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It was quiet on the walk home from the last ceremony; the graduation of Yoisaki Kanade’s correspondence school, subtle traces of the wind blowing the scenery around while the gentle wisps of the trees and the grass blew freely, completely unrestrained like spare music notes within the air. The train station was nearby and not too far from the opening ceremony: something Kanade was completely grateful for.
Her hair blew as gently as possible in front of her face, framing it to be something natural. Many people had said she looked like a model: even the strangers on the street. While she could understand the motivations behind their actions, she wasn’t exactly model material or the most beautiful person.
Maybe if she had taken care of herself more— she could’ve seen it then. But what kind of model would she have been if she couldn’t even take care of herself? Certainly, a model would have to take care of their appearance gently and considering Kanade usually tended to throw her wet hair back on her chair and sloppily attended to her appearance, meanwhile she could barely even lift any form of weight and possessed zero athleticism in general, she couldn’t have seen it from what people had said.
Shorter strides meant she was less likely to tire herself out, as she usually did when she went out to places, something she was grateful for with each passing moment that her breath ran the slightest more ragged from continuous walking. It was something she was working on and improving with Ena: talking walks and running with her.
Still, as she quietly stepped towards the train platform towards the way home, some of her classmates lingered on the platform next to the train. They were discussing their memories of the last few years within the correspondence school, bittersweetly so and what their plans were about the universities they would soon find themselves off to attend.
Kanade didn’t bother trying to explicitly communicate with the rest of her classmates again despite the fact this would be the last time she would possibly ever see some of them again. She didn’t have much more to say to some of them, most of them being people she had rarely communicated with or talked to ever since she enrolled: although she probably could’ve stricken up any conversation between her classmates if time allowed, she just didn’t see the point.
She was quite asocial afterall and she had barely any memories to share with the rest of her classmates; who all had families and actual memories and actual people they talked to. Kanade had few compared to the many other friends each and every one of her other classmates shared; she had Nightcord, Ichika, Honami and some others. She didn’t have as many connections or friendships compared to some of her classmates, who even cried on someone’s shoulder while she stood there, listening to them promising to keep in touch with each other despite the time and distance that might cross between them eventually and how much they appreciated their youth.
She didn’t initially think much about it when the thought crossed her mind. But when the train and the platform notified of a few minutes remaining before the train would appear, the more the fleeting moments of the meeting of her classmates reignited a feeling of passion and remembrance inside of her mind and heart.
It felt strangely bittersweet the more she thought about it in that way: the kind of feelings and emotions she searched for from people when she made her songs— supposedly, from Mafuyu and others, it was similar to the kind of feeling her songs gave off, the bitter and yet sweet warmth of melodies that she hoped would reach the very depths of somebody’s heart one day and the passion that lingered beneath each and every single sound, those same sounds that in the end had always told her that no matter how hard she tried, they would never be good enough in the end for somebody— were described as warm.
Perhaps she was gaining more of an understanding of the type of the warmth her songs emulated as she stood on the train station’s platform, studying her classmates' reactions as intensely as possible. These memories and the warmth that she felt from watching how happily yet strangely even strangers seemed to embrace their own happiness reminded her not only of her own songs but also her own memories, forgotten memories lost upon her that she was sure would one day smolder in the depths of her heart. Her own assumptions were being disproven right here, in this place and within this time.
Surely, all of these people, even herself, would one day grow up, turning into complete mirror versions of the one they once used to be and eventually, as all nature went, turning into even the sea and the skies that endlessly stretched upon them. They were completely different people compared to her: these were some that she had never bothered with the opportunity to ever know beyond quick glances at ceremonies and the occasional contact. But even for the some she didn’t speak a word about, even those people, like all, would one day disintegrate into happy ashes underneath the burning suns, buried underneath warm coffins and gently embraced by nature for all of eternity.
But the thought of never being able to meet Nightcord again when a day fell quietly was something that seemed to deeply ache at her heart. It was a distant thought in a distant future that wouldn’t occur for years and years to come but the more she thought about it, the more she realized just how much she longed to remember everything. She longed to remember the late night calls, the scent of all of Nightcord— Ena, Mizuki and Mafuyu; when they were out in public for hangouts together, the laughs and admiration and passion they shared with each other. The thought of the fact that one day Nightcord might never log into another call again, never compose another piece again, leaving fans confused, abandoning any sense of the friendships and connections and the warmth of their intersecting melodies all together was a painful reminder of the times she had failed to cherish beforehand.
She knew how much she had to cherish Nightcord now; despite knowing that if they ever had to disband or leave for some reason, it’d never be for anything bad nor anything unreasonable: maybe they just had two different goals and went in two different directions in life. She could see that, even now, that one day, they were destined to drift apart, falling into different directions over time, eventually Nightcord calls coming to fall silent when they lacked time for the other.
She wouldn’t blame them— well, it was a delicate part of human life and their bond would never change. If Mafuyu, Ena or Mizuki ever needed encouragement or help, even if they hadn’t talked for ten years, she’d answer the phone right away and that was something that she knew the other three would also do in a heartbeat.
She loved Nightcord beyond even the words and thoughts that conveyed daily within her heart: that much was clear, a love they all seemed to possess and share together. No, it was beyond love: it transcended love and into something else deeper, something she hadn’t visualized the correct words for yet.
However, these realizations, which she had never voiced before and the actual thought of actually falling out of contact with Nightcord, possessed her to want to hold them more tightly to her heart. Most importantly, she wouldn’t want to forget the passion, the passion she would long for one day when it struck 25:00 and Nightcord was nowhere to be found.
Still though, even as she wandered within the depths of her imagination about unthought words, the regrets and worries of many future experiences and clearly appeared uninterested to some form of social communication, social interaction in the form of verbal encouragement had always found its bounds on her and soon, one of her classmates, a girl with brown hair and soft eyes made her way timidly towards her.
Her face was nervous and very soft from the distance she could see her from, her strides were short which meant she definitely felt nervous or even reserved about talking to her, the upperclassmen and something about her told her that this girl seemed lost and not confident. Her tone of voice, when the words finally managed to come out, felt strained— as if this heavy weight that Kanade recognized as despair lingered heavily on her heart this whole time. This was before she even began actually speaking: she tended to notice even the minuscule details that most people really didn’t have a knack for paying attention to.
She waved as she stood in front of Kanade, her eyes closed by a slight fraction. “Yoisaki-senpai. It’s good to see you again.”
Her voice was quiet but there was strain within it, reading off as though even she had a deep sense of despair that was settled within her core. It was the same exact tone that Kanade had recognized within Mafuyu when they had first met: the tone that screamed for recognition of the deterioration of something deeply nestled inside, the tone that longingly asks for a gentle embrace without ever voicing the kind of words necessary for even a cold heart that seemingly withered long ago.
Kanade recognized her now that she was standing in front of her and directly speaking: Miyahara-san. It was one of the younger classmates, albeit only a few months within an age gap, that she had met at one of the past openings of the correspondence school.
They rarely talked outside of the opening and closing ceremony for each year that passed: now that the two were in their third years together in the graduating class and about to enter their respective universities, this must’ve been quite important for her to voice.
“Miyahara-san, it’s good to see you again.” She smiled, her tone light, airy and comforting towards her as she also waved towards her classmate.
There was an awkward silence that passed between the two: Miyahara-san standing there as awkwardly as possible with her hands now folded over her skirt and Kanade’s awkward stance against one of the external structures of the train, eyes downcast in a fit of quiet silence.
The two girls didn’t say anything to the other girl for a long moment, but even in that moment, a silent understanding of the two seemingly washed over them both. That understanding was something they might’ve not been able to identify now, but ten years into the future, would be something they acutely could name with even their eyes closed.
“Ah, Yoisaki-senpai?” She clearly was pondering something from what she could see, unsure of how to address it towards the upperclassman: being herself.
“Hm?” She responded, pausing slightly. Perhaps the girl was just nervous because of the fact they wouldn’t see each other ever again. “Ah, do you need something, Miyahara-san?”
“No.. it’s just..”
She waited for her response before continuing, clearly nervous to bring this up towards her. “Well.. it’s just that, the last time we talked together, you mentioned that you have a music channel where you make music together with an anonymous group, right?”
Oh, she had told her about that beforehand, back when they were getting to know the other to be more beyond strangers and instead classmates. Kanade had told her about Nightcord without explicitly saying she was a producer for Nightcord and helped lead the group: they were, after all, an anonymous group and giving even one of their member’s identity away to a random person, even if it was a classmate, would be certainly more unwise then keeping it more vague and just saying they made music anonymously together. Kanade nodded and let the underclassmen continue speaking.
“Well, it’s just that, after that day,” she continued, her heart clearly heavy with some form of knowledge, “your words that day, those words about continuing to live and keep creating, even if I was unsure of myself, they really did have an impact on my heart. And, I had accidentally found your music channel you were talking about.”
Her tone turned guilty for that— almost.
“It’s strange, but, I listened to each and every song obsessively. You called it Nightcord: the anonymous music group, the one I found the name for. There was each song, all of them, beautifully drawn, beautifully made and beautifully composed. I listened to just one, then another, soon listening to them all. Every single one of them continued to intrigue me the longer I spent on each one. The more I listened, the more captivated I felt. I felt less alone, like somebody understood my pain through a screen.”
She took a breath, one that seemed less painful the more she kept speaking to Kanade; a breath that felt even more confident then when she had initially met her. Even when she initially made her way towards Kanade, clearly discouraged and clearly frustrated with the way life went for her. Now, she seemed to even find comfort in the simplicities of life, finding comfort in the joys of melodies Nightcord had shared.
“And, I would like to say, thank you. For everything, really.” Her smile turned bittersweet. “Without discovering Nightcord completely by accident that very day, saving me, well, I doubt I would’ve been here anymore,” she chuckled, still trying to play off her obvious pain that festered deeply on her still. But there was a kind of light to her eyes that she observed now.
It was the kind of light that she had always imagined and hoped that all of Nightcord’s fans would eventually find and experience one day: this look confirmed her suspicions. That, beyond the broken sounds of their music, there was still light to be found in a world that struggled to breathe within their songs. It made even her heart feel lighter: knowing that even if Nightcord had never met again, Kanade met one person who listened to Nightcord and described the feelings and sensations as becoming saved. Saved and happiness: as in the words Kanade had so desperately longed to make the ones around her feel: saved and happy.
“But, in a way,” she paused, light returning towards her eyes once again, tone falling even more happier than ever before, “you saved me, Kanade. I’m grateful for ever knowing you and ever finding you. Had I not found you in this broken and cracked world, never found the existence of Nightcord, never found a community full of people that showed me I wasn’t alone in what I was facing, somewhere that had taught me to walk again in a dysfunctional world that felt so unkind even to me then, then..”
They finally made eye contact together, bright brown eyes that spoke of future ambition and creativity meeting the weathered effects of the determination and drive in Kanade’s blue eyes.
She understood that feeling by the back of her hand by now: what it felt like to want to disappear, even after all of this time, that it was what it felt like to fear that if never meeting the ones you had met, you simply would cease to exist in a new tomorrow. For a moment, the people around them that gathered at the train station seemed to disappear right there. It was just the two of them at this moment, this time, this place, standing here together.
How could she word this? She thought for a second.
“Miyahara-san..” She paused, her smile turning into something gentle. “That is wonderful. Really, I am glad that you felt saved and happier from our songs. We’ve been searching for a long time for somebody, someone who has truly felt saved beyond our songs, knowing even one person feels better from the music we produce is very reassuring and comforting to me.”
And then, she spoke parts of the wise advice her father gave her in a distant time, long ago and the parts of advice she had to learn herself. Some of it was from when he was still alive to help her make songs and feel the warmth and passion that she incorporated in each melody: the kind that her father acknowledged that she had talent within and passion within. But some were things she learned when alone and surrounded by people, by Nightcord, the things she learned from the warmth she felt those days.
“Miyahara-san, I might not have much to say. You really have made me happy in a way I cannot express. However, I do have a few words of advice: you have so much passion and potential, for you.” She sighed. “Miyahara-san, really, the one time you played that violin for the beginning of the opening ceremony, I recognized it: a deep longing for passion. You’re blessed by music, blessed in a way that even I can see,” she took a breath of fresh air.
“Make sure that no matter what happens, Miyahara-san, that you keep creating your own music, if that is what you so desire and long for after listening to Nightcord and our compositions. People in the world, just like those Nightcord fans that you depended on, your new fans will one day depend on you primarily. They will need you and they will enjoy every single piece you make, from the beginning into even when you aren’t here anymore— music has that form of an impact on those. So, please, even if you find yourself unsure, keep making music. It touches the hearts of people who listen even today, because at the end of the day, every single human is created using the lightness of love and the heaviness of our sorrows— so please, use those feelings and memories and turn them into song.”
And then, she saw it: the faint hint of tears falling from the girl’s eyes, as gentle as tears could get. “Thank you, Yoisaki-senpai… really…”
As quickly as the joy appeared, it seemed to disappear like the faint scent of a temporary aroma surrounding the two of them: the train station had finally arrived towards the platform and the doors were beginning to open, marking the entrance as crowded and something to look forward to. Really, if Kanade could’ve stayed for another five minutes had the train came back in another five minutes, she would’ve. But she couldn’t— nor could she stay stuck in this moment forever, something she had to learn quite recently.
But she couldn’t abandon her without finishing the rest of her sentence towards her, unable to look back within the proximity that had now grown between the two as she finally finished speaking to her directly by first-name basis, finding that the girl’s face lightened up once she addressed her by her exact first name.
“Never, Akia, forget your own passion. The world is spinning always, so one day, you’ll find that you’ll walk on a road some day, you’ll find that in somewhere in some far away place, you’ll remember this moment and this night, so,” her hand reached idly to a hand that she wished could nurture and continue to hold, a sight she faintly remembered before, “please.. don’t forget it, okay?”
She knew why she remembered that face now: those very words were some of the own of her own childhood. She saw her own distant childhood self reflected within Akia, the distant girl who she’d never come to see again: a living allegory and reminder that her childhood was something she couldn’t possibly bring back again. It was gone now, Kanade was grown enough to understand and realize now.
So, even now, despite the fact she seeked to understand more of somebody she barely knew anyways and despite the fact her words- the ones she longed to say even more than what she had originally began to say were cut short, she still managed to turn her back anyway, heading towards the other side of the train station.
But this time, it was without regret.
Because, even though she knew she would never see that girl again— or another one of her distant classmates again, despite the fact that she wished to turn back towards the past, she knew that they would all one day be able to keep walking in a world that felt impossible to breathe within the distant future.
Every single pain and hardship someone experienced: the feelings of the past, present and future, all came together to form each individual self, an individual self, that in the end, would remember the memories of this one night.
And so, they’d remember the burning ambitions that made their companions, the memories of the train station’s platform that slowly dissolved itself into nothing, the lightness and sorrow, tragedies, hardships and absurdities, the everything of that night:
the night they would return to many more times.