I always lived right by your side.

I became so dependent on you that I felt anxious without you. But one day, you entered a place called JCC, and contact became sparse. You must have made new friends.

I grew curious about how you were doing, but even when I sent a Line message, all I got back were short, one-word answers. Honestly, I felt a bit hurt. We spent years together—were you really throwing me away just like that?

I hated you, but I couldn't forget you. I already liked you too much, and you had occupied half of my life until then.

Some time passed, and we became adults. But you still ignored my messages or gave only brief replies; it was nothing more, nothing less.

And so, we stopped meeting and stopped talking altogether.

A few years later, my parents suddenly said they had found a fiancé for me. I went along with it, but when I met the man, I really didn't like him.

He couldn't even manage basic manners; he was just a rude, strange man. My parents were trying to force the marriage just for the money. I really hated it.

I couldn't refuse. I didn't want to disappoint my parents, and knowing how difficult our situation was, I couldn't bring myself to speak up. I wondered if things would be different if you were here, and thought about reaching out to you, but I quickly dismissed the idea.

No, thinking about it, it's just asking a friend for congratulations—wouldn't that be okay? It's not like it's religious or anything.

I agonized over it again and again. Whether I should send it or not. But in the end, I decided to send it. While hoping something might change, I also just wanted to see you one more time.

I can't even remember how many years it's been since I last sent a text. Has it really been that long?

I thought, "I'm getting married"—if I just send that, will it be weird? But then I thought, whatever happens, happens, and I sent the text.