Chapter 47: Similar to prayer

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Translator: Soafp

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After being dropped off by Ginji on his bike, Sora headed upstairs first, took off her ribbon, and loosened the front of her blouse.

She carefully hung her uniform on a hanger to avoid wrinkles, then pulled a carton of milk from the fridge and drank straight from it as she walked downstairs in just her underwear.

“…Where was it again?”

She took her time searching for her coveralls and slowly changed into them. After rummaging around for a while, she pulled a metal box off the shelf.

When she slowly opened it, a folded piece of fine, glossy canvas lay inside.

Unfolding it, she revealed a canvas with a cut in the shape of an “X”. As she looked at what had been painted there, Sora closed her eyes.

“…Ginji.”

Behind her eyelids, that unforgettable memory of fear surfaced.

But along with it was the image of someone she loved, shining brightly enough to eclipse the fear.

She gently folded the torn canvas and pulled out a new one.

Taking her time, she used her tools to stretch the canvas onto a wooden frame, then placed it on an easel.

She would get to paint her own artwork this weekend—someone might even see it. That thought tickled her, a little bit.

“What should I paint…?”

When she wasn’t being pressured by Aika, she always painted the things she loved.

When she closed her eyes, countless favorite moments would usually come to mind…

But now, all she could see was Ginji.

Ginji blushing when she doted on him. Ginji smiling back at her. Ginji getting flustered when she hugged him but never pushing her away. The feel of his hand, his scent, his low voice, his warmth—she could recall it all vividly. She'd never forget it for as long as she lived.

“Ugh, I might be seriously lovesick…”

If that was the case, then she might as well paint what she wanted to say to Ginji. A painting has meaning when it carries the heart behind it. And for someone like her, who wasn't good with words, this was the only way to express her feelings. This racing heart—it was meant to be shared.

Her head felt a bit overheated, so she decided to take a short break.

She boiled water in the kettle downstairs and sharpened her pencils while she waited. The scent of the wood as she shaved it with a cutter was one of her favorites.

Once the water boiled, she made herself a cup of coffee—plenty of milk, just a little sugar. Ginji liked his black, she recalled. She placed her mug on the table, sat down in the chair with Ginji in her thoughts, and picked up her pencil.

She wasn't painting for someone else, nor was it just for herself—it was for the person she loved.

What should she do? Her heart was pounding like crazy.

In the center of her little castle, surrounded by concrete walls, Sora faced a blank world.

And in that moment, her posture resembled a prayer.