A field of pure white flowers stretches as far as the eye can see.
Whirling around.
The wind blows, and the flowers dance.
The sky is high, a clear blue stretching endlessly. In the soft sunlight that pours down, we, as children, were there.
“Nii-san, Nii-san! Is it done yet? Can you make it now?”
“…Mmm, just a little bit more.”
Fidgeting, Shizuyo peers over at my hands. Her actions are puppy-like, utterly adorable. I can’t help but let a smile spill out.
I return my gaze to the task.
I cross two stems of Gypsophila and twine them together. I repeat the process several tis. Any excess stems are tucked into gaps, shaping the form. When it reaches the right length, I form a circle and tie it off with a single stem of Gypsophila.
“Shizuyo. Look, it’s done.”
“Wow, Nii-san, thank you so much!”
When I hold up the Gypsophila crown, Shizuyo claps her hands, her cheeks flushed with excitent. Seeing her so delighted makes
feel as though I’ve accomplished so great feat. To mask my embarrassnt, I gently place the crown on Shizuyo’s head.
“…Nii-san, does it look nice on ?”
“Yeah. It suits you.”
“Really?”
“Of course.”
“Hehe, I’m so happy.”
Saying so, the girl stands up. Then, boldly, she twirls around.
It was a scene like a gentle fairytale. The warm air, the boundless sky, the girl with the radiant smile—everything was so beautiful it seed like a dream.
Ah, I nod.
That’s right. This is a dream.
Even so. That’s why I wanted to keep looking at this beautifully painful world, from the bottom of my heart.
Awakening/Darkness.
Falling. I’m falling. Through the ground, the sky. Forever, and ever. Endlessly. No sound, just falling through darkness. Is there an end? Or is this the beginning? My consciousness fades. My existence as Ando Ryu is swallowed up.
“…Hey, Nii-san. Do you know the language of flowers for Gypsophila?”
The silence is shattered by the girl’s voice. Gently pulling my hand as if offering salvation. Before I can react, I’m embraced. The strong hug makes it hard to breathe. The sound of my own labored breath fills my ears.
“Good fortune. Faith. Promise. And then—”
Whirling around.
I envision the white flowers dancing across my sight and gently close my eyes.
***
—I woke up.
I sit up and place a hand on my chest. The steady rhythm of my heartbeat. The lungs rising and falling with each breath. I’m alive. I am here. I murmur to myself as if it’s soone else’s affair, a wry smile on my face. How absurd. It’s comical and hopeless that I can’t help but confirm such a thing as soon as I wake up.
I shake my head, dispelling the unnecessary thoughts.
As I’m about to get out of bed, my eyes catch the Gypsophila crown placed on the desk.
“…Gypsophila.”
I let out a voice, barely above a whisper.
Shizuyo loved Gypsophila.
Every spring, she’d make sure to pick the Gypsophila blooming along the ridges. While everyone in the village celebrated the cherry blossoms, Shizuyo was most delighted by the blooming of the tiny white flowers.
I accompanied Shizuyo to see the Gypsophila every year. Each ti, she’d insistently plead with
for a crown or ring of Gypsophila. That was Shizuyo, always modest and gentle. To fulfill my little sister’s modest wish, I beca desperate to learn how to weave them.
Co to think of it, I once asked Shizuyo why she liked Gypsophila so much.
What did she say then?
I believe she answered that she liked its language of flowers. I rember being a little surprised, expecting an answer like cute or pretty.
To value the sentints embodied over the appearance. That’s the kind of girl Shizuyo was.
“…Mmm, Andy-sama?”
My na is called, and my gaze drifts away from the Gypsophila crown.
“Amal, you’re awake?”
“Umm, ehehe, it’s Andy-sama.”
Amal calls my na with a groggy voice, the usual dignified air nowhere to be seen. She’s like a puppy basking in the sunlight, completely at ease. Amal is not a morning person. I stroke her relaxed body and gently brush the silver hair from her cheek.
“Good morning, Andy-sama.”
“…Shu? Ah, yeah. Good morning.”
“Mmm, hehe, mmm.”
I’m pulled by the arm and laid back down on the bed. Without waiting, she snuggles into my neck as if to say, “I’ve been waiting for this.” It’s Amal’s morning routine marking. For the ti being, I accept it without resistance, letting Amal have her way.
“Amal, do you know the language of flowers for Gypsophila?”
“…Language of flowers?”
Her expression is puzzled.
Ah, I see. Maybe the concept of the language of flowers doesn’t exist in this era.
“…No, it’s nothing. Just nothing important. Forget it.”
“Umm, Andy-sama?”
She looks up at
with worried eyes. I place my palm on her head and stroke gently. It’s okay, I whisper to Amal. Then I whisper to myself, it’s okay.
(—To beco mine, right?)
That’s the language of flowers for Gypsophila. The reason Shizuyo kept asking
for a crown or ring of Gypsophila. The fullest ssage Shizuyo could send to .
Facing Amal, I smile while feeling an urge to cry.
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