Enveloped by the silence, you spare me glances of scowls and displeasure. You don’t move a muscle, neither do I. Only the pouring rain can be heard outside of this sphere. The screech is deafening but you only swallow the lump of sound wanting to get out. I break the ice instead, pretending I won’t be hurt if you pass through.

“Are you still happy with me?”

You only look at me for a short second. I counted; it was accurately in between 0 to 1. That was how long you could withstand seeing my piteous face. I don’t bother asking you again, afraid that this time you might actually answer my question.

I sigh, resting my head back. The temperature in my car has gotten colder since you got inside.

I don’t recall when in our relationship you began to act like this. I try to search for answers in my memory but the discovery might only bring me pain. I sit still. From the side of my eye, I see you looking down. My heart beats faster. In my head I render these words of hope: Please, don’t say it.

You used to smile at me like the sun had risen on your beautiful face. Your eyes used to sparkle when they looked at me. It made me ask myself how I could ever deserve such fine work in front me. You were a masterpiece that I called my own.

Your voice used to play symphonies in my ear, the way the tenderness of each word makes me sway. You swept me off my feet. I could always tell it was you calling my name from a mile away because there was no one else who had the grace in speaking.

And every single day it was a battle between me and this fantasy that crossed the boundary of real life. You were there, not for anyone else but for me. My eyes could bat a million times in incredulity but no matter how laughably unbelievable it was, it was you who took my hand and held it with yours.

It was you who told me you loved me.

It was you whom I told I loved you.

I was caught in the breeze of romance. Each day turned into a cliché of love songs and young adult novels but nothing felt more new. There I learned why they wrote about love so poetically because it was art, a canvas adorned with a harmony colors we could only imagine.

The view was perfect, you in front of me, the wind lightly brushing your hair. The mood was perfect, you draw closer into me, your lips finding mine. It was an afternoon of spring but fireworks were perceptible from my perspective.

“Mina,” I remember opening my eyes. “I love you so much.”

It was amazing, but not as amazing as when you said it back. “I love you so much, Momo.”

You were my first and I intended on making you my last.

I could not imagine being with anyone else. Somehow, the thought of another person laughing at my lame jokes or cheering for me while I danced did not fit right. It was only you I wanted and no one else. If the world would find a way to break us, I would find a way to bring us together. Life without you was unthinkable.

When we both left for college, it was the farthest and the longest we were apart from each other. I admit, some nights I would fall asleep with tears running down my face. I still wasn’t used to the idea of you being in America and me being in Japan. The wide ocean in between us made it unbearable sometimes. And at one point, I could no longer stand it. I bought a plane ticket.

The next thing I knew, you were hugging me so tight outside of your dorm room.

And you cried. “I can’t believe you’re here. You have no idea how happy I am. I miss you. I miss home. I miss you so much.”

“There, there.” I said, running my hand on your sweater. Los Angeles was surprisingly as cold as Kyoto. “I’m here now.”

You took me to the airport the day I was to leave. One week was already eternity to me, every second was spent so well that I stepped off the taxi satisfied that I made you happy even for a fleeting time.

“I’ll see you on Christmas break,” you said to me.

I pulled you in and captured you in my embrace until I heard about my flight getting called. “I have to go.”

You waved at me goodbye. As I headed inside, I could still feel you watching behind me, you standing there by yourself as plenty other people were walking in and out. I wished I had the guts to look back but we both knew if I did my parents would have to personally fly to another country to bring me home.

Every step away from you brought stabs to my chest. While I was on the plane, I imagined life where circumstances didn’t require plane tickets and Skype calls anymore. It would be a great life, I thought. And this made me smile. A reminder. At least, it wasn’t going to be like that forever.

For the next four years, we would make it work. We’d visit each other on holidays, go on trips during the summer. Maybe it was just the beginning that made it hard to endure. Right now I’m thinking about it and all those moments of drama over the phone were simply amusing. We got through it.

We both graduated from college and you went home, as promised. I would be lying if I said it wasn’t the happiest day of my life to see you at the airport with all your things from you dorm. You told me you got a job at Tokyo. I was about to say the same thing.

Living in the big city with you was only a dream I painted for me to sleep. We got our own apartment and we even got a dog together. Making you breakfast was my most favorite part of the day and you making me dinner was my other most favorite part of the day. Time went by so fast that one morning I woke up and you wrapped me in your arms.

“Happy anniversary,” you whispered.

I half-opened my eyes, laughing low. “Eight years?”

“Eight years of putting up with your ugly ,” you teased. “But I love you so much.”

As adults, we both had other priorities. Work would sometimes come and rearrange our dinner plans but we pushed through. It made me laugh thinking that we both started as high school seniors and there we were. We had our own apartment and everything, our little family and the like. I would look at you while you were at the kitchen and thank the heavens. I had been so blessed.

But your parents also said you were an adult. You had to stop playing house and grow up. That wasn’t the way they raised you.

“You need to get married, Mina,” your mom said. “Find a nice man. Have children.”

I sat beside you practically curled up and terrified. I knew this day was going to come, that day when shadows would chase after us and take you away. I had always been afraid to lose you, and I said I would find a way to bring you back if that ever happened but I did not stand a chance with your family.

I was ready to let you go. Your parents in front of us, I let my hand slip away from your grasp. I could feel your father’s eyes burning my skin, forcing me to unhand you sooner than I wanted.

And then, you stood up. I thought it was the end. Everything came down crashing on me—our first date, our first kiss, our first I-love-you.

My heart was halfway torn until I realized you still had my hand in yours. You kept them together, even when I stopped holding on.

“No,” you protested. “I’m happy with my life right now. Momo is who I want to be with. One day we will get married and we will have children.”

Your mother sniggered. “And how is that possible? Both of you are women!”

“It doesn’t matter! I love her!”

I had never heard you raise your voice to anyone before until that night. You were very brave. You stood up not only for yourself, but for us, for me. I never thought I could love you even more but from that night I did. And there was nothing else between us, nothing else that might put a dot to our story. It was our happily ever after.

But what changed?

After all that we’ve been through together, the distance, the judgments, you suddenly turn into this person. One day you just stopped smiling at me like you did before, looking at me like you did before. Mornings and nights have never been the same.

You’re only quiet. We don’t laugh anymore. We hardly ever talk.

You hurt me the way you act like this, I just don’t say it to you. I don’t do anything fearing that it might push you farther than you are now. I don’t think there has ever been a day that I’m not scared to death of losing you.

Twelve years—maybe our time has truly come.

That’s right, everything has an end.

I know what you’re going to say, but it will break what’s left of me to hear you say it. I can tell from the way you’re breathing that you don’t want to be stuck in this car with me.

“Momo?” You say at last, I feel you looking at me. Your voice is feeble. 

I slowly look back at you.

Don’t say it.

Please don’t say it.

I know you’re no longer happy.

A faint smile.

“Of course I am.”