¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
¡Ay! Esta imagen no sigue nuestras pautas de contenido. Para continuar la publicación, intente quitarla o subir otra.
BIDDING FAREWELL TO the people who raised you proves to be difficult.
Your eyes become glossy, but you blink away your tears and plaster on a grin. The tiles underneath your feet gleam a sparkly white. A screen of arrival and departure times hang over you, and people hurriedly line up at the check-in desk like a rapid current of a river. Through the window wall, you notice an airplane taking off into the bright blue abyss of a cloudless sky.
"I'm going to miss you guys so much," you say, hugging your parents. Your mom returns the gesture and rubs your arm. She's going to notice and feel your lack of presence in the house the most—she loves the way that you come to her for advice, the way that you scarf down her food like it's the best thing that you've ever had, the way that you liven up the space with random outbursts of fun facts and fangirl-ing.
Stuffing his hands into his pockets, your dad replies, "We're going to miss you, too. Make sure to call us when you get there."
You nod, sniffling. Your dad hesitantly pats your back as his attempt at making you feel better, and you laugh. He's trying his best.
Your phone suddenly vibrates in your hand, and you bring it to your face. There's a few unread texts, but you don't check them and instead focus on the digital clock of your lock screen. It's almost time to board the flight. You gulp, though your throat still feels dry. You can't prolong the inevitable.
Frowning, your mom asks, "Are you really okay with not saying goodbye to Atsumu and Osamu?"
Your eyes widen at the abrupt question. You've been trying to ignore and avoid those names for a while. The past few months of what would have normally been an exciting summer with the twins have become into your time as a recluse in your bedroom, sitting underneath the comfort of your blanket and snacking on potato chips. You wonder how they're doing.
"It's fine. It's better this way," you admit, biting your bottom lip, "I don't want to make this awkward or painful for them."
The last interaction that you had with Atsumu and Osamu was one that you don't want to think about. Taking a step back was important to analyze and accept the situation, but it's hard to take that first step forward again. You couldn't bring yourself to contact them. You couldn't stop replaying the hurt displayed in Osamu's expression, the condescendence laced in Atsumu's words, or the confusion twisted in your mind about your own feelings. They're all hard pills to swallow.
