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She was never special to begin with.
She was only good at talking, good at making friends. People crowd around her, always wanting to be part of her circle, wanting her to join them.
But she could never connect with them. She only knew everyone on a surface level. She didn’t know how to go beyond meaningless gossip. No shared secrets, no deep confessions, nothing beyond a casual friendship.
Somewhere along the way she realised that they see her as special. They don’t see her as anything less than wonderful and perfect. They love her because she’s always smiling, always laughing.
And somewhere along the way, she wondered whether they’ll continue to like her if they found out otherwise. That she actually didn’t care much for dating and boys the way her friends did. The way she struggles with her own thoughts, her own problems.
She wondered whether they’ll leave her if they do find out.
And so she started to build up her walls. She maintains her perfect image, always smiling, always laughing. She listens to her friends vent, but keeps her personal problems to herself. She makes sure she doesn’t get too close to anyone, makes sure no one is close enough to find the human underneath the special mask.
**
Until she sees the solitary girl, walking home alone.
The single bluebird perched on the log.
**
Mizore is quiet and timid and doesn’t seem to care for anything except for borrowing books in the library. She practically cowers behind Nozomi the first day Nozomi tries to introduce her to her friends, and from that day on Nozomi decides to spend time with just Mizore.
It’s better that way, anyway. Nozomi does the talking, and Mizore listens. But most of the time they spend it in quiet, doing homework or learning their instrument. It’s peaceful between the two of them and they don’t feel forced to do or say anything to break the silence.
They look like polar opposites. One cheerful and bright, and the other quiet and reserved. But even if they are, Nozomi doesn’t care. It doesn’t stop them from being close.
Sometimes, though, Mizore looks at Nozomi as if she’s hung the sun and moon and all the stars, and Nozomi doesn’t know how to respond. Mizore looks at her as if she’ll never leave her, even if Nozomi’s kind and cheerful exterior is stripped away and the human being shows underneath.
A part of Nozomi almost wants to give in. To confess to Mizore about her frustrations, her complaints. How awful it feels to be in a group of friends, chatting and laughing, and yet all she knows is the gnawing ache of loneliness in her chest.
But she doesn’t.
She doesn’t dare to.
For Mizore, who has only known solitude, to hear that Nozomi feels lonely amongst her friends, how would that sound like? Arrogance? Desperation for sympathy?
So she pretends everything is fine. She keeps a big smile on her face, even if it softens when she’s around Mizore. She allows herself to get close, but not too close.
Because if she gets too close, the illusion of the perfect being will be shattered, and everyone will leave her. Even Mizore will.
**
The first year of highschool is a nightmare. The concert band club is full of seniors who can’t be bothered to practice, and there are actual talents who just get sidestepped because of the fact that they’re younger.
Nozomi wouldn’t care so much about the seniority rank system if the seniors actually tried. If they were all hardworking, she wouldn’t have minded less talented seniors getting the solos. She would even cheer her senior on if they were working hard.
But the days pass with her just practicing all by herself. The seniors sit at the opposite corner, playing cards and gossiping without practice at all. Sometimes they don’t even show up. Nozomi feels at the end of her tether, like a red string about to snap. She loves the flute, she loves playing together in a band. But how can she work so hard, and yet in an ensemble sound completely terrible, through no fault of her own?
She takes things into her own hands. She asks her friends around her to beg the third years to practice. Talking to the seniors feels like talking to a brick wall. No one listens to her. The second years try to help, and they’re equally as unsuccessful. The other first years are too scared to retaliate. She doesn’t blame them. The only ones to blame are the ones that do absolutely nothing, and reap the best parts when they don’t deserve it at all.
She might as well be better off playing the flute on her own.
Quitting. Would the seniors even care about that? They weren’t going to start practicing just because one person threatened to quit.
But if there were others, then maybe…
Her first thought drifts to Mizore. Mizore, practicing diligently, every afternoon at the window with the most sunshine. Mizore, the only person in the club who plays the oboe. A definite shoe in for the competition. No matter how awful the other instruments are around her, she’ll sound beautiful nonetheless.
Nozomi knows she can’t be selfish. Not to Mizore. It’s Nozomi who’s upset about the lazy third years. Not Mizore. She can’t possibly ask this girl, who spends hours and hours playing her oboe without care for anything else, to quit alongside her. Mizore deserves to be in the competition, putting all of her practice into good use. Maybe the judges will praise her sound despite the inevitable bronze the club will receive.
So Nozomi only asks the others who have the same complaints as her. Most of them are already contemplating quitting. Yuuko says that she’ll think about it. She isn’t alone. She’s got plenty on her side.
When she confronts the seniors one last time, they simply just talk over her.
And so she writes her resignation letter.
Asuka calls her a fool, and maybe she is. Maybe she’s being a complete idiot by quitting. But she can’t stand another moment in that atmosphere. She’d rather quit now than stay and put up with it, and end up hating the flute by the end of her school years.
Or even worse, she might end up just like the lazy seniors that she hates so much.
**
She had always been careful. Pushing forward, but not too much. Making sure she didn’t displease the ones she likes. Not forcing Yuuko to follow her when she said that she would stay. Not asking Natsuki, because she didn’t really mind the environment they were in.
Not telling Mizore, because she wanted to be selfless.
But it backfired.
Maybe she should have noticed the signs. The way she could never find Mizore. They didn’t chat on SNS often, so her not messaging was never a problem. But somehow, she could never find Mizore. Not even when she stayed behind late in the library and left around the same time as club activities ended. She just assumed that Mizore had found new friends in the club and therefore didn’t have anymore time to spend with Nozomi.
She told herself to be happy with that. She even made peace with that.
But she didn’t know. She didn’t know Mizore took it the wrong way. She didn’t know Mizore thought she deserted her. She would never do that, not to anyone. Especially not to Mizore.
As Asuka explains the truth to her and Natsuki, her heart shatters.
She had been so careful not to upset anyone. Not to upset Mizore. But she did the complete opposite.
But Mizore forgives her, puts the blame on herself instead. Nozomi knows she’ll have to be honest, and for once she lets her guard down. She decides to be selfish. She hands the oboe to Mizore, the one that caused her so much pain, and tells her she wants to hear Mizore play.
**
They come back together so easily.
They had spent almost an entire year apart, and Nozomi is determined to make amends. But Mizore doesn’t even let her. She gravitates towards Nozomi instead of pushing her away. They walk home together, just like how they used to before. They sit next to each other on the school bus to regionals. Mizore plays her solo for Nozomi, and it sounds beautiful.
Natsuki and her team Monaka welcome her with open arms, and Nozomi enjoys her time making friends with everyone again. She ignores the whispers of her being the only one coming back, ignores any rumours of her wanting to come back just so she could go to Nationals. She doesn’t care. She came back to help Asuka, and more importantly, because she loves music.
The club doesn’t make her hate what she loves anymore. Of course she’ll come back.
Being around Mizore again is familiar and comforting. Nozomi finds out that Mizore hasn’t changed at all. Despite being in the same class as Natsuki, and getting along with Yuuko, Mizore still keeps to herself, reads books in the library on her own, plays her oboe all by herself by that sunshiny window. Nozomi hasn’t changed much since first year either, so she has no complaints. They fall back into the same rhythm they had since middle school.
But as the year flies by, Nozomi finds herself looking more and more at Mizore. Lets her gaze linger whenever Mizore's not looking. Listens to the way she tunes her oboe, tests out her reed, plays the piano. The wall she’s put up between her and everyone else threatens to crumble, every time she’s with Mizore.
But she doesn’t want anything to change. She wants them to carry on in the same way they always do.
Now that they’re back together, she doesn’t want to do or say anything that will drive Mizore away.
**
Second year becomes third year. The president and vice-president become a manzai duo, Nozomi is elected treasurer of the club, and Taki-sensei elects a free piece with a stunning oboe solo.
The oboe solo is technically a duet alongside a flute, and Nozomi longs to make that role hers. She wants to play alongside Mizore. She’s always wanted this – to be able to play music and let people listen. To let the country hear her sound, hear Mizore’s sound – hear them in unison – it would mean the world to her.
When she tells Mizore she wants to aim for the solo, Mizore says she’ll do the same, and Nozomi is thrilled. They go to school early to practice together, and even though they sound a little mismatched, Nozomi is sure that they’ll get there.
On one of the mornings, they notice the bass section juniors giving each other “I love you” hugs. Nozomi remembers all the times back in middle school where her friends would just fling their arms around her and pour out compliments about how kind she is, how good a leader she is, so on and so forth. She never started them, though. She just received them, and responded with compliments of her own.
Mizore says she’s never received one, and on impulse Nozomi lifts up her hands, filled with a desperate want to let Mizore feel warm and appreciated. But Mizore’s eyes widen, and Nozomi immediately drops her hands, brushes it off, afraid of what Mizore will say if she returns the hug, afraid of what Mizore won’t say.
Afraid of what she'll say about Mizore.
**
Niiyama-sensei gives Mizore a brochure to music school, and Nozomi is gripped by a sudden fear, that Mizore will suddenly disappear out of sight. She wants to follow Mizore. She loves music, and she- she wants to stay alongside- Mizore, so going to the music school would be the best option, wouldn’t it?
(She loves music, and she- Mizore. A forbidden word, hidden in her chest.)
But as time goes on, Mizore starts to show flashes of brilliance, every time she plays the oboe. She’s not able to play it fully during ensemble, but whenever she tunes her oboe, her notes ring out clear. Like a bird freeing itself from a birdcage.
Was that why Niiyama-sensei recommended her? And her alone?
But it’s fine. All Nozomi has to do is find a way for Mizore’s oboe to shine when they play together. If they can just find a way to be on the same wavelength, then everything will go back to normal.
They’ll go to the same university, and continue their lives together.
**
After the pamphlet, things start to change.
Mizore asks Nozomi whether she can invite someone along for a trip to the pool, and Nozomi feels her heart drop. She wonders if she would feel this upset if this was back in middle school or first year. If this was in middle school, she would have probably agreed easily.
But they’re in third year now, and the selfishness Nozomi has kept in her heart, hidden by the comfortable distance she keeps, has grown and festered, like moss growing on one side of a wall. She wants Mizore to herself. She wants to go to the pool with only Mizore.
She doesn’t say no, of course. She invites Natsuki and Yuuko on her part, and lets Mizore bring her new friends. She even gets along with them. She’ll make friends with anyone and everyone, after all. Special, perfect, Nozomi, friendly and generous and with the biggest heart.
If only she really was the person she pretends to be.
The next day, Mizore plays the oboe with Ririka, and she sounds beautiful. Much freer than she did when playing the solo. Nozomi brushes it off as background music as she chats to her friends, but the notes resonate in her heart, making her wonder why she and Mizore can’t play together the same way Mizore can play well on her own, or with someone else.
Mizore, who always played for Nozomi. Somehow she sounds more beautiful when playing with someone else.
The girl she once knew is different. She’s learning to expand her boundaries. She’s making an effort to get to know more people. She’s studying hard to get into a music school.
Nozomi swallows down the negative emotions; the jealousy, the bitterness. She has nothing against Ririka at all, nothing against Mizore either. But it forces her to face the truth. That despite how close they are, there exists a disconnection between her and Mizore. Maybe she caused it the day she decided to leave the club. Or maybe it went even further back. Maybe, because of who they were, they could never be in perfect harmony.
She had been looking so far forward that she forgot to turn behind. Maybe if she turned around for once, maybe she could have realised-
She could have realised that her arms she tried to put around Mizore were actually cagebars.
**
When Liz had learnt that the little girl was a bluebird, she lamented her duty. But she opened the cage anyway, because she loved the girl that she found.
Nozomi knows she’ll have to do the same. She’ll have to let Mizore fly away from her.
But Nozomi isn’t perfect. She isn’t a good, dutiful girl in a storybook. She’s selfish and desperate to keep Mizore next to her. She had let her go once, and she doesn't want to let go of her again.
**
But Mizore flies away anyway.
**
Mizore plays the solo like a bluebird taking off far into the sky, and no matter how much Nozomi tries to keep up with her, she can’t. The wings she thought she possessed fall apart like melted candlewax, burning in the summer sun.
So that was why Mizore never played to her full extent. Because Nozomi can’t match her.
Because Nozomi has always been stifling her.
But she goes on. She chases Mizore desperately. Even when all she wants to do is collapse, lament the truth the way that Liz did, she forces herself to pick up the flute and plays out her answerless tune.
(She knows the right answer. But she can’t play it anyway.
She doesn’t know how to.)
The moment Taki-sensei stops for a break, she takes off, to the puffer fish in the water. Salt water stings her eyes, drips down her chin, blinds her to everything else.
Her manmade wings had became nothing but a flurry of feathers, and she can’t keep up with Mizore anymore. She plunges down from the sky, down to the ocean below.
**
She had caused Mizore pain when she left the club without telling her. She had flown away without Mizore knowing. Maybe Mizore deserves to fly away too, to be free of a girl who does nothing but stifle the one that she-
(A forbidden word, stuck in her throat.)
Round and round the tale goes. A bluebird and a lonely girl. A locked door separating the wings from the sky.
But Mizore comes to search for her, and Nozomi, despite everything, gets a ray of hope. Tales are just tales, and humans, despite of storybooks, continue to seek out their own destiny. If Mizore, overflowing with talent, could tell her she’s good too-
She tries to praise Mizore first. Despite her efforts, her words sound hollow and bitter. So much for a perfect being. Perhaps she’s fallen far, far from grace, the way she fell when she tried to fly. Maybe she doesn’t deserve Mizore’s kindness. But still, if Mizore could just tell her that she’s good at the flute-
She doesn’t have to give up on her dreams. She’ll get to follow Mizore to music school, and their life together will go on as usual.
Mizore speaks to her with beautiful words, all that Nozomi doesn’t deserve. All that Nozomi shouldn’t be. A girl with arms like birdcage bars should never be a bluebird’s everything. She waits, desperate for Mizore to say something about her playing, about her flute, longing for Mizore to tell her that she has the same blue wings as Mizore does, the wings that would allow her to take flight, to fly alongside Mizore.
But Mizore doesn’t.
Even as her arms wrap around Nozomi, even as she confesses her love, the forbidden word that Nozomi longs to respond to, she doesn’t speak of Nozomi’s sound.
And so she has to say it.
She has to open the cage.
She loves Mizore’s wings. The wings that she doesn’t have. And so she must stay on the earth below, and let Mizore fly high in the sky. She can’t fly alongside her. She’ll walk across the ground, remembering the bluebird looking up at Liz, with her startled expression, her shaking hands.
She inhales, the key twisting in the lock, and exhales.
**
But in the end, tales are tales, and people, regardless of what stories say, continue to seek out their own destiny.
As Nozomi walks towards the counter, book in hand, she finds Mizore in trouble with the school librarian again.
Mizore is the same as ever. Timid, uncomfortable around unfamiliar people. Obsessed with the same story.
But Nozomi knows, she’s not the same. She takes time out of practice to talk with her “doublereed” friends, as she calls them. She talks extensively to Niiyama-sensei whenever the tutor is around. She practices her solo with a bluebird feather on her stand, her oboe melodious and wonderful as she takes to the sky in the way she shows her love.
Nozomi has changed too. She spends more time in the library now. She’s taking her future more seriously. There are a lot of universities she has her mind on. She has plenty of ambitions, even if they don’t involve the shiny instrument that sits in the case next to her chair.
Even if she can’t be a bluebird, she can still grow her wings. She’ll be a dove or sparrow or any other bird she can possibly be. She’ll grow her feathers in her own colours and take to the sky on her own.
Because she’s in love with the girl who’s a bluebird.
She’s in love with the girl she once left behind.
She had promised herself, when she handed the oboe back to Mizore in second year. She would never desert this girl again.
Even if Mizore flies far, far away.
She’ll catch up to her, with her own wings.
In some ways, she’s still the same as ever. She’s still careful in what to say. She draws back the moment she thinks she’s taken a step too far forward. She keeps her friendships on a surface level. She doesn’t want people to see her true self; her heart that offends with its lonely and greedy demands.
But for Mizore, she’ll learn how to let her guard down. With her flute, she’ll learn to tell Mizore her true feelings. She’ll learn how to respond to Mizore’s love.
She’ll scribble out the disconnect between the both of them, with her own hands.
Mizore looks at her differently now. She doesn’t look at her as if she’s hung the sun, moon and stars. But she looks at Nozomi in the way that she’s looking at an imperfect human being, and still loves her all the same. It gives Nozomi courage, to tear down her walls, to play her flute the best she can, to speak the forbidden word.
She was never special.
But as Mizore sees her at the school gate and gives her that relieved little smile, she doesn't think it matters anymore.