Love Comes After Simulation

[You told your wife about the options given by the doctor, and she refused to enter the ICU.]

[When she realized her death was inevitable, that she was destined to part from you, she began to think about how to bring you as little pain as possible. To lie there like a lifeless body, clinging to life through machines and medication, would be a cruel torment for both of you.]

[Her father contacted specialists from other major hospitals and sent them Reina’s medical records, but the replies were all the same: condolences.]

[You relayed Reina’s decision to the doctor, who prescribed new medications to help ease her pain during her final days.]

[But against the torment of an illness strong enough to bring death, these medications were nothing more than a drop in the ocean.]

—

A memory scene appears.

By October, the temperature had dropped significantly. The skies were often overcast, as if it were about to rain, though not a single drop fell.

At dawn, with just a hint of pale light on the horizon, the streets were sparsely populated. Yuuki Minami crossed the pedestrian lane with quick steps as the light turned green, heading toward the hospital and the special ward.

He hesitated briefly as he passed the garden, then broke off a small branch of osmanthus.

The nurse at the front desk recognized him, greeted him, and helped him fill out the visitor log.

He walked straight to the room on the second floor, but the hand he raised remained suspended in mid-air, unable to knock on the door.

Through the crack in the door, he heard the sound of muffled sobbing.

It was Reina’s voice.

The suppressed sobs were like the teeth of a fine saw, tearing back and forth across Yuuki’s heart.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

What was making her cry? The pain of her illness? The sorrow in her heart? Or perhaps both? He knocked on the door.

Hearing the knock, Reina immediately stopped crying. She hastily wiped her tears and lay back under the covers.

Earlier that night, she had dreamed.

She dreamed that a month ago, she successfully hid her illness and miraculously recovered.

Two months later, she and Yuuki went to Yoshida Town together. Although the sky was clear when they arrived at the lake, snow suddenly began to fall. The azure surface of the lake froze instantly, turning into a mirror reflecting the blue of the sky. The withered trees in the lake’s center were soon covered in white, like the chemical Christmas trees they’d seen in science class.

She and Yuuki stood on the lakeshore, marveling at the beautiful scene. Yuuki held her hand and stepped onto the ice, leading her toward the center of the lake. The boy broke off a snow-laden branch and invited her to taste it.

Then, a sharp pain in her chest jolted her awake.

Opening her eyes, she stared blankly at the familiar yet foreign ceiling. The lake was gone, the snow was gone, and Yuuki was gone. She had just taken the branch he handed her, but before she could taste the flavor of the blue lake and white snow, it all disappeared.

Tears fell immediately. The dream’s intoxicating warmth faded quickly, and the clarity that returned only deepened her sorrow as she faced reality.

When the knock came, she realized she had been crying.

Was that Yuuki outside? Had he heard her sobs?

Reina felt a pang of guilt and berated herself silently for losing control.

“Come in,” she said, trying to sound as normal as possible.

Yuuki opened the door and walked in, holding out the osmanthus branch in front of her.

“It’s osmanthus. It smells lovely,” Reina said, sitting up.

She lowered her head, letting the tip of her snow-white nose touch the golden petals, and smiled.

Her eyes, cheeks, and lips all changed with that smile, blooming like a flower giving its all to blossom.

Yuuki thought, Is this smile a lie she’s telling to comfort me, or is it genuine joy from this simple branch of osmanthus? Whichever the answer, it pierced his heart.

“You came so early today,” Reina said, lifting the branch and holding it under Yuuki’s nose for him to smell. “Put it in some water for me, will you?”

“I missed you, so I came early,” Yuuki replied, taking the branch from her and heading toward the sink.

“So cheesy!” Reina teased.

In her attempt to sound cheerful, tears fell again. She thought of the hydrangea Yuuki Minami had given her three years ago. The tiny golden osmanthus blossoms were more delicate and fragrant than the hydrangea, but at this moment, she envied the version of herself from back then—the one who still had three years to live.

By the time Yuuki returned from the washroom, holding a glass cup with the osmanthus arranged inside, the tears on Reina’s face had been wiped away.

Following Reina’s instructions, Yuuki placed the glass on the windowsill. The sun had risen, its pale yellow morning light filtering through the water-filled cup, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow.

“Didn’t Yuko come with you?” Reina asked, her eyes fixed on the glass.

“I didn’t ask her to come.”

“You should bring her next time. It’ll be livelier.”

“But you don’t even like lively places.”

“What about Asano Nao? Yuko says she’s a quiet person.”

“In some ways, she’s noisier than Yuko.”

“And Chitose Kazumi? She seems so well-behaved.”

Yuuki didn’t respond. He sat by the bed, looking into Reina’s eyes.

Reina avoided his gaze, lowering her head to look at her hands—hands Yuuki had always loved for their soft, jade-like beauty. Now, they were unnaturally pale, almost sickly.

Yuuki reached out, cupping her cheek, and kissed her slightly dry lips.

“Having you is enough for me.”

“But I’m about to leave you.”

“We still have our child.”

“We don’t have a child. I had time to have one, but I didn’t.”

“We do have one—Maiko. Remember, we talked about it in the summer? In a few days, we’ll go see her together.”

“I don’t want to adopt a child with you. Go have one with Yuko. Or with Nao or Kazumi!”

“I love you.”

“But I’m going to die.”

Tears broke through once more, streaming down in torrents and soaking the blue blanket. Reina looked at Yuuki’s face, but her vision blurred with tears, distorting his features. She blinked to clear her eyes, but new tears welled up immediately.

Choking on her sobs, she apologized: “I haven’t done anything for you. I can’t even stay with you. I’m sorry.”

Her words, flowing with her tears, carried endless regret. The source of that regret was her love. If she had known this would be the outcome, she would never have let herself get close to the one she loved.

Yuuki held her in his arms, melding her love and sorrow into a searing kiss.

—

[More tormenting than the pain of her illness was the regret in your wife’s heart. She felt she had given you nothing, that in your relationship, she had only taken. Her love for you turned entirely into self-reproach.]

[You kissed her and told her that the time spent with her was her greatest gift to you.]

[Gradually, she calmed down. Outside the door, a nurse brought in her toiletries. You helped her wash her face and brush her teeth. Beneath her slightly reddened eyes, a faint blush appeared.]

—

[As October progressed, your wife’s condition worsened.]

[By the end of the month, you decided to take her to Yoshida Town.]

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