Pearl Girl Episode 3 [Mirror]

[Mirror]

On the day of our date, while waiting for Ryo at the east exit of Ikebukuro Station, I check my face in a hand mirror and my full figure in a shop window over and over again. I'm restless, and I feel even more restless thinking about how embarrassing it would be if someone saw me from behind looking so uneasy. About five minutes past our meeting time, I tuck my hand mirror into my bag and look up, only to lock eyes with a man who looks like Ryo, wearing a white half-zip pullover, as he approaches at a light jog.

“Nice to meet you.” “Nice to meet you! Sorry, I don't come to Ikebukuro much, so I got lost.”
“It's totally fine. I was just eager and arrived early, that's all.”

He is about 170 centimeters tall, and his glossy, understated brown hair seems to highlight his fair skin.
“There are so many people here even though it's a weekday!” Ryo said with a crinkly smile.
“I was really looking forward to meeting you today.” “You're much cuter than your icon photo, and you have a great figure. Why are you so cute?” “Your hair is so translucent! It makes me want to touch it.” Ryo kept throwing compliments at me like a machine gun, and I felt as if those compliments were sticking to my body, which was already covered in whipped cream. To keep him from noticing that my eyes were darting around, my face was twitching, and my hands were sweating, I had no choice but to say “Thank you” to his kind words and try to keep him in a good mood.

We walked to an izakaya, keeping a distance where our bodies might or might not touch. As we toasted with beer, I observed Ryo's face again.
He has small eyes with long lashes and a beautiful nose bridge. His hands, while holding the beer mug, are slender, yet I can feel his masculinity in his knuckles and veins.
Just a moment ago, he was calling me “Naho-chan,” but before I knew it, he was calling me “Naho.” I can't close the distance like that. I remembered that when I had my first boyfriend in junior high, he asked me to call each other by our first names, but I always called him by his surname. I used to chant like a spell every day, hoping I could talk to my senior Aibashi, that he would like me, and that I could hold his hand on the way home. The sound of “Senior Aibashi” became so dear to me that just saying it made me feel like I was caressing and being caressed, and from the time we started dating until we broke up, I never once called him by his first name.

“Naho, you don't post selfies at all, do you? Just pictures of alcohol. You're cute, so why?”
“I'm not good at selfies. It feels kind of empty when I point the camera at myself.”
“I thought your icon was cute, but since there were no other photos of you, I was worried a completely different girl might show up.”
“Until I sent the message to you, Ryo-kun, my icon was a picture of the beach I went to last year. But I figured you wouldn't reply if you didn't know what I looked like, so I changed it to my current one.”
“Is that so? I definitely wouldn't have asked you out for a drink if I didn't know what you looked like.”

I thought, 'Of course,' and at the same time, I imagined how many women send him 'You're so handsome' messages every day, which sent a chill down my spine. I wondered what criteria he uses to choose the women he actually meets—maybe he doesn't care if their face is ugly as long as they have a good figure, or maybe they just need to be decent-looking, not fat, and have no mutual connections. Or maybe he doesn't care if they are a junior or a senior's ex-girlfriend as long as they are his type. There must be some criteria. And I realized, just an hour into our meeting, that I had cleared those criteria. I don't know how or how long my relationship with Ryo will continue, but I realized I would never be the one in control.
We must have talked for about two and a half hours until we finished our last-order gin and tonics. We had no mutual acquaintances, no shared hobbies, and no shared favorite influencers. We only talked about what was right in front of us—how the saltiness of the edamame we ordered was perfect, how we both like sea bream sashimi, or how that waiter must be a really nice person.
I had so many questions—does he actually have a girlfriend? What is his past dating experience like? Is meeting women he met on social media a daily occurrence for him? But I didn't ask anything. I don't want to be the kind of woman who asks the questions he gets asked all the time, and I don't like people who ask me the questions I get asked all the time.

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