Love Without a Name
Dana gazes down at the sleeping Lily. Despite her declaration that she'd hug her tight to help her get at least a little sleep, this pink-haired girl has gone and done the opposite—drifting off to dreamland right there in Dana's arms. She wriggles with a soft "mmph," snuggling closer, whether from the cold or discomfort. Dana feels every bit of her exhaustion evaporate. It's nothing special; she always feels this way when watching Lily's small, animal-like movements. If only she'd keep her mouth shut, she'd be so damn cute. With that thought, Dana gently peels the stray lock of hair from her cheek.
"…."
Gazing at that innocent face, asleep like a child, the memories from their early years naturally bubble up—the moment she first met Lily. That very first memory is etched forever: pink eyes, pink hair. Dana would never forget that initial encounter with Lily, who approached with an oddly mature expression. Like cherry blossoms. Did she think she was lovable back then? No, she didn't even know what love was. She was just... special. Looking back now, it's baffling why that girl, who grinned like she was salivating the moment she spotted Dana, felt so extraordinary.
In truth, even now, Dana doesn't bother labeling her feelings for Lily as love. Lily's always been a weirdo. Anyone watching her antics would feel the same. How could you not call it strange when she turns into a drooling mess at the sight of any halfway cute girl, her delusions spilling right out of her mouth? But what Dana really wants to say is something more fundamental. Lily was born bright and innocent. Sparkling, you could say without exaggeration. She had this talent for captivating people. The strange part? Lily rejects it all—the affection directed her way, and anything more. But Dana knows. It wasn't always like that.
So this is the story of why Lily, who once craved attention and affection like any ordinary girl, started shutting herself off from everyone around her.
…Back in elementary school, Lily had no qualms about relationships. She loved hanging out with her friends just as much as ever, but unlike now, she never hesitated to insert herself right into the middle of things. Sure, she hated boys and kept her distance, but that aside, she'd even take the hand of someone as painfully shy as Dana—who could barely string a sentence together—and drag her into the fold. When Dana asked why a popular girl like her would bother with someone like me, Lily just said, "Because I like you." Something about my looks catching her eye. A sweet girl with no reservations, pretty as pink cotton candy—it was only natural that she became the center of everything, rather than just tagging along.
Lily said she liked hanging out and chatting just with us girls. Lily liked girls. I like Lily too. Me too. Me too! But Dad said liking girls is weird. So what? I like Lily. And Lily likes me.
Now a high schooler, Dana sees it clearly: the atmosphere around Lily back then was blatantly off. There was no exaggeration in saying she had a captivating charm. Kids are innocent, but precisely because of that innocence, they sensed it—the way Lily said "I like you" meant something entirely different from what parents said. It made your heart race. The other kids must have felt it too. Someone called it weird to like the same sex, but Lily didn't care. She didn't trot out the usual excuses about it just happening to be a girl. She just liked girls, plain and simple. For the girls she liked, there was nothing she wouldn't do. That unshakeable conviction descended on those immature kids like a curse.
Lily was mature. It wasn't so much that they gathered because they all liked each other; they flocked to Lily as the focal point, craving her attention. Looking back, it was a kind of mini-madness. The instinct to win notice from the one you like twisted them. Lily, play with me. Lily, why won't you look at me? Lily, why only her? Lily. Lily. Lily. Lily. I hate her. Lily likes her. But Lily said she liked me. I only like Lily...
The fights spread. Lily was no longer the center—she'd become something to be won. Don't steal Lily from me. Lily will only like me. Lily has to only like me. They must have thought things like that. Lily's mistake was brushing off all those quarrels around her as no big deal. Kids fight sometimes. That's how they grow up. What harm could a bunch of children really do? With that utterly adult attitude.
The conflicts grew more intense and secretive with each passing day. By the upper grades, some kids were doing things too vile to speak aloud, using their innocence as a shield. Dana, timid by nature, was content just watching Lily from afar, so she stayed one step removed from the fray.
It became a trend. Hitting, fighting, bullying, making life hell. Slyly. So Lily wouldn't notice. It wasn't childlike at all. Any adult would think so. Ridiculous. Don't lie. Don't exaggerate your fantasies…
Lily was mature in that way too. Of course—the story of a girl grabbing another by the hair, dragging her off, and slashing her sides, thighs, and other hidden spots with a cutter knife, all because Lily said she liked her? Even Dana wouldn't have believed it without seeing it herself. No wonder the adults, Lily included, turned a blind eye.
Some kids, unable to take the bullying, transferred schools. Others started fearing Lily, crying in terror at her "I like you." Stupid Lily. It wasn't until only two other girls remained—plus Dana, still watching from afar—that Lily finally grasped the severity. Far too late.
But before she could process or respond, one of the remaining girls declared to Lily: "If you don't like only me, I'll jump off the roof." God knows where she learned that threat. Just for a scrap of attention. Everyone knew she had no intention of jumping, Lily included. But when someone's teetering on the railing right in front of you, panic sets in.
The crowd from the facility rushed to the rooftop to stop her. Lily pleaded for her to calm down, but the girl demanded, "Say you like only me." So Lily did, voice trembling: "I like you. Only you. So come down."
Anyone could see it was a desperate lie to defuse the situation, but the girl seemed satisfied, ending her rooftop performance. Or she would have. She had no plans to die. But the next instant, she fell over the edge.
No one grasped what happened. Not until the horrific scream, followed by the wet splat of flesh hitting pavement.
She'd been pushed. By the last girl who'd stuck by Lily's side. That child smiled innocently after shoving her off the roof. And said: "Lily. You taught me this. That for the one you like, anything goes. Because I like you. You like me. Now say you like only me. Like me. Yeah."
That incident was the trigger. The reason Lily started rejecting any affection aimed at her.
Afterward, Dana told Lily everything—the horrors of those few years she'd been oblivious to. Stunned, Lily couldn't compose herself for the longest time. Then she cried. That mature girl. It was the first time Dana saw Lily cry. She wailed like the world was ending. "I'm sorry," she sobbed, then begged forgiveness. "I didn't know. I shouldn't have..." Her repentance was mature too. Like she'd realized her sin, vowing to herself it would never happen again.
She could have just played dumb. Denied fault like any normal kid. But around then, Lily grew quiet. Her sparkle faded; her eyes went perpetually vacant. No one approached her after the incident. Ironically, Dana—the one who'd watched from the farthest—became her only friend.
And sometimes, almost hysterically, Lily would ask: "You don't like me, right?" Dana hesitated, but with only one candle left in the room, she couldn't snuff it out completely. "Yeah." But she added one condition: "As long as you don't give your heart to anyone else."
So even now, Dana doesn't define her feelings for Lily as love. Because that's what she wants.