The Day I Didn't Know What a Sachertorte Was Will Never Return | Short Short

“Sacher? Torte? ...What is that?”

“Oh, ah, it’s a sweet! The name of a sweet! It’s, like, a fancy thing! I’ll buy you one sometime!”

Misato-senpai always glossed over the things I wanted to know, brushing them aside. She never gave me the answer until the very end.

I didn't want to waste time asking her for the answer to what she called “something fancy,” so I looked up “Sachertorte what kind of food” on the smartphone in my hand.

I read the Wikipedia answer that appeared on the top screen word for word, feeling as if I had arrived at the conclusion myself.
The workplace lunch break flew by, with less than five minutes left, and everyone began preparing for the afternoon's work, looking a bit sluggish.
Someone smiling at the void, not at anyone in particular.
“A-i-u-e-o-ka-ki-ku-ke-ko...”
Someone walking by, practicing their vocalizations in a loud voice.

“Shimaya-kun, you’re looking things up again. You’re so serious.”

She listened with curiosity to this answer that my smartphone, not me, had provided. Our colleagues had already retreated to the break room saying things like “I have to wash my lunch box,” leaving only her and me in the lounge.

“Huh. Well, I didn't know the origin either. It’s nice being with you, Shimaya-kun, because you look up everything, so I get to learn all sorts of things.”

I watched her hands out of the corner of my eye, careful not to be noticed, as she said that and carefully closed the lid of her tiny, tiny yellow lunch box.
On her slender left ring finger.
A simple, thin silver ring was shining.

The things I want to know are, in truth, not worth much.

Even so, looking up things that pique my curiosity has become a heartless habit I can no longer resist.

---You are such a helpless child. That is exactly why you are cute.

My mother often whispered that to me.

Even when I left the classroom during an elementary school observation day without listening to the teacher.
The day I was called to the staff room in middle school for throwing my eraser, textbook, and triangle ruler at a classmate.
The night I filled out my career survey in high school without hesitation, listing a prestigious private school in Tokyo as my first choice.

It can't be helped.
It can't be helped, can it?

Saying that.
You hugged me with all your might, didn't you?

Hey, Mom.

What does it mean,
to be a 'helpless child'?

More than Wikipedia.
More than Mom.
Lately, I think AI says things more correctly.
That's why.
I believe this AI's answer is surely the optimal solution in this world.

I am.

I am.

Even if I achieve the number one performance in this call center.
Even if I contribute the most to the company's profits.
Even if my boss puts a hand on my shoulder and says, 'I'm expecting more from you next time.'

---Shimaya-san, you really can't communicate, can you?
---I have no idea what you're thinking.
---It's a bit creepy, you know.

It was as if it had spilled out during a conversation.
Just like that, from the words of someone simply sitting next to me.
I start to want to disappear.

Well then, something like this.
Something like this, it's meaningless.
Even if I ask my mother.
Even if I ask an AI.
Even if I rely on a Wikipedia page written by someone I don't know.

Meaning. It's meaningless.

"Hey, hey."

On the way home from work.
On a winter commute home, where the meaningless illuminations in Tokyo are intense, Misato-senpai blocks my path.
Misato-senpai is not directly in front of me, but from the front-left.
She slowly calls out to me, checking my expression, which tends to stiffen.

"Shimaya-kun."

Misato-senpai's smartphone screen smoothly and silently blocks my field of vision.

"Did you know? They say you can make Sachertorte at home."

Misato-senpai's long black hair overwhelms my vision.
That hair, as pitch-black and glossy as a Sachertorte.
If I said that.
Would Misato-senpai get angry at me?

"When next month comes. Together. ...Let's make it."

S-h-i-m-a-y-a-s-a-n.

...my husband."

Misato-senpai.
She said that, and as she brushed past the tip of my nose, she tossed her black hair.

I.
I.

"...Yes. ...Misato Shimaya, san..."

I.
Just.
Saying that, I buried my face in the blue scarf her fingers had spun, and laughed as if to hide.

In truth, I felt like crying.
But, more than crying.
Beloved.
Happy.
I felt as though those feelings were gently tugging at my cheeks.

That was a tear in the fabric that must not yet be known to anyone.

Not the AI.
Not Wikipedia.
None of my colleagues need to know.
Only Misato-senpai and I.
Can know that answer.

A story about the future of the two of us
who learned the meaning of Sachertorte.

#ShortShort