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When I woke up once late at night, she didn't stir.

When I woke up again in the early morning, I sent her home then and there.

When I went back to sleep and woke up before noon, I was, of course, alone.

But the arm she had clung to so tightly last night, the chest where she had rested her head, the legs that had been intertwined with mine... the places she had touched still tormented me as if they were seared.

It was as if...

...it was blaming me for sending her away with a calm face.

...it was blaming me for not being able to say, "just one more day."

...it was blaming me for not being able to be honest even when we were alone.

It was as if the part of me that wanted to make her happy soon and the part of me that wanted to delight in her at any time were at war.

At the edge of the bed, Coai, who had woken up alone, sat up and remained dazed for a while.