Chapter Text
Home sent me away
And yet I found friendship here
This place becomes dear
A foretold meeting
Connections that become fate
We face tomorrow
Winter is rapidly approaching its end and the mountains are starting to green once more, but the season’s chill is still felt in the tips of my fingers and in the bite of the wind around me.
I stand on the rooftop where I am free from the sanctuary of walls and still barren fruit trees. The wind tangles in my hair and my clothes swirl about me like a flower trying to bloom.
“Winter warms to spring.
The birds all turn to fly north.
In this, I find peace.”
I shift to find better footing on the curved roof. This is easier now that the snow has melted into rivers and ponds, and I confess I almost met my end when the half-melted snow froze once more.
“A song will soon bloom.
Today may be destiny.
From sleep, the world wakes.”
My dreams aren’t just dreams, they are memories of the future. And here in the waking world the more I see the more the half-remembered visions start to make sense. The details are always hazy at best, but in my heart I can sense a memory approaching.
“At least she’s easy to find,” a voice calls out, deliberately loud enough for me to hear over the wind.
I look down and see Haruka and Tomo standing in the courtyard below. Tomo looks more amused than surprised, one hand on her hip and a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Next to her Haruka is anxious on my behalf, her hands worrying at the hem of her sleeves and her eyes wide as she stares up at me.
“Please be careful!” Haruka calls up to me, her hands cupped around her mouth to make her soft voice louder.
I raise a hand in acknowledgement, though neither seem reassured.
They are my roommates and, more recently, my dearest friends. We came to this school for different reasons and will leave with different purposes, but in the time we spend here those differences don’t matter and we are allowed to believe in an idyllic eternity. There is a day that will be our last, so dictates the turning of the seasons, and I may never see them again. I hope that our friendship will persist beyond our time together, but even I can’t see that far into the future.
“You should come down before you freeze,” Tomo calls up again, and I just shrug.
I’ve done this in far worse weather both here and back home among terraces carved into the landscape. And my friends, precious though they are, have no more say than I do about when I stand up high and spin words for nothing. Besides, there is something coming from over the horizon.
Our school sits nestled within a valley at the base of a mountain and facing its twin. The two schools were built to mirror each other with a river running between them. The river flows downwards from the mountain as it winds through the labyrinthine city above. On a clear day I can see across the river and look upon that mirror world, though I have never glimpsed the people within it.
Today, however, that other world has decided to be more than just an image almost constantly shrouded in fog. A cluster of people make their way over the river’s bridge. Some race ahead while others trail behind, but in time all make their way to our side of the riverbank.
At this distance it’s difficult to make them out, but I remember eleven guests from last night’s dream.
Words build in my chest. Poetry bleeds into prose, and the boundary between them blurs as I abandon any semblance of structure and rhyme.
“Strangers come strangely to a stranger land to be greeted by a strange bird in an equally strange fashion.”
Though I can see the future it’s only ever in pieces, and the pieces don’t fit together just yet. I remember something important now, and from that memory I realize that this is barely the beginning.
“Haruka,” I call down. “I think we’ve met some of them.”
“That verse wasn’t very good,” Tomo teases, and I roll my eyes.
Eleven newcomers approach, their eyes on me as they pass through the gate. That’s to be expected. When perched on a rooftop it’s rare that I don’t attract attention even from those who have seen me do this before.
I stare back, and now that they’re close enough for me to make out their faces I am absolutely certain that some of them I’ve met before.
“Lanterns play at starlight while music cries jubilation. Meetings turn reunions in unexpected ways. Beginnings or continuations, perhaps the night will tell me more.”
They are a pack of eleven trapped in the transition between boys and men, just as my two friends and I find ourselves in the transition between girls and women. I crouch low for balance, arms rested on my knees as I watch our guests finally round the corner into the courtyard where Haruka and Tomo stand.
There is confusion at first but then finally recognition. Stories and explanations follow soon after, and they’re accompanied by laughter and smiles.
“You done?” Tomo asks as she looks up at me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m done.”
I follow the gentle curves of the tiered rooftops downwards, and the ornate decorations serve a second purpose as footholds and handholds to aid my descent. While our teachers reprimand and punish me every time they catch me perched up high or climbing out a window on my way upwards, there is little they can do now that I no longer need a ladder.
When my feet touch the ground once more I join the flurry of conversation and laughter. In the absence of names our visitors blur together into a rainbow of colours until introductions are made and I begin to put names to faces and words.
“I didn’t expect the students here to be so lacking in discipline,” Camus says, his voice bringing a new chill to the winter air.
“That’s just me,” I say. “Don’t judge my friends for the association. They’re good people. They put up with me after all.”
Camus fixes me with a haughty glare that would be more intimidating if I hadn't already glimpsed the future. He gives off the impression of being determined not to like us. This begs the question of why he’s here in the first place then, as he doesn't strike me as someone who would be so easily persuaded into doing something he adamantly doesn't want to do.
“At least let her do introductions,” Tomo says to Camus, saving me from the icy staredown.
Camus doesn't reply exactly, but I take his curt “hmph” as permission to do as I please.
Tomo nods to me, encouraging me to wordsmith in a rare endorsement on her part. And Haruka, who is shy and already overwhelmed by the attention of so many boys, is more than happy to let someone else do the talking.
I need a moment to find more words, and now that I have everyone's attention they all wait with baited breath.
“Allow me to introduce Haruka, a brilliant composer with big dreams and an even bigger heart. The warmth of her kindness rivals spring's first sunny day. Allow me to introduce Tomo, performer extraordinaire with both spirit and sense to share. She is a star gracing us from the heavens. And as for myself, I think I've said enough already.”
My last line is accompanied with a bow and a wink. Stage presence, according to Tomo. She's always saying that I should practice it more.
Some applaud enthusiastically and others are more confused, but all of them are curious. It's enough to create an opening though, and more words are quick to follow.
Conversations flow back and forth with ease as though we have already been friends for years. With such a large group we end up splitting and regrouping and rearranging but with a surprisingly natural flow. I find myself flitting from conversation to conversation as I attempt to meet them all.
In my mind I'm already writing something, but I don't know how it's going to end yet.
“You could have easily fallen off,” Tokiya says to me, and for emphasis he glances up at where I was standing earlier. “You shouldn't be so reckless.”
“It's a compulsion of mine,” I confess. “If I had any say in it I would be back among the rice terraces instead of here.”
“Rice terraces?”
I nod and hold out my hands, palms facing upwards so he can see how weathered and worn they are from years of labour.
“My uncle is high-ranking military,” I explain, answering the unsaid question of how I made my way here. “There was some nepotism involved.”
Tokiya holds out his hands in response. Unlike mine, his hands are unblemished save for a faded smudge of ink on his right thumb.
“Perhaps it's for the better that you're here,” Tokiya muses. “You're lucky to receive such a good education. It's hard to believe you didn't come here by choice.”
“I think it is better than I'm here,” I say. “I love the library and my friends are precious to me. Home is home, but I don't think we ever suited each other.”
Tokiya nods but I don’t yet know him well enough to say if it’s from agreement or understanding.
Conversations continue back and forth, and I remain flitting between them, until all at once they find a lull.
“Would you like to stay for lunch?” I ask in the sudden silence. “I made bento boxes earlier. I promise they're edible.”
“We appreciate the offer,” Masato says, “but we wouldn't want to impose. There are far more of us than you expected after all.”
“You’d be surprised. But you can help me carry everything if you want.”
Without another word I turn and walk towards the kitchens. Tomo sighs and shakes her head, but she and Haruka both know what this means by now. They keep pace behind me and the boys trail along with varying degrees of interest and confusion.
“She can see the future,” Tomo explains shortly, which only adds to both the interest and the confusion. “But she usually keeps what she sees to herself.”
“I used up most of my metaphors on the roof,” I say without turning around, “but it’s more complicated than that. I knew that I should prepare fourteen lunches, so I prepared fourteen lunches.”
There are questions that are unasked and thus unanswered. This is a constant pattern in my life. The recurring theme and echoed line. Eventually they might ask, but until then I won’t volunteer anything they don’t want to know.
At the kitchens we pick up the bento boxes that are stacked and stored off to the side so that they’re out of the way. For every meal communal food is set out and we’re free to help ourselves as we please, but we’re encouraged to cook for ourselves when we find the time.
“So this is where you were this morning,” Tomo remarks. “Haruka and I thought you were on the roof again.”
“That wasn’t until later,” I say lightly.
“You made all this?” Masato wonders aloud as he stares at the stacks of boxes. “Ah. Do you mind if I prepare something too?”
“By all means.”
Masato requires little assistance save for finding everything he needs. We watch entranced as he deftly chops and combines ingredients with artful grace and efficiency. He moves with a rhythm not easily captured in words, and beside me Haruka is already humming a new melody to match it.
A steaming pot of miso soup is assembled before our eyes, and Haruka has the honour of taste testing Masato’s creation. She does so daintily, steam curling off the spoon as she blows gently to cool it down. When she finally takes the plunge her face immediately lights up with delight, and that alone tells me everything.
“This is delicious!” Haruka exclaims happily, and Masato’s ears turn pink from her praise.
“Thank you,” Masato says, and he just barely manages not to stammer.
With the extra help we carry everything up the hill to where a spacious pavilion and surrounding trees shelter us from the wind. I watch a songbird flit across the arches that outline the pavilion’s curved roof. The world is finally warming. It will be spring soon.
The lingering winter chill doesn’t bother us as we sit close together and fill our bellies with good food and hot soup. The conversation flits from subject to subject like the songbird that now calls to its brethren.
Our thoughts turn from school to what comes after. It quickly becomes apparent that there are stars in our midst with dreams that shine so brightly they’re almost blinding. The things that brought them to this valley drive them still, and they live each day with a purpose I can’t help but envy. My only solace is that I’m not alone.
“I’m going to find a mountain and become a hermit poet,” I say when it comes to my turn. “People will come pay me a silver dollar to have their fortune read.”
“You cannot be serious,” Camus says as he fixes me with an icy judgemental stare.
“Like yours, our school provides the skills needed to pave a future for ourselves. But there’s only so much they can do for someone like me. That’s not important though. You’re all singers and musicians aren’t you? Haruka, do you have a song in mind yet?”
Haruka startles and stammers when she’s soloed out like this. She looks at me with wide eyes in a silent accusation of betrayal, but when the more outgoing of the boys clamour for more information she slowly eases into their attention with a happy blush.
Even shyer than I am, it was thanks to Tomo’s patient insistence that Haruka opened up to us. Haruka is more than happy to hide behind Tomo’s outgoing charisma and my idiosyncrasies, but when she has her music to lean on she finds her confidence and her voice. And I don’t need to see the future to know that she is already weaving a tapestry of music in her mind.
I do carry a secret from the future though. The vision is, as always, distant and blurred such that I’m barely certain of it at all but I do know this. Two people gathered here have met the love of their lives today. As for who those two people are, I’m left to guess. And I do guess, as I watch the way the boys look at Haruka and carefully don’t look at Haruka. They are enamoured, even if Haruka herself doesn’t seem to notice yet. I suspect that, as with many things, love is only a matter of time.