{The Days Without Satou-san}

“Miss. Satou’s been gone for quite a while, hasn’t she?”

As soon as I was stopped in the hallway, Ms. Murakami said this with a worried look.

I was taken aback by her sudden question but responded neutrally.

“Yes, it has been a while.”

“How long has it been since she took time off? It’s been four days now?”

“Yes. Including the weekend, it’s been four days.”

Even as I answered, I was puzzled.

Why was Ms. Murakami asking me about Satou-san?

Sato-san had been absent from school for a while.

Since the day I took her to the infirmary, she seemed to have caught an off-season cold and was bedridden.

According to our homeroom teacher, Mr. Kudo, her fever had finally gone down, but she hadn’t regained her strength and was still unable to come to school.

I didn’t know any more details. I wasn’t close to Satou-san and didn’t even have her contact information. I had no way of knowing how she was doing.

Yet, Ms. Murakami, who wasn’t even her homeroom teacher, had stopped me in the hallway during lunch break to ask about her.

She placed her thin, wrinkled hand on his cheek and sighed.

“Satou-san is usually so full of energy.”

It seemed that Ms. Murakami was intent on discussing her with me.

“You must be worried too, right, Yamaguchi-kun?”

“Well, yes…”

Feeling an urge to end the conversation quickly, I nodded vaguely.

It was indeed worrisome.

For someone as healthy as Satou-san to catch a cold was something really surprising. Perhaps her prolonged absence was due to her losing motivation because she wouldn’t receive a perfect attendance award.

I was understandably anxious when she looked unwell in front of me, but—wasn’t that normal? Anyone would be worried if they saw someone in poor health right in front of them. And naturally, they would be somewhat concerned.

I was worried about Satou-san too, since she was a classmate and sat next to me.

There was no deeper meaning.

So why was Ms. Murakami asking me about Satou-san?

“It feels lonely without Satou-san, doesn’t it?”

Ms. Murakami continued, her voice mixed with a sigh.

I wanted to sigh myself. I decided it was time to leave.

“Ms. Murakami, I need to prepare for the next class, so may I go back to the classroom?”

Ms. Murakami widened her eyes as if she had just realized something.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you.”

Se said this without much genuine regret and then slowly smiled.

“Could you please convey my regards to Satou-san? I’m also waiting for her return, so tell her to take care.”

“Uh…”

I had to suppress a grimace. After all, she was a teacher.

“I’d like to convey your message, but I don’t have a way to get in touch with Satou-san.”

Ms. Murakami looked surprised, as if she hadn’t expected that.

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I assumed you were close…”

Assumed what?

I turned on my heel, feeling irritated.

In retrospect, I thought I should have said something more rude.

Satou-san and I were merely classmates. We weren’t close.

As proof, I didn’t know much about Satou-san. I didn’t know the details of her cold or how much she had recovered. I had no means of contacting her, and she wouldn’t reach out to me. It was unlikely.

The day I took Satou-san to the infirmary, I didn’t even understand the meaning of the mumbling words she uttered in her feverish state. I had no way to confirm their meaning.

I wasn’t particularly eager to find out.

It was fine not to know.

In fact, even with Satou-san absent, my daily routine continued smoothly. There was just one empty seat in the classroom; nothing else had changed.

Classes proceeded as usual. In fact, since there were no students stumped by questions, the lessons went quite smoothly. Even the girls’ physical education class seemed to be going fine; I hadn’t observed it recently, so I couldn’t be certain.

Basically, with just the empty seat next to me, nothing else had changed.

I didn’t feel particularly lonely. After all, Satou-san wasn’t my only classmate. There were other students, and friends, and I didn’t have time to worry about the empty seat next to me.

Yet, strangely enough.

I would find myself glancing at the empty seat next to me.

To be prepared to help if called upon during class.

To be ready to lend my notebook to her if she struggled with copying notes.

To accept her offers of snacks and respond with casual thanks.

And also, to listen carefully when she would occasionally say something unexpected and respond in a way that was both non-offensive and satisfactory to her.

Somehow, I had started to pay attention to the empty seat next to me. I had become concerned about Satou-san, who had been sitting next to me since before we advanced to the next grade.

It had become an odd habit.

Whenever I realized that the seat to my right was empty, my chest would inexplicably stir with unease.

Even though I knew no one was there, I would subconsciously check.

And then I would remember Satou-san’s absence and feel a desire to sigh.

Worrying about it wouldn’t change anything. My concern wouldn’t make Satou-san recover any faster.

But recently, I had picked up another strange habit.

I started putting furigana (pronunciation guides) next to difficult kanji in my notes.

It wasn’t for her.

But, given that I had started pondering how to justify this if Ms. Murakami asked about it, I started to consider that perhaps it was only natural to be a little suspicious.