Kaede didn't text her afterward.
Which was fair, Michiko thought. She wouldn't have responded anyway.
She'd slipped out of the bar without a proper farewell, her mind still reeling from the drink Ji had brought her, from the name inscribed on a napkin she hadn't agreed to share.
"You left something behind."
Had she?
Ji had mentioned it so nonchalantly, as if Michiko had overlooked something obvious. As if knowing her full name and returning it was a natural right, a secret they'd held for her.
The thought persisted, lodged like a splinter beneath the skin. She hadn't disclosed anything to them. Not her name. Not even her class. So how—?
Fumi, she suspected. It must have been Fumi. She'd addressed her as Michi-chan that night. Perhaps Ji had overheard.
That seemed plausible.
Yet, it didn't clarify the napkin. The drink. The way Ji had gazed at her as if they understood.
Now, standing before her open closet mere hours before the date, Michiko found it hard to focus. Every outfit she considered felt wrong—too revealing, too reserved, too cautious.
Ji had said, "Wear something enticing."
She knew it was a joke, and yet—the words lingered. Not playful. Not commanding. Just… loaded. Like an inside joke she wasn't in on yet.
By the time the sun began its descent, three outfits were strewn across her bed in rejection. She stood before the mirror in a black wrap dress she hadn't donned since Fumi's birthday last year, arms crossed, scrutinizing herself.
Her reflection exuded confidence.
She didn't feel it.
"Why am I nervous?"
She didn't even like Ji. Not in a way that counted. Ji was just… different. Slightly boyish, yes. But still unmistakably a girl. Still within her boundaries.
She was permitted to be interested in girls like Ji.
Wasn't she?
Her attraction to Ji wasn't like the others. It was muddled. Ji didn't present like anyone Michiko had ever been with. They were all soft borders and hard lines, painted nails and men's cologne, that airy voice and those quiet stares. Everything about them sat at the center of a spectrum that Michiko didn't like acknowledging. And still, she'd said yes, even though her mind was at war with itself.
Maybe she was testing herself. Maybe that was the problem. Or maybe the problem was that she didn't know if she truly wanted this.
She sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, eyes locked on the message thread with Ji's number. Her thumb hovered over the screen, paralyzed by indecision.
Sorry, I can't make it tonight.
She typed it, but didn't send. Backspaced. Tried again.
Something came up. Rain check?
She stared at the blinking cursor, a symbol of her inner turmoil. Why couldn't she do it? Why couldn't she just walk away?
It's just a girl, she reminded herself. Just a masculine girl with a strange voice and a too-perfect memory. Nothing to be afraid of. Yet, she was afraid, Afraid of the way Ji had looked at her that night, the control in their tone, the drink they'd made without asking.
Her fingers tensed around the phone, caught between the desire to reach out and the urge to retreat. She hadn't even kissed them—and somehow they still lived in her body like a ghost.
She dropped the phone and stood, pacing the room in an attempt to shake off the fog that clouded her mind. But with each step, the conflict only deepened, leaving her more uncertain than before.
A flash of memory knocked the air from her lungs:
Hands on her shoulder. Laughter that wasn't kind. Her body pinned in place. Her stepbrother's voice. The white noise of a fluorescent hallway. The scent of sweat and fear and something stale.
"This isn't the same," she whispered to herself, trying to believe it. Ji hadn't hurt her. Ji hadn't even kissed her. They had treated her like she was fragile glass, and she had allowed it. More than just allowed it. Yet, she grappled with the unsettling truth that she still didn't understand why.
Her phone vibrated.
[Ji]:
Still coming, or did I scare you off?
Michiko stared at the message.
It wasn't flirtatious. It wasn't pleading.
Just unspoken confidence, like they already knew her answer.
"I could still say no," she mumbled to herself, torn between defiance and curiosity.
But her fingers moved before the rest of her caught up, betraying her hesitation.
[Michiko]:
I don't scare easy.
She tossed the phone on the bed, grabbed the dress off the floor, and changed with distinct movements—pulling the fabric tighter, tying the wrap with a knot that said:
I'm the one in control.
Even if it was a lie she wasn't sure she wanted to believe.