Dear Green Field | Short Story

The rain that had been falling since the evening intensified as night fell.
I stopped my hands from clattering away at the keyboard at my office desk. The raindrops wetting the glass window blurred the neon lights overflowing below, causing them to scatter and reflect like a kaleidoscope.
Before this eighteen-story building was constructed, the entire area was just a vast meadow, which we called the "Green Field."
Weeds with names I didn't know grew lush and green, and in the summer, the scent of white clover would drift on the breeze. My childhood friend, Nanami, and I would always spend our time there after school. I would capture her smile with my old camera, and Nanami would sit on the ground, jotting down clumsy poems in her notebook.
"Hey, even if this place disappears, it will always remain in our hearts, right?"
At dusk, Nanami said this quietly while looking up at the madder-red sky. I remember nodding without even clicking the shutter, because the light enveloping her profile was just so beautiful. But there was no such thing as a promised future anywhere. It was shortly after that when an illness was found in Nanami's body, and she moved away to a distant sanatorium. And the Green Field, too, sank to the bottom of hard concrete, crushed by giant heavy machinery.

I take out an old letter from the back of my desk drawer. It is the first and last letter I received from Nanami. The postmark is from autumn ten years ago. At the beginning of the stationery, she had written this in her rounded handwriting.

"Dear Green Field—to that beloved green meadow. And to you, with whom I spent my time."

The letter contained her characteristic strong words about the loneliness of leaving the city, yet how she could still look forward if she remembered that meadow. It concluded with "Someday, back at that place," but before that promise could be fulfilled, she traveled to a distant sky.
After Nanami passed away, I got a job at an IT company in the building that was built on "that place." I think it's ironic. Perhaps I am intentionally placing myself on the site of my memories so as not to forget the pain of losing her.
"Well, time to head home..."
The hands of the clock had already passed ten in the evening. Most of the other employees had already left. I packed my bags and headed for the elevator. Usually, I would press the button to go down to the first-floor lobby, but for some reason that night, my finger was drawn to the "R" at the very top.
—The rooftop garden.
On the top floor of this building, there is a small green space open to employees. However, I had never set foot in it.
A quiet electronic chime sounded, and the doors opened. The scent of early summer wind and the smell of the rain-cleared air tickled my nostrils. The rain that had been falling until just a moment ago had completely stopped, and from a break in the clouds, surprisingly clear moonlight was pouring down.
I took a step forward and gasped. What spread out before me was a well-maintained lawn and trees swaying amidst the city's night view. In that garden, which should have been artificially created, was the same lush "scent of green" as the meadow where we used to run around.
The wet grass reflected the moonlight, shining silver.
"Nanami..."
The words escaped me involuntarily. The gentle night breeze shook the trees, making a rustling sound. It was as if it were the sound of her turning the pages of her notebook, or a voice whispering, "Welcome back."
I took my smartphone out of my pocket and launched the camera app. What was projected on the LCD screen was a green space that, while surrounded by a concrete jungle, was indeed breathing gently.
For the first time in ten years, I wanted to "take a picture" from the bottom of my heart.
Click—the quiet shutter sound dissolved into the night sky. The green on the screen was infinitely deep and powerful.
Nanami is no longer here. The meadow from those days has also changed its form. But the memories nurtured in that place continue to live on within me, and in the soil of this place. No matter if buildings are built or times change, the "Green Field" we loved has been waiting for me here all along.

"Dear Green Field—I'm okay. I will continue to live here from now on."

I whispered softly toward the night sky.
This is my reply to a letter that could never reach her.

I could feel the lump that had been coldly sinking in the depths of my chest quietly fading away. What filled its place was the same gentle warmth I felt that summer day, surrounded by white clover.
I put my smartphone away in my pocket and finally pressed the elevator button to go down to the first floor. As I looked back, the green meadow was gently illuminated by the moonlight.

(End)

After listening to Yuriko Nakamura's song "Dear Green Field"—.

This is the song that led me to discover Yuriko Nakamura and become a fan.
It has been over ten years since I last played this song in front of people, and I can no longer play it now, but I want to challenge myself once more, so I am practicing little by little.

Please enjoy this as well.