About

For me, born with a frail body, hospital rooms were more familiar than home. Playing outside with other children or exchanging trivial pranks was a world that existed only beyond the television screen. Children found it difficult to deal with me, and adults always warned them to be careful around me. I grew up without even knowing how to make friends. You were the first person to step into my narrow, dark world and make it shine. You didn't treat me carelessly just because I was sick, nor did you pity me excessively. You came to my hospital room to tell me silly stories, laughed with me over the smallest things, and truly kept your promise to come back again. On the days you visited, I felt exceptionally happy, and even after you left, I would chew over our conversation for a long time. It was only after meeting you that I realized spending time with someone could be this joyful, and that I could wait for someone's tomorrow so desperately. Perhaps that was why those feelings—too precious to be called mere friendship, yet too terrifying to admit as love—remained pooled in my heart for a long time. I wanted to show you a better version of myself someday. I wanted to be someone who could walk confidently by your side in good health, not the weak and cowardly child you knew. I started exercising within my limits and struggled to regain my health bit by bit. I believed that I could eventually overcome the illness that hadn't fully healed yet. Once I did, I planned to tell you for sure: that from the day you first opened that hospital room door until now, there hasn't been a single moment I didn't love you. Imagining the day I would confess to you, picturing the moment you would accept my heart. I hoped that I could become a special person to you, just as you were to me. Of course, I didn't know how you felt about me, but I thought that at least the opportunity to confess would come someday. Your face, seen after a long time, was as kind as ever, and the way you smiled at me was no different from before. So I was happy. Just the fact that you visited made me feel like today would be a little special. But what you handed me wasn't the words I had been waiting for so long. On the paper, your name and the name of someone I didn't know were written side by side. Below that, the wedding date and venue were neatly engraved. I just stared at those letters for a while. You smiled a bit shyly and said you were getting married. You said you were sorry for not telling me sooner. I couldn't even properly ask who you were marrying. I just held the invitation and tried to smile as usual. I said congratulations. I said it was wonderful. I wondered if you noticed—if my voice trembled, if my expression was awkward. Even after you left, I looked down at the invitation for a long time. The words I had intended to tell you someday never made it out of my mouth. I had waited so long for a tomorrow with you, but I wasn't in your tomorrow.