"You have invisible wings on your back, and you can fly free, anywhere you want."

Still gripping Miu's hands, Tohko closed her eyes. A smile came over her lips, and she whispered in a clear voice.

A shock like I'd been hit by lightning shot through my entire body.

It was Itsuki's confession, which I had written long ago on a sheet of paper as my heart raced.

Incredulous, I listened to those words that I'd thought were lost, her confession, as they flowed smoothly from Tohko's lips and were reborn.

"You know, Hatori.

"I want to be a tree.

"You laughed when I told you that before, but it's still the truth.

"I really do want to be a tree.

"If I were, when you fly through the sky, I would be in the place that's closest to you and be able to look up at you.

"And when you looked down at the ground, you might catch sight of me."

How?! How could Tohko recite the lines I'd written in my submission-before the revision-so flawlessly from memory?

With her imagination?

Surely that was impossible, even for Tohko.

So had Tohko read Miu Inoue's first draft, then?

Had she asked Maki like usual?

But could she have gotten her hands on a ma.n.u.script from nearly three years ago-one that had been submitted even!

How did Tohko know the words that were written in my ma.n.u.script?!

"Well, they're all stories you wrote for me. I remember all of them. I would never forget a single one."

So Tohko had whispered with a smile like an immaculate flower as she gently squeezed my hands while I hung my head and wept on the sofa in the karaoke booth.

Her voice and her words reawakened now, in this moment, in my ears and overlapped with Tohko's voice as she gave a reading of Miu Inoue's novel before my eyes.

As if she were giving voice to the precious words I'd carried in my heart for so long.

As if she were speaking the tender words I had gazed upon time and time again.

In her gentle voice, Tohko was giving my confession to Miu.

"That's why I want to be a tree.

"I want to be a huge tree with its green leaves brilliantly lush and its limbs spread wide so that you'll find me.

"And when you get tired, I hope you'll stop and rest on my branches."

Miu was crying.

Clutching Tohko's hand, her face hidden, her shoulders trembling, drip-drop...drip-drop...

Each pearl-like tear fell onto her skirt and shattered.

My younger self nestled up against Miu.

"I want to be a tree."

"That's stupid, Konoha. People can't be trees."

Her eyes still closed, Tohko brought her face toward Miu's and cheerfully told her the final words.

The words I had wanted to say all along.

The words I hadn't been able to say.

The simple, obvious, important words.

"I love you! I love you so, so much. I'll love you forever and ever, Hatori."

One small star fell from those filling the heavens and dropped into Miu's heart.

Miu choked back the sob rising up in her.

Tohko gently loosened her fingers and stroked Miu's hair maternally. Then she looked kindly over at me and smiled.

As if to say, "All right, now it's your turn."

A star fell into my heart, too.

Still surprised at the pure light that Tohko had given me, still encouraged, I knelt in front of Miu and replaced Tohko's hands with my own to hold Miu's.

Kotobuki's eyes filled with tears as she watched Miu and me. Everyone else watched over us silently.

Miu, her face soggy with tears, looked down at me uneasily. Without hesitating, without embarra.s.sment, I looked straight back into her eyes, and in a mild tone, I told her my "truth."

Why I had decided to write that story. Why I had submitted it to the same contest as her. Why I'd used Miu Inoue as my pen name.

"The reason I wrote a novel was so that I could tell a girl I liked how I felt about her.

"Because I'd loved her ever since we were kids, but I was embarra.s.sed and couldn't tell her to her face."

"Konoha, do you like me? Look me in the eye and say it."

The bittersweet melancholy I'd felt in the days that I spent with Miu filled my heart.

I'd loved Miu and had always wanted to tell her so.

But when Miu fixed her large eyes on me and teased me, my heart grew so full I couldn't get the words out.

It felt like I was being sucked into her lips and her eyes, and my cheeks got hot, and I couldn't help but look away.

And when Miu teased me even more about that, I had felt worthless as a man.

I wanted to tell Miu I love her.

But I was embarra.s.sed.

I hit on the idea of putting those restless emotions into a novel.

When Miu declared that she was going to apply to the new author contest, it felt like my heart would collapse under the anxiety that if she won and became a real author, she would be beyond my reach. That had pressed me on, too.

I wanted to get a little bit closer to Miu.

I wanted to see the same world Miu saw.

So I decided to write a novel and make it my confession to her.

To make a story filled to the brim with my feelings of love for her.

To tell her, "This is how much I love you."

Although once I started to write, I did get embarra.s.sed after all and changed Itsuki to a girl and Hatori to a boy.

Even so, Itsuki's feelings for Hatori were exactly my feelings for Miu.

"The reason I submitted the novel I'd written was because I thought that if I got through the first round, it would be nice if my name was in the magazine."

Miu was looking at me, her face surprised and confused.

I gave a small, nervous laugh.

"When the winning novel was announced in the magazine, the rest of the selections up to that point would be listed with it. If we applied to the same contest, that girl would look at the magazine, too, wouldn't she? I thought it would be nice if she saw the name Miu Inoue. Then I could try to say, 'This is me. I wrote a novel, too. If you want, you can read it.'"

It was the kind of simpleminded, expedient plan that a child would think of.

But while I was writing my submission and while I was waiting for the selections, I pictured the scene in my mind so many times, and my heart burned with excitement.

If the name Miu Inoue is in the magazine...then I'll get Miu to read my novel.

I'll confess my feelings to Miu.

If only I could get Miu Inoue's name into even a crevice of the magazine where Miu was named for the grand prize- "I wrote the words of my confession at the end of the ma.n.u.script I submitted.

"In the last scene, Itsuki tells Hatori how she feels.

"But the publishers told me it would be better not to have it and to just end where the two are standing across from each other."

Miu's face cracked, and she stared at me vulnerably. Trembling slightly, she listened to my confession wholeheartedly.

I tightened my fingers around Miu's hand, and with a smile, I said (not in Itsuki's words, but my own-in Konoha Inoue's): "Miu, I loved you. You gave me so many stars. You made my world beautiful. Thank you for making me happy."

Tears welled up in Miu's eyes again.

Still gripping my hands, she pressed her face to her knees and sobbed again and again, murmuring, "I'm so happy...I've...always wanted...someone...to say that to me...That they were happy...happy because of me..."

Tohko was watching Miu and me with a clear, kind gaze.

People surrender to the rain and surrender to the wind.

They get lost in the dark and lament the truth revealed in the light of morning.

And even if they finally reach their objective, like Tohko said, the happiness they sought might not be there.

Eternal happiness might not exist in this world.

But gentle eyes told us.

Innumerable moments of happiness or being moved are scattered throughout our lives.

It might be something fleeting like the stars that disappear when morning comes.

But there are times when the small light continues twinkling in our hearts.

And there are moments when the darkness retreats, when the sky brightens, that sad truths are purified and a clear, beautiful world, stretching out in all directions, emerges before our eyes.

Miu was still crying.

Kotobuki and Akutagawa, Takeda and Ryuto, and Maki were watching the final chapter of this story with somehow reverent expressions.

Tohko was smiling peacefully.

The artificial stars in the sky had transformed into the real thing.

Above us, stars were shining brightly.

The pilgrims were still walking, their sights set on the holy land imagined in their hearts.

Ah-everything is transparent now. All of it.