---
"Are there any special requests?" I asked.
"There is one."
I waited.
"Don’t make her feel abandoned."
The answer came a fraction of a second slower than the rest.
Still stable. Still controlled.
But a fraction of a second longer.
---
I looked at Yuna.
She was still staring at the table.
"Too late," I said.
Silence on the other end.
Then I continued,
"She already came here on her own."
This time the pause was longer.
"I understand," he finally said.
---
No defense.
No clarification.
Only acknowledgment.
I stared at the ceiling of my apartment for a moment.
"Alright," I said. "I’ll write this number down."
"Thank you."
"What if I change my number?"
"You won’t."
A statement, not a question.
I almost smiled again.
"Another observation?"
"Patterns."
"It’s dangerous to work with patterns."
"It’s dangerous to live without them."
We stopped there.
There was nothing left to discuss.
---
"Good afternoon," I said.
"Good afternoon."
Click.
The line disconnected.
The room returned to the size of six tatami mats.
Yuna was still sitting across from me.
She didn’t ask right away.
Good.
---
I placed the phone on the table.
Then pulled the school form closer.
The small box was still blank.
Emergency contact other than guardian.
---
"He answered," I said.
Yuna gave a small nod.
"He always answers."
"Yeah."
I picked up my pen.
Let it hover over the paper for a few seconds.
"What did you ask?" she asked quietly.
"Not much."
"Are you mad?"
"No."
"Disappointed?"
"I had no expectations."
She stared at me for a few seconds.
As if trying to read something that wasn’t there.
---
I looked down and began to write.
My handwriting wasn’t as clean as hers.
---
Kuroda Seiji.
Below it, the number she had written out earlier.
I stopped after the final stroke.
The black ink looked perfectly ordinary.
Like anyone’s name.
But administratively, there was now a line connecting:
Me. Yuna. And the man who spoke without inflection.
---