[3-Minute Novel] Punctuation to Look Up at the Blue Sky | Shiori (Bookmark) - CreepHyp

"Ken-kun, I'm leaving this book behind. I'll just say I lent it to you, so you can finish it later."

The morning we ended our cohabitation. The stacked cardboard boxes looked like the remnants of a story that had given up on being finished. Once she finished packing her things, she returned a paperback book to my bookshelf.

"...Hey, Rin. Should I read the rest of that book out loud to you? Give me a call next week if you feel like it. I'm still accepting reservations for overtime, you know."

I peered into her face with a playful tone. I was pathetic, mixing desperate lingering feelings into my lighthearted banter. I was indulging in the hope that if I acted like a joker and laughed it off, I might be able to delay this awkward "end" by a few millimeters.

Rin put on her backpack and gave a small, soft laugh. Her eyes held a color that was half-amused and half-affectionate, like someone soothing a lost child.

"Ken-kun, it's already over, isn't it?"

It was a quiet voice, but one without a shred of hesitation.

"I'm lying, sorry about that."
I laughed sheepishly.

Her "sorry" was a cold yet gentle rejection, meant to catch my banter and scatter it into the wind. "If you leave it unfinished, it feels like there's still more to come, doesn't it?" She left those words behind like a monologue and walked out of the room.

The sound of the heavy door closing echoed through the silent room. I sat deep in the sofa and picked up the book she had returned. The silver bookmark I had given her for her birthday was still tucked into the page she had been reading.

Outside the window, the refreshing May breeze was blowing noisily.
That high-pitched melody kept playing in my head over and over.

It was true. At thirty-five, I felt pathetic that I had been so thoroughly seen through and perfectly handled by a girl eleven years my junior. I didn't feel like I could look up at the blue sky right now.

I traced the bookmark still tucked inside with my finger. If I pulled this out, it would truly be "the end." But if I didn't acknowledge her rejection, maybe, just maybe, she would come back to read the rest of it someday. I couldn't let go of that childish expectation.

"...Man, I'm pathetic."

I muttered with self-mockery and stood up abruptly. I pulled the silver bookmark out in one motion. There was a small, yet definitive sound of metal rubbing against paper. I closed the book and shoved it to the very end of the shelf. The story was finished here.

When I opened the curtains, the piercing spring light flooded into the room. The room without her felt surprisingly large and quiet.

With a slightly lighter step, I opened a new notebook. From now on, I have to write my own continuation, in my own words.

A dazzling morning, one where you could almost hear the sound of new buds bursting open. I finally turned the next page.