[Chibi Creative Award] "The Choice of That Day" | Novel "I, Bus Man"

📙 I am participating in Mr. Kawamura's [Chibi Creative Award].

📗 The chosen theme is "The Choice of That Day"

▼ Main Story

📖 [Short Story] I, Bus Man

Chapter 1: I started a thread

At 7:42 AM, I fell in love.

The location was a private bus, not a municipal one. The seats were 80% full, and I squeezed my body into the corner at the very back as usual.

That was when it happened. The profile of a woman sitting three rows ahead emerged in the morning light.

Shoulder-length black hair. Downcast eyelashes. A commuter bag gripped tightly on her lap. Even though she looked tired, her back was held perfectly straight.

She's beautiful, I thought.

The next moment, she looked out the window and her mouth softened slightly. At the corner of her lips—there was a small blister. Herpes.

And yet, why? To me, it looked like the most precious thing in the world.

...No, that's not it. In truth, I know.

I have never once had a love affair succeed in all my years. In middle school, I gave a letter to a girl I liked. The next day, it was read aloud in front of the whole class. Ever since that day, I've been afraid to open my mouth in front of women. For twenty-nine years, I've been looking down and running away just like that.

--Besides, it's too late anyway. A transfer has been decided at work. Next month, I'll be working at a branch in Northern Kanto. The order has already been issued. As a regular employee, I have no right to refuse.

In three weeks, I will leave this city. I will never ride this bus again, either.

If that's the case, the right answer is to keep these feelings locked in my heart and let them fade away. I knew that in my head.

That night. I was in my room, in front of my old computer that was humming with a low drone. If I didn't vent these feelings somewhere, I felt like I would lose my mind. The News Breaking (VIP) board. A den of chaos where idlers from all over Japan gather.

Midnight. I pressed the refresh button with a prayer in my heart.

It was a storm of abuse. But strangely, I didn't feel bad. I moved my fingers.

I hesitated for a moment, but then I typed it out honestly.

The moment I sent it, the thread stopped. A few seconds later, posts flooded in like a dam breaking.

Herpes-san. How rude. --And yet. As I stared at the screen, I realized my mouth had softened into a smile. Probably the same expression she had when she looked out the window and smiled.

It's a romance that will end in three weeks anyway. Even so, I'll ride that bus again tomorrow. I had already decided at least that much.

Chapter 2: Can't stop the excitement

The next morning, my flip phone felt strangely heavy in my pocket.

Last night's thread had exceeded 200 replies before I went to sleep. The residents had unilaterally named me 'Private Bus Man'.

As instructed, I quietly observed the front from the back corner. She was there. Three seats ahead, just like today. She was wearing a navy cardigan and had a paperback book open on her lap. Her fingers turning the pages were white and slender. She got off at the stop in front of the general hospital.

That night, when I posted the report, the residents gathered around one after another.

At that moment, one reply caught my eye.

He was strangely well-informed.

The template craftsman. An anonymous user who occasionally appeared in this thread with strangely good writing skills. Their true identity was unknown. But their advice was always spot on.

Someone I don't even know the name of is taking my love life seriously. I snapped my phone shut and stared at the wallpaper.

—Only three weeks left. Even though it's going to end anyway. Even though I think that, when I'm with these people, for some reason, I can't bring myself to give up.

Chapter 3 Good Morning

"If you can say 'Good morning,' you're a full-fledged adult."

That was the consensus of the thread.

Then the craftsman's reply followed.

Why can you say that so definitively? Even though you've never met her. But for some reason, that one line saved me.

The next morning. I took a bus one earlier than usual. A miracle happened. The seat next to her, across the aisle, was empty. I sat there. My heart was pounding against my ribs. I caught a glimpse of the paperback's title. "The Little Prince".

No, she's too cute.

The bus swayed, and she suddenly looked up. Our eyes met. This is it. Say it. Just one word.

"G-g-good mor-ning-mum."

......I stuttered. I stuttered spectacularly.

I've done it now. I felt like my face was going to burst into flames, so I looked down. The day of that letter flashed through my mind. Again. I've done it again--.

But the next moment, I heard a sound like bells ringing. She was covering her mouth with her hand, laughing. Her lips, with that cold sore, were curled into a smile.

"...Good morning."

That was how she replied. I couldn't focus on work that day. At night, when I reported it on the thread, the residents burst into laughter.

Approaching thirty, being told that by someone whose name I didn't even know. I shamefully almost started to cry.

Chapter 4: Medicine Bag

It was a rainy morning.

She looked more tired than usual that day. There were faint dark circles under her eyes, and the cold sore seemed a bit larger, too. When the bus arrived in front of the hospital and she stood up, a white paper bag fell out of her bag. She didn't notice and disappeared into the rain with her umbrella.

I stood up reflexively.

"Excuse me, you dropped this!"

I didn't stutter. At the best moment of my life, my mouth worked perfectly. She turned around. Seeing the bag I held out, her expression changed in surprise.

"...Thank you. It was something important, so you really saved me."

I could see the pharmacy's logo from the opening of the bag. Inside were many medicines and--a tube of ointment. Perhaps noticing my gaze, she touched her lips, looking a little embarrassed.

"This is medicine for cold sores. Being a nurse, it pops up as soon as I get tired. ...It's embarrassing."

"It's nothing to be ashamed of." Before I knew it, my mouth had moved. "Isn't it proof that you're working hard?"

She smiled with those lips again. "You're a strange person. ...But, thank you."

Under the umbrella, she bowed her head slightly and walked away. To her retreating figure, I called out one thing. The name I had seen on her name tag.

"Hayasaka-san, I think your work is amazing!"

She stopped for a moment, and without turning back, she waved her hand broadly.

That night, I wrote everything on the thread. That I had found out her name, that she was a nurse. The residents were having a field day. But, before I could even write about the "ointment bag," that reply came.

I stopped my fingers. ...Ointment. I haven't written that yet, have I? I wrote medicine, but not ointment.

I see. Common sense. I was convinced and closed my phone. A man in love usually doesn't notice the most important things.

Chapter 5: Infrared and Email Addresses

The problem was the next move. The remaining time was less than two weeks.

If I used borrowing and lending books as an excuse, exchanging contact information would be natural.

I see. I hammered that line into my head, and the next morning, I got on the bus while reciting it. She was in the aisle seat next to me today. When our eyes met, she nodded to me first.

"...Thank you for the other day."

She was the one who spoke to me. My heart started pounding against my ribs again.

"N-no. Um, you were reading The Little Prince, right? I've never actually read it properly. If you don't mind, could you tell me some other books you recommend?"

I didn't stutter. Thank you, Craftsman. She widened her eyes for a moment, and then smiled softly.

"Do you like books? Then... shall we exchange contact information?"

—It was her who suggested it. With trembling hands, I opened my flip phone. I called up the infrared communication menu. She held up her phone as well.

"Oh, um, bring this red part close to..."

"Yes. ...Please bring it a little closer."

We pointed the ports of our phones toward each other. My hand and hers came within a few centimeters of each other. It was a distance where I felt like I could almost sense the warmth of her fingertips.

With a silly electronic beep, the four characters "Misaki Hayasaka" were etched into my phone. Misaki. I had even obtained her first name.

Under my futon, I opened my empty inbox over and over again for no reason. Twelve days until my transfer. That fact alone pierced through the sweet time like a small thorn.

Chapter 6: A Man's Shadow

They say that good things are often accompanied by bad luck.

After exchanging email addresses, our correspondence went well. She would send me Deco-mails with a weary face after her night shifts, and I would reply with encouragement.

Trivia (*Deco-mail = Decoration mail. Emails decorated with emojis and images. Heisei-era mobile phone culture)

And then, that day came. On my way home from work, walking in front of the station, I saw it. Ms. Hayasaka was walking side-by-side with a tall man. Laughing happily. The man placed his hand on her head, and she pretended to brush it off, only to laugh again.

My feet wouldn't move. A boyfriend. Yes, of course. It had been like that ever since the day of the letter. Even if someone like me reached out, it always ended up like this. Besides, I was a man who would be gone next month anyway.

That night, I wrote everything on the thread. As if the bustle of the festival had been a lie, the thread went quiet. But among the posts, there was one that seemed strange.

Please.

It was strangely intense. As if it were his own business. I didn't think much of it at the time. I didn't have the mental capacity to think. I couldn't reply to the email I had received from Ms. Hayasaka asking, "How was your day today?" Outside the window, it had started to rain again.

Chapter 7: The Three Blank Days

From the next morning, I couldn't ride the bus.

I was afraid to stand at the same bus stop at the same time. So, I took a detour and went to work by train. For three days, I kept running away like that.

The emails from Hayasaka-san stopped on the second day. My feature phone didn't have a 'read' receipt function. So, I had no idea what she was thinking right now. Only her last email remained in my inbox: "Are you feeling unwell?"

I checked with the server many times a day to see if any new emails had arrived. They didn't. There was no way they would. Because I was the one who hadn't replied.

My tired face was reflected in the train window. Anyway, I would be leaving this town soon. If I just disappeared silently without saying anything, I wouldn't get hurt. I could be at ease. That was the smartest choice. I told myself that. It was the same thing I had been choosing ever since the day of that letter.

The residents of the thread wouldn't let me get away with that.

It hit home. And then, that reply came.

'Me.' For a moment, I thought it was written like that. But when I looked again, the text said 'the other person.' It must have been a misreading. I decided to think so.

The 'ride the bus' calls filled the screen. I took my bus pass, which was about to expire, out of my desk drawer. I only had a little time left to use this pass.

If it's a love that's going to end anyway—that's exactly why I have to say it, or I'll regret it.

I opened my phone and brought up the reply screen to her. My fingers moved slowly. "I'll be on the usual bus tomorrow. There's something I want to talk about." Send. The antenna icon spun around.

Chapter 8: The Truth

7:42 AM. I rode that bus for the first time in three days.

She was there. Three seats ahead. When I approached, she looked up with a start—and then smiled with a face that looked like she was about to cry.

"I'm so glad. I was worried about you."

I sat in the aisle seat next to her and, gathering my resolve, opened my mouth.

"Hayasaka-san. The other day, in front of the station... you were walking with a man, weren't you? You looked like you were having fun."

She looked blankly at me. Then, she clapped her hands together and said, "Ah."

"Could it be Tuesday? The tall, goofy-looking guy?"

"...Yes."

"That's my younger brother."

It felt like time on the bus had stopped.

"Your brother?"

"Yes. Two years younger than me. He's struggling with job hunting and just moping around at home. I worry about him, so I take him out for meals sometimes to give him a pep talk. I was lecturing him in front of the station that day, too."

In my head, the scene from that day was being repainted. The hand that was placed on his head. Was that a sister comforting her brother?

"Don't tell me you saw that and thought he was my boyfriend? And because of that, you've been avoiding me for three days?"

It was so spot-on that I couldn't find my voice. She burst out laughing, as if she couldn't hold it back anymore. With those lips where the herpes sore had almost completely faded away.

"You're a strange person. Really, a strange person. ...But," she looked out the window, her cheeks turning slightly red, "it's kind of nice that you care that much."

That night, the thread became the biggest festival it had ever seen.

In the midst of it all, only one person was posting with a different temperature.

In the hustle and bustle of the festival, that one line felt strangely quiet and strangely kind.

Chapter 9: The Night Before the Confession

I'm going to confess. When I declared that, the thread went into battle mode. But before that, there was something I absolutely had to get out of my system. A dress rehearsal.

First, I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my room. "Hayasaka-san, I like you." The me in the mirror was dead serious and looked like a suspicious person. Next, I said to Maron, the old dog I brought from my parents' house, "Please go out with me." Maron glanced at me, yawned, and went to sleep.

Late at night, at a convenience store, while the clerk was handing me my change, I accidentally let it slip. "Oh, I, I like you... Ah, no, I don't need the receipt." The clerk's face turned sub-zero.

It was a total disaster. Crushed, I wrote about it on the thread. The residents burst into laughter. And then, that reply came.

I couldn't move, staring at the screen. This person always hits the nail on the head regarding what's most important to me. It's as if they've been watching my love life even more closely than I have.

That's right. Tomorrow is the last weekday I'll spend in this city. The last day of my pass. If I miss tomorrow, I'll never ride that bus again.

The screen was flooded with the AAs of the anonymous users. Not one of them knows my face or my real name. And yet, this much. I bowed my head deeply toward the computer. "...Thank you. I'm going." It was a message only in my heart.

Final Chapter: Departure

7:42 AM. I boarded the bus for the last time with a pass that would expire tomorrow.

The morning light slanted into the bus. She was in the seat three rows ahead again today, and her paperback book was closed. She clutched her bag tightly on her lap, as if she were waiting for something.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the internet—.

A thousand anonymous users were holding their breath in front of their screens. Of course, I didn't know that. I just felt many hands on my back.

I sat in the aisle seat next to her.

"Hayasaka-san."

"...Yes?"

The bus pulled away. The vibration of the engine crawled up from the soles of my feet. You don't need a template. Say it in your own words. The craftsman's voice echoed deep in my ears.

"I'm transferring next month. To a branch in Northern Kanto. I won't be able to ride this bus anymore."

　The smile vanished from her face.

"That's why I thought I'd just disappear silently. We're going to be apart anyway, so it's easier for both of us if I don't say anything. ...But."

The bus stopped at a red light. I turned toward her. She was looking at me, too. The herpes sore on her lip had completely disappeared.

"When you dropped your medicine bag, I was so glad I could pick it up. When I heard you were a nurse and got herpes from being tired, I didn't feel embarrassed at all. I just thought, 'There's someone working so hard.' I was riding this bus every morning just to see you."

My voice trembled. I didn't care; I continued.

"It's okay if we're apart. It's okay if we can't see each other. Even so, please let me say it. Misaki Hayasaka. Please go out with me."

I didn't stutter. I said the most important words of my life without stumbling once.

She was silent for a while. Then, with her eyes full of tears, she smiled and said,

"...Distance doesn't matter. Yes. I'd love to."

I did it. My heart leaped. The light turned green, and the bus started to move slowly. At that moment, she smiled mischievously and said,

"Unadorned words are the strongest. ...Didn't someone tell you that?"

Time stopped. I knew that phrasing. There was no way I could forget it. It was the last thing the template master threw at me on that thread last night.

"...Why do you know that?"

She didn't answer, but opened her phone and turned it toward me. What was on the screen was—the very thread I had been visiting every night.

The blood drained from my entire body. Everything. My 'years without a girlfriend equals my age.' My 'virginity.' The pathetic way I ran away for three days because I mistook her for having a boyfriend. The times I practiced my confession in front of the mirror, in front of a dog, at a convenience store, and failed miserably. Every shameful, honest thought I had exposed to the anonymous crowd. This person had been reading it—from the very beginning.

"I was looking at it to kill time during my night shift breaks," she said, looking a little apologetic, but happy. "Then, a woman who looked just like me appeared. The navy cardigan, The Little Prince, in front of the hospital... oh, this is me. ...At first, I was scared. I thought, 'Is this person looking at my herpes and laughing at me inside?'"

That's why, she continued.

"I pretended to be the master and asked. About your true feelings. ...That day, when I realized it, I could have just stopped reading silently. I could have pretended I didn't see it. But I didn't. Because I wanted to know more about you."

The 'ointment' in that medicine bag, the strangely desperate replies on the day of my brother's incident—was it all—her?

"...You knew everything?"

I wanted to disappear. Every bit of my uncoolness from the last twenty-nine years had been seen by the person I liked. But she gently took my hand and said.

"Yeah. I read it all. ...You know," in the morning light, a single tear traced its way down her cheek. "I fell for your uncool, desperate, honest feelings. Not the templates, but your own words."

I reached out and took her hand back.

Ever since that letter in middle school, I had been running away. I could have run away today, too. I could have just disappeared silently, thinking we were going to be apart anyway, and lived another twenty-nine years with my head hung low. She, too, could have just closed the thread silently that day. She could have stayed anonymous and pretended she never saw my true feelings.

But both of us—that day, we chose not to run.

That night, with trembling fingers, I typed out my final report.

After a few seconds of silence, the thread exploded.

And then, she wrote one last thing.

I bowed deeply to that person, whose face and name I now knew, through the screen.

The distance of a Shinkansen ride is nothing compared to that twenty-nine-year detour. Every time I have a break, I will come back to ride this bus. To see her.

Outside the window, the moon was out in the Heisei night sky. Tomorrow, I leave this town. But I won't be hanging my head anymore.

—The love of I, Bus Man, connected two distant cities and happily departed.

(End)

📀 Image Song: Nanashi-san "My First, Straightforward Feelings"