I never planted it. I kept it in a tiny glass bottle by my mirror. Sometimes, when the ache of that first unnamed longing returns, I unscrew the cap and smell nothing—but feel everything.
My name is inconsequential. What matters is what I became in those eighty-one days. Sei ni Mezameru Shojo -Otokotachi to Hito Natsu...
September arrived like a cold palm on a fevered forehead. The cicadas died. My uniform felt looser, as if I'd shed not just weight but an entire previous self. I never planted it