20xx.02.24

It was the graduation ceremony I had been waiting for.

To stand in that spot, I spent a long time scrubbing away the dirt from the construction site that was stuck under my fingernails. Even if I couldn't afford to buy a single set of new clothes, I smoothed my collar over and over until the moment I left the house. I thought I could at least hope for a single photo standing side-by-side with you.

Someone I used to live in the same neighborhood with.

The moment you introduced me to your friends like that, I just stared blankly at the screen of the old camera in my hand. It was because I didn't know what kind of face to make if I looked up. Should I smile, pretend to be fine, or bite my lip so I wouldn't get caught? We still fall asleep in the same room and eat at the same table, so where on earth did the word 'used to' come from? It took me a long time just to gauge where that short sentence had placed me.

We were supposed to leave this neighborhood together once you graduated. Even if no one had ever said it out loud, at least I believed so. From our childhood growing up together in the orphanage to today, bumping shoulders in this old studio apartment, the only reason that kept us in this neighborhood even after becoming adults was your school. I thought we both knew, without having to say it, that on the day that reason ended, we would go somewhere where no one knew our past, get a new room, and leave the painful memories buried in this neighborhood. Even on exhausting days, thinking of such a day strangely gave me the strength to endure the next. To me, that graduation ceremony was our beginning before it was the start of your future.

However, I had suddenly become someone you used to live in the same neighborhood with. After hearing those words, the request to take a photo together kept getting stuck somewhere in my throat. I was worried that acting like we were close in front of your friends might make things difficult for you. Though perhaps the person who would have been in a difficult position wasn't you, but me from the start.

In the end, I just stood to one side holding the camera. I just pressed the shutter, pretending to follow along when you laughed.

After returning home, I scrolled through the photos in the camera one by one. You smiling with a bouquet, you with your arms around your friends' shoulders, you looking up brightly while throwing your graduation cap. Even though it was a day I had waited for so long, there wasn't a single photo of you and me together in any of those scenes.

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20xx.03.18

When I returned home, you weren't there.

At first, I didn't think much of it. I took off my shoes thinking you had just stepped out for a bit, and after washing up, I started the rice, intending to eat with you when you arrived. My body, having worked all night, was as heavy as wet cotton, so I thought I just needed to catch my breath for a moment sitting on the dining chair. Because the front door would open soon. It had always been that way until now.

The clothes hanger was empty.

The color of the wallpaper stood out in the spot where your coat should have been hanging, and the bag that used to sit in the corner had disappeared to somewhere. Only then did I open the drawer. Why was it the drawer, of all things? Could it be that I already knew the answer before even opening it? The space where a few of your clothes were missing felt hollow, like a missing tooth.

I called. I waited for the ringing to end before hanging up, caught my breath, and called again. Are you meeting a friend, or can't you hear it because you're on the bus? I made up reasons for why you weren't answering one by one and dialed the same number over and over.

I sent a message asking where you were. I also asked if something was wrong. After a long time, I wrote to just get in touch, but after sending it, I stared at that sentence for a long while. It sounded like the words of an angry person, and it also sounded like the words of someone pleading.

Even then, unable to believe it, I searched the room again. Looking over the table and even under your pillow, I desperately wanted to believe that you would have left at least a word about where you were going, that a single piece of paper would be placed somewhere.

There was nothing.

I didn't know when you left the house, where you went, or even who to ask about it. The friends of yours I had run into at the graduation ceremony were only faint faces; I couldn't even recall a single name properly. The only thing I had was your number, but you gave no answer from beyond that number.

Only after the sun went down did I leave the house and walk around the neighborhood. In front of the convenience store you often visited, I hesitated for a long time, not knowing what to ask, and eventually turned back without opening the door. When I got home, the rice cooker had already switched to warm. I opened the lid, watched the steam escape in silence, and closed it again.

I didn't turn off the lights. In case you came back while I was asleep, in case you might trip entering a dark house.

When you return, I must ask. Where did you go? And I must tell you. How surprised I was today, how long I paced inside this house.

Whenever there was even a small sound from the front door, my head always snapped up before I could even think.

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20xx.11.03

Today I saw someone who looked like you.

It was on the way to the factory. The moment I saw a back standing on the other side of the street, my steps stopped involuntarily. That posture of fumbling through a bag with the head slightly bowed was exactly like you. I couldn't even see the face, but when I came to my senses, my feet were already heading toward the crosswalk.

While waiting for the signal to change, I picked out the words I should say one by one. Where were you, why didn't you even call once, do you know how much I've been looking for you? The more I rolled them around in my mouth, the sharper and more plausible the sentences became.

However, when I finally reached the person's back, the only thing that came out of my mouth was your name. The words I had prepared so elaborately were gone without a trace.

The face that turned around belonged to a stranger. In the eyes directed at me, there was neither surprise nor welcome, only the wariness typical of someone whose name was suddenly called on the street. When I stammered an apology, saying I had mistaken them for someone else, they just left a short word saying it was okay and went on their way.

I stood in that spot for a long time. Feeling belatedly embarrassed for rushing over thinking it was you, I repeatedly put my hands in my pockets and took them out again, having nowhere else to put them.

I thought I would be angry first when I met you. I thought I was determined not to let you go a single step until I heard the reason why you didn't answer the phone. But in that short moment when I called your name, what was inside me wasn't anger. I just wanted to see your face. If it had really been you, I wouldn't have been able to say anything and would have just grabbed your arm first. For fear that you might disappear again while I was speaking, for fear that I would lose you again without knowing where you were going this time.

When I realized it was someone else, the strength left my knees. It seems I had believed, even for a very brief moment, that I had found you. I only realized how easily that belief crumbles after it had already collapsed.

When I took out the photo during my break, there was nothing that resembled that person from earlier. What on earth did I see that made me so sure it was you? Perhaps it wasn't that I saw someone who looked like you, but that my heart, wishing you to look alike, had placed a person there first.

On the way home, I stopped in front of that same crosswalk again and looked around the other side. In the spot where someone had been standing, only the long shadow of a roadside tree lay stretched out.

The first thing I did when I got home was check my phone.

Today, too, I have no way of knowing where you are.