since I do. If any, I should apologize to you, Monika, for neglecting my responsibility I have towards you. The little assignments I gave that you worked diligently for are left unattended and unchecked, the promise to read together that has yet been fulfilled…I did more 'wrongs' than 'right' to you than I did to myself; I'm sure a little sacrifice from my end wouldn't hurt.

…

I can't keep moping about my own misfortune; this isn't healthy for my mental state and for Monika's sake. Get your grip together, Oogame! You're the adult in this situation, show some character! Your surname translates to large turtle for a reason, so do what you always do best—duck and cover. It's fine so long as she's happy, as long as I can return home and see her smile that is enough of a reward for me. What happens at work and at home should not correlate with one another; bottle it up, don't let it ooze—then toss that thing down an abyss.

Patting my cheeks twice, I collect my resolve and make my way to the shower to start my morning routine. Stopping halfway I glance at the monitor towards the girl who's still deep in her slumber, giving me a new sense of determination. There is no time for me to wallow in my own despair; this reality isn't designed to cater to those who do.

Time to start the day.

There is something oddly philosophical the moment you step into the showers. Somehow, your mind tends to question about everything that is around you—about life, love, happiness, freewill, and its meanings; it's almost as reflective as someone who assumes the 'thinking' position during their time on the ceramic throne. When I step outside, it's as though my brain has been doused in spring water and cleansed of its impurities—at least this way I can face Monika with a smile. The aroma of coffee certainly helps to expedite this process further and keeps my head cool and my eyes open.

"Good morning, 4nXd5," she greets drowsily. "Are you feeling better?"

Monika yawns and lightly stretches, breaking away from her sleeping posture. She bridges her hands and smiles warmly as I fix my morning coffee; I return her smile. "Never have I been better."

Then there is always that groggy, early morning grin that could challenge the rising sun.

"How are you feeling," I inquire before taking a sip from my cup. "You slept on the desk last night."

"Because of you!"

"You had a choice," I calmly retort. "Your bed is just a few steps away from the desk."

"That is so, but…"

A pause. Her emeralds wanders to the side. "I was worried about you…"

"Gosh, you made me say some embarrassing things!"

…

You made me feel embarrassed with the things you say! Nearly spilled my coffee for a second there…

"But I can see that you're alright," she continues with a smile. "It makes me happy."

…arrhythmia will be a more pressing issue if this runs its course; I should put my coffee down.

I rest the saucer on the desk before fixing my tie and don the black suit as Monika prepares her own cup of coffee and fixes her unkempt hair into the usual ponytail—a pinkish tinge blooms on her cheeks. There is not a word or a whisper, except an unspoken truce that simply exists to allow us to compose and search our feelings after the conclusion of our brief exchange. Whether it is that awkwardness or the affection that blossoms, both of us have come to accept this little nudges and emotions that tugs at our strings. I allow the moment to seep in and accept the rising tempo of my heartbeat as a positive sign, to engrave it in my memory as a lighthouse to fall back to in turbulent times. There is always someone waiting for me.

That in its own made my reality just a bit more palatable.

"I'll probably be home late again tonight," I break the silence. "I'm sorry, it looks like things may get busier in the future."

She shakes her head and gives a reassuring smile. "Don't worry about it. Just do your best; I will always be waiting."

I open my lips to speak, but hesitates at the last moment when I remember the little note she left for me. Is it wrong of me to wish for her to prioritize herself more than she does to me? Despite the differences in our reality, I am an adult of twenty five and she is but a girl of nineteen—one year short from her coming of age. Back when I was at that age, I was more concerned on being accepted to a university abroad more than anything else; to have her worry over my well-being—who can qualify as her guardian, even—puts me to shame. I can't lose myself; if it isn't for my own good, it's for Monika.

"I…read the little note you left."

"Oh?"

Her cheeks lit up with an orange tinge.

"I'd appreciate it if you don't take screenshots of my sleeping face," I lightheartedly joke, mellowing down after. "Though I appreciate your concern,"

"Thank you, Monika."

Having said that, I rest my hand on the boundary of our reality and she, without a word, reaches out to mine from her end. It's peculiar how simple gestures could spell a thousand without uttering a single word, connecting us through our emotions and soft expressions. Things will work out somehow, so don't you worry about me. I promise.

"I'm heading out."

And with a soft smile, she sends me off to face the day.

"Take care, 84cEjf==."

I'll keep the screenshot as my dirty little secret.

The closing weeks of September is always one of the livelier days of the school year for the students—not restricted to Fridays and impromptu holidays, of course. It may not mean a lot to the faculties and staffs—who probably has more concern on livelihood and upcoming paycheck—but to the students it meant one thing: school festival. In every walks of life, there needs to be a balance—the yin of the yang—in order to accommodate a healthy life and mental fortitude; this is the obvious reasoning of why festivals exists outside of tradition. Sports festival in summer, school festival in fall, and breaks during winter and spring—honestly, sometimes I can't help but convince myself that we Japanese as a people just love to have fun. Work hard, play hard as the saying goes. It's difficult not talk about matters concerning festivals when that's all the students are discussing about during lunch time. Reminds me of my own youth; so carefree and ignorant until you enter the workforce and evolve into a corporate slave.

But I digress.

With the festival being the hottest topic of discussion, there is always one thing that comes to mind: food. Festival foods are 'unique' in a way in that certain 'flairs' seems to exist as both a gimmick or presentation; like a sideshow of delicacy that can only be obtained on the event ground on certain booths. Either it's the flavor or the rarity, there's always something to look forward to—aside from the cost, of course; those tends to reach up to five hundreds or even a thousand yen. That's all fair and good, but when you receive an average of two hundred and twenty thousand yen a month, festivals can be a total boon to your pockets for its potential to clean its contents as aggressively as Gab^n's seasonal sales or the annual comic market.

And speaking of food…

I haven't had anything since last night—not even a piece of rice ball from the convenience store. The little gnome that nestles inside me growls in an increasing tempo and urges me to take the journey to the cafeteria before I decide to devour something. With the rest of the faculty either idling or occupied, I quietly excuse myself and leave the faculty office to grab myself a bite—anything would do, really. The school's cafeteria serves a variety of meals ranging from all types of noodles, karaage, curry rice, grilled fish, and to the all-time favorite pork cutlets along with an assortment of side dishes that is both diverse and delicious, they have it all. With students in mind, the cost of a set meal (usually a bowl of rice and miso soup along with a main course) would cost approximately five hundred yen at the lowest and—with side dishes included—goes up to eight hundred at most. Drinks, of course, are sold separately. If none of the menu tickles your appetite, the school also sells its own handmade bread that is as varied as its own counter menu; it almost convinced me that maybe they bought an entire bakery and its staff.

There is always one problem, however.

With the size of the school accommodating in accordance with Tokyo's zoning laws, the cafeteria is plagued with the issue that every metropolis suffers during rush hour (or lunch hour, in this case): overcrowding. Students from all over the campus from first to third years will flock to this location and shove one another in a bid to savor that one special before it ran out of stock; it's also the reason why I tend to pack my own lunch (thanks L4w$on) and avoid the cafeteria entirely. It has been awhile since I stepped into the cafeteria and last time I remember the horde is still as nasty as ever—and they still are.

I wonder how the cafeteria would function in Monika's high school—wherever that may be. Does it suffer similar problems such as this, or is it inhabited by only four students? With how crowded things come to, I shouldn't be surprised if the entire club members would often skip lunch—let alone Yuri, Natsuki would have trouble being noticed amongst the crowd and she's the loudest.

…what am I thinking? Remember what you're here for, don't get distracted!

I quickly scan the available menu that are displayed as laminated images, all of which are hung above the counter along with its cost. Judging from the chaos, it's simple to assume that the majority are gunning for the exclusive cheese katsu-pan— a breaded pork katsu with cheese stuffing served in a hotdog bun, popular amongst students for its affordability, taste, and ease of consumption; I've never tried one to be honest, so take it with a grain of salt. Then, there are other menus of interest such as the practical tonkotsu ramen with chahan set (Chinese fried rice) or the odd eggplant gratin. Oh, there are vegetarian dishes as well…Monika would like that.

…speaking of which, does she even have something to eat at home? Does she even go hungry? I wonder, have she ever had natto before…?

…

Hold up. I've been letting things slide and accept them as face value when there is clearly an oddity. Think logically; no matter how human or real she can be, she's still in a sense just lines of codes and data. As far as my knowledge is concerned, Monika should not be subject to the rules of survival that applies to us in this reality—not hers. If that is so, then the concept of fatigue and hunger should be alien to her as is the concept of 'coding just by thinking' is to me—then why does she sleep at night? Why does she feel the need to rest when you can easily remove such restrictions as easy as spelling A to Z? Of course, the knowledge and experience may be the direct result of her past experience as a character in DDLC. But even after her epiphany, does that mean she understands the concept of hunger and nourishment as well as those living in this reality?

"Sensei…?"

A sudden voice interrupts my train of thoughts as I quickly turn towards the source, just to my right. Amongst the crowd, the person in question raises her hand to beckon my attention towards her.

"Ah, Samejima."

"Good afternoon, sensei. Just 'Aki' is fine; it's rather vexing to be called by my surname."

It was Akizuki Samejima, the vice-captain of the literature club and one of the leading poet within the roster. Judging from the silver chrysanthemum badge on her collar, Aki's the designated class representative of her homeroom—which means she has the privilege of picking a set meal for free on every lunch period and is here for that purpose. It's to be expected considering her performance; this makes two recipients of the chrysanthemum members of the literature club, the other being—obviously—Mikawa, the class representative of my homeroom. But wait, that's not the point on why she summoned me in the first place.

I digress, again. I really need to stuff myself or my thoughts starts to wander off!

"It's unusual to see you in the cafeteria, sensei."

"I didn't pack my lunch today," I chuckle lightly. "So I decide to stop by."

Aki looks on, puzzled. Being one of the privileged to receive the chrysanthemum badge, I guess the concept of 'packing lunch' escapes her mind. The silver chrysanthemum is, after all, a symbol of achievement in the academia—measured by semester tests per-class. It is as coveted by students as salary is to the white collar worker.

…and there I go, musing again.

"Have you decided on what you're having, sensei?"

"Maybe something simple," I reply. "Like bread or a sandwich; I need to hustle back after."

She nods and immediately raises her hand. "Ok, I'll give you this one—a 'thank you' for the things you've done for the club."

In her hand is a cheese katsu-pan, one of the more popular bread the cafeteria serves. It is offered to me as a gift, without strings or malicious intent but a sincere smile of an innocent young girl. True, it is within my better judgment to politely reject the offer however, the little gnome in my stomach said otherwise and left me with little to no choice but to accept her offer.

"But isn't this yours?"

"I have two, sensei."

"You eat quite a lot for someone of your size."

"Hey," she grimaces jokingly. "That's not a nice thing to say to a girl!"

I chuckle at her reaction but nonetheless accepts her offer. With a smile she bids farewell, effortlessly melding into the crowd as she leaves the cafeteria and—presumably—makes her way to the roof where most students would spend their lunch time together, leaving me with the delicacy and all the time in the world to return to the faculty office and resume my duties. I can't complain; I didn't expect the outcome, but it is a blessing in a way.

…

It does made me wonder, though. I have been working in this institution for three years, meeting and seeing many of my students come and go as they head out towards the real world or to a higher education. I get to know them in a personal basis and understand their needs and desires, their habits, and sometimes their hobbies and dirty secrets—occasionally. The members of the literature club, for example, starts with only Mikawa and Aki which I am acquainted to since their first years of high school; the other members—Yuuki, Satsuki, and Obase—are all students in my English classes, each with different hobbies and quirks that bonds or shatters their relationship with one another. Satsuki loves to doodle on her papers, Obase can't help himself but to snooze in class, Yuuki joined the literature club because of Satsuki, Aki tends to consume double her portion (but still maintain a healthy figure), and Mikawa always have a folder ready for everything—these are the quirks that stood out and made them 'unique', at least to me. But what about Monika?

How much do I really know about Monika—let alone the other non-existent members of the literature club?

I have been with Monika for four years since the game was first released, all of it in no small part thanks to Yuuya's and my tampering. I was ecstatic when she came to be, but is that really what she is as an individual, or is it because I desired her to be so? I never figured out what books she likes, her hobbies, favorite food, or even the little things that concerns her (aside from my well-being); I know little of Monika compare to my relationship with my students, and I've spent more time with the former than I have with the latter. It's quite…disturbing when I play the scenario in repeat.

I'll figure it out in time…what she is, her favorite past time activities, and all that nuances.

…I'm thinking too much, aren't I?

I should eat; next thing I knew my mind will try to convince me that a noose is an accessory and cyanide is a soda.

What fun...

"Okay, everyone! It's time for us to divide the tasks!"

Like any day within Mikawa's literature club, the machination truly starts the moment Mikawa exclaims the same mantra that a certain spunky hacker would chant in hers. Maybe that is due to its simplicity or how catchy it sounds, but there is always something empowering with that statement for those with natural leadership skills—which I believe Mikawa has in spades. As the members gather in a circle, I quietly observe their conference before pulling out an old favorite book of mine to pass the time—Haruki Murakami's 'Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World'; obviously, in the language of yours truly. I observe as Mikawa efficiently divides the task to its five members, pairing them each in two and sending them off either to the computer lab or dismiss them early to work on their own—as is the case of Obase who was appointed as the 'baker' and literally has nothing to do at this point of time. There's always something new to learn from the members of the literature club.

Finally, it was down to Aki and Mikawa who are responsible for the banner meant to be hanged in the club during the festival—a welcome sign for the new members, basically.

"Hmm…I think we can work on the banner now," Mikawa suggests as she writes down what seems to be a shopping list with her pen. "Aki, can you go to the store room in the new school building? You should find the items there."

A look of distraught clouds Aki's expression. "That's…quite a walk. Are you certain?"

"They should have a trolley too to make transporting the materials easy—sensei, is it ok if we borrow it?"

"I'll allow it." I quickly respond.

Aki shrugs and accepts the list. "What are you going to do?"

"Draft about the design and manage our resource distribution—we still need to know how much we have to spend for the baking goods alone."

Aki's concern is soon met with the confident smile of Mikawa who, ever dedicated, returns her focus back to her duty. Just like that, Akizuki boldly steps out to fetch the item the club demands. Being a spectator that witnessed how everything unfurls, a strangely gratifying bliss envelopes me at how meticulous and efficient everything works—like a well-oiled machine, if I do say so myself. Aki's footsteps dissipates as she traverses further and further from the club room until silence befalls the club room, leaving me and just Mikawa to bask in the studious atmosphere.

"Sensei, if I may…"

Softly I lay my book down on my lap, turning my attention to the club leader who is now alone in the clubroom.

"I've been meaning to ask you this for a very long time, but…"

A slightly gloomy sigh escapes her. "Why did you decided to support the literature club?"

…

"N-no offense meant, sensei, but…when we first started the club was, without a doubt, going to be disbanded."

"There was only two of us," she continues. "Aki was as much in shock as I was, and then you stepped in and just supported us, strangers."

"So…what drove you to volunteer as the supervisor of this club? I mean there are other clubs out there that probably deserves more of your attention."

Where should I start?

If I am to be completely honest, I never expected—or planned—to become a club supervisor; this is even more so back when I was still just a rookie. It wasn't until the name 'literature club' flashed to me by mention did I stepped in to intervene its disbandment. I wasn't sure what had me, the force that grabbed and drove me to step in as the supervisor was as mysterious then as it is now; though, I do know one thing that ran its course, the 'spell' that convinced me that it was the right call: 'Monika would like that'.

The literature club here, in this reality, is more than 'just' a club; this is where my reality and hers meld, a port in the midst of life's turbulent storm, my selfish attempt to transform fiction into nonfiction.

"I was once part of a literature club, to be honest." I solemnly reply. "I just thought that it would be a shame to see it go,"

"I guess there's sentimental value attached to it."

Mikawa rests her head on her hand as her dark, brown eyes reflects a wisdom that far exceeds her physical age. There is a sense of uncertainty within her, yet all is cleverly disguised by a veil that shows a different story—a tale that raises her to an elevated pedestal. Her shoulder length brunette hair gently glides down pass her ear and prompts her to tuck it back to the side, concluding her train of thoughts. Mikawa sighs deeply.

"I…find it difficult sometimes, sensei," she starts, darting her eyes to the side. "Not of your ability—I-I can tell how invested you are with the club."

She wets her lips. "I'm concerned with mine."

…

"There are times when I feel as if I've done everything out of my own selfishness," she continues. "This will be the last festival for most of us in this club and I do wish to see it succeed, but…"

"Without a budget, lack of helping hands, and graduation just over the corner…I'm not sure pushing the club to 'go ahead' with the festival is a good move."

Mikawa bites her lower lip, "I'm afraid of what they'd think of me if everything goes wrong…"

I see…a lack of confidence, I assume; third year really is the most turbulent times for all—chrysanthemum recipients or not. Monika did mentioned about this as well in my pilgrimage to the eternal classroom back in the day—I'm sure she feels the same way as Mikawa does; I know I did. There's only so much formal education can provide before experience rears itself with a steel bat and teach you what 'life' is all about as it chips your layers of comfort one by one and expose your soft, vulnerable self.

But she always have something to say about it…

"Back when I was a member in my old literature club, I had the same doubts as you," I start. "Not in similar sense; I mean, my love for reading and poetry was recent in contrast to everything else back then—I wasn't sure if I'd enjoy my time either."

…and I'm going to impart on that wisdom. "But my club leader confided in me and said,"

"'The most important skill in life is being able to fake confidence.'"

"You may make mistakes or have errors in your judgment—that's normal," I continue. "But being able to trick others into thinking you have it all together, that's a key part of getting people to respect and admire you."

"So don't worry. Just do what you always do and see through it until the end; maybe then you can judge whether it was all worth it or not."

An astute smile casually stretches across my lips as I conclude on the brief reminisce of the time spent with Monika and her 'eternal classroom'. Compare to what it was now, the 'eternal classroom' was empty and bare; there wasn't a piano, a bed, bookshelf, cow plushy, or the little trinkets she picked up (and ported) from our time in various other games as a memoriam of our little 'dates'—that is a story for another day. The classroom now looks more like a bedroom—a room to call her own.

Mikawa smiles softly, "Sensei, your club leader sure is something."

"She sure is." If she knows half of what I meant, she'll say otherwise.

"Faking confidence…I should try that."

Mikawa smiles radiantly as she clasps both of her hand into a ball and pulls it close to her side, brimming with new resolve and confidence; a sight that I've seen once or twice in class—her 'eureka moment', as I like to call it. It's quite unusual for her to worry this much about the perception of others from the club towards her; she's way qualified for the position and has been performing remarkably well. But, I guess even geniuses have their moments of doubts.

"Thank you, sensei," she said with a beam. "I don't think I can confide with the club members about this—it's far too embarrassing."

"Hey, you're still a student. Making mistakes, being embarrassed—it's all relevant. You're doing fine in my book."

"Really?"

"Positively."

TON TON!

"Excuse me!"

A knock on the door immediately alerts Mikawa of the presence—or rather, return of one of the members. Hastily, she straightens herself and rise from her desk. With a clear, audible voice, Mikawa warmly welcomes the return of Aki to the club room.

"Sorry for being late!" Aki starts in desperation. "I couldn't find what you're looking for…"

"T-that's ok…" Mikawa replies. "So there isn't anything in the storage that we can use?"

"No…but why the one in the new building? This building has a storage room too, Aya-chan—and it's closer!"

And with that said, Aki pouts towards the just-enlightened club leader. Mistakes were made, but such is life.

"I forgot about that…ahaha…sorry!"

"Aya-chan, you meanie!"

Between the exchanges of the two members, I chose to remain silent and observe the entire conversation; it's almost reminiscent to a high school slice of life comedy—almost. Aki's incessant whining paired with Mikawa's conciliatory expression is quite a refreshing sight between the two who—in most situations—compete for the school's top position. Be it in the academia or matters of the club, Samejima and Mikawa are always neck-to-neck; that is also exactly why they get along.

This club may be a replacement to me, but its members is never intended to be one; they are a kind of their own, unique in its own way.

Thirty minutes later, the Westminster chime signals Mikawa to conclude today's activity and that of the week. With all its members gathered (barring Obase) and its responsibility divided, they all went their separate ways and leave me free to secure the doors and return to the faculty office. I stop by a vending machine along the way and corked a 120 yen can of coffee, taking my time as I exchange a few messages with Monika—apparently, she has a surprise for me waiting at home. I'll just hope it's not something that induces mental trauma.

It will have to wait; I have an overtime to work with.

"I'm home!"

It's around about nine in the evening when I finally returned to my domain, welcomed by the soft melody of a familiar tune that is…not quite what I usually expect of her—a new song, perhaps. The echo of the tuts ceases at the beckon of my voice as I flick the light switches and discard everything that is weighing me down and an affable, effeminate voice welcomes me.

"Welcome home!"

Quickly I rush towards the source of the voice—the laptop on the desk—to meet the loving gaze from a pair of emeralds and a thousand-watt smile from the girl beyond my reality. Curiously, her old school uniform is her apparel of choice out of all the selections available at her disposal—I guess it still holds some sentimental value for both of us. Pivoting from her seat that faces the piano, she makes her way towards the desk and assumes her usual position. This is our time.

"How was your day?"

"Could be better," I reply. "Would be nice if I don't have to deal with overtime. Have you done your homework?"

Monika reaches down below her desk and assumes control of the system, opening multiple tabs simultaneously in quick succession. I still can't help but be amazed at her performance and speed at each passing day; it's like setting your computer on auto-pilot and it will sort itself magically.

"You still haven't checked yesterday's assignment," she comments as she opens one tab after another. "Are you sure you'll be fine? It's not mandatory, you know…"

"Well, to me it is." I chuckle lightly before opening one tab after another as she watches on curiously.

I have a lot to make up to her after yesterday's failures. Monika may have gotten used to the language, grammar, and vocabulary but there is still a lot of topics to cover and many more kanji to read and memorize—though just by a glance at what I'm seeing now, she made good progress in her studies. It's impressive how quick she captures the principles of the language; though I'm still catching the occasional particle slip-ups, this is passable—for now.

"By the way..." she calls. "You have new messages."

"From who?"

"One of them came from Yuuya," she points with a smile in her voice. "He said he's dropping by tomorrow with something new."

"And the other—"

"Hold up," I interrupt. "You read my mail!?"

"Perusing—I was a little curious, sorry!"

"I put a password on it for a reason, Monika!"

She giggles playfully and smiles, "Yes, you do! But you did gave me access to your email before."

"…I did?"

"Yes! I can show you the code you input to prove it, too!"

Oh…it's one of those old upgrades before she came to life—the 'secretary Monika'-project, now on permanent hiatus.

"Also," she continues. "Using my name as a general password for everything here…"

"I find it cute somehow; Ahahaha~"

A sudden rush of blood creeps into my face. Wait, no really I should actually be angry but for some reason my cheeks are flushed. Damn it, Monika…

I'll forgive you because you're cute.

"But why 'jugemujugemu' as a username?"

"It's a joke name for its length—I'll tell you about it one day," I cough to clear my throat. "Now, what's the other one?"

"Oh! The other was from someone by the name…"

"Kitamura."

Kitamura-senpai…of course he would have sent me something for the weekends. He really is flexing his muscles out whenever possible—anything to keep his load light, presumably. Did Monika took a peek to its content? Does she know?

"Did you check its content?"

She shakes her head and slight relief washes over me.

"Should I…?"

"N-No, don't worry," I motion to her. "I'll check it sometime later; probably about work."

I shouldn't get her involved with it. I can handle it.

It is around about fifteen minutes to ten when I finally conclude the last of Monika's unmarked assignments, concluding the turbulent week in a nicely wrapped ribbon written in bold letters that spells 'weekend'. With a heave I slump on the chair exhausted yet pleased with how much I've accomplished; her radiant smile is that of my reward. With a whisper of 'good work', Monika takes a step away from the desk and returns to her piano.

"So, remember about that 'surprise' I mentioned earlier?"

I nod. "I was expecting something indecent; I guess I was wrong."

"W-we're not that far into our relationship yet, silly!" she replies, pink tinges on her cheeks. "You should know better from your position!"

She clears her throats, recomposing herself as I chuckle quietly. "Anyway…"

"I've been browsing your music library for a bit and came upon this song—and it kind of stroke a chord on me."

"So…" she continues. "I've been working on it—I think you can tell it's not perfect, but this is my first attempt to sing in Japanese too."

Monika takes a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for her performance as her hand rests on the keys. It hasn't been three days since the piano arrived and she's already practicing a new song to play—one from my own collection, no less. Well, this certainly is a surprise—I didn't think she'll reach for new musical notes just days after having the piano installed in her room.

"Ready?"

"Anytime, my lady."

Her finger depresses on the tuts and the melody plays—a familiar tune from a song that I've listened to in the past. The song starts softly, slowly, yet gives off a sense of longing and—

…

I know this song…

"Isn't this…"

'Wishing'

Monika smiles, affirming my suspicion as she continues to play. How could I even mistake this tune? The notes flows like a stream as it is translated at each press of her fingers, drowning the room with the melody and easing my troubled soul as she performs with all her heart and soul poured into the keyboard. Then, she inhales and starts to sing…

~When the morning comes, our eyes gently meet,

~And I get the urge to talk about frivolous things.

~On a clear afternoon, we join hands,

~And take a short walk through this quiet city.

…I'm at a loss for words.

As her voice sings through the lyrics, her emotions resonates along with the melody, caressing me gently with the tune. Though a cover from its original, the words she sings—the weight it imposes as she emphasizes at each melody…is personal; a love song dedicated to their significant other, be it Sxbaru for R^m or me for Monika. When she sings the chorus, a sudden tinge of heartache caresses me with the soft voice of the lone pianist, lost in the ocean of emotions that engulfs her performance.

~Because every morning…every night…

~I have so many things I want to tell you!

~Today…and tomorrow too…

~If I could just tell you, "I love you"…

As she sings, my thoughts starts to wander and reflect about my—sorry, our situation. We humans are 'programmed' to desire affection—love, even. It is in our flesh, our blood, and engrained deep in our history. Some would achieve to cope around this mechanism through various methods such as online interactions, games, or movies that provides them with the corresponding feeling they seek. Others would play musical instruments or perform for a crowd, while there are also those who write—all for the desire to fill in that void. Naturally, humanity as a whole is incapable of living in solitary and would seek others of similar mind as a natural response or else madness would swallow them whole. Such is true for both Monika and I.

I am the reason that keeps her sane, the only other individual in a vast ocean of emptiness that is her reality; the one reason as to why she's willing to throw away everything—including her own existence. While to me…

To me, she is the reason why I am alive today.

If she didn't speak to me that day, if she had never came to my life that fateful morning…

…

My twenty-fifth birthday would have been my last.

Author's Note

Megumeru here, I apologize for the delay of the chapter since life do get in the way of things sometimes. It's getting a little bit dark with how the story is going, isn't it?



Don't worry, so far from what some of you have been theorizing they are still a miss. Have fun!

The song associated with this chapter is 'Wishing' by Minase Inori. Since I believe it would be difficult for most readers if I am to use furigana for the lyrics, I took some liberty to use the English translation instead!

Next week things should be back in order and weekly updates should resume as normal.

-iMegumeru