Ugly Sixteen
Hermann Hesse once said: The egg is the world of the bird. Whoever seeks to be born must destroy a world.
I’m not sure exactly how grand a world he meant by “a world,” but I shattered one through a death I never wanted. I broke free from the shell of reality and spread my wings in the world of a novel. Even though I was just an extra without proper wings, from a young age I flapped desperately toward Abraxas. I strained to reach him, determined to tear at least a scrap from his robes. The witch’s guardian—that was my first flutter of wings. I saved the gray-haired girl dying in the alley and thrust my foot into the novel’s storm. I wanted to prove that even fragile wings could fly.
And now, at last, I yearned for my second flutter. The wandering traveler. Now a sixteen-year-old adult, I hoped for that role to be mine. To break another shell and be reborn with more beautiful wings. To prove the value of my life—that’s what I thought. Even if I staggered bit by bit and eventually face-planted in the mud, I wanted to keep moving forward.
Time flowed on once more. Two years passed, and I became an adult. Of course, even though I’d reached the age I’d so desperately wanted, that didn’t mean I set off on my journey right away.
“Ain, help me with this.”
“Hm.”
I was still working at the grocery store. Asha was busy beside me, just as always.
“Not ‘hm’—I said help me. Keep that up, and I’ll get mad.”
“Pfft… Fine, I’ll help. Don’t get mad.”
So there I was, just watching her grunt and struggle with the sack of potatoes, when she pouted and shot me a glare. In those two years, Asha had matured so much that she no longer looked like a child at all—she’d become a truly beautiful woman. She’d filled out from her old, pitifully skinny frame, and just gazing at her sometimes left even me stunned by her beauty. She even spoke to me entirely in polite language now, which occasionally made me wonder if this was really the same tiny girl I’d known.
But when she played around like this, glimpses of her old self peeked through. I chuckled and took the potato sack from her, and she watched me with that annoyed look on her face. It was inevitable—I couldn’t help teasing her, just like moments ago.
“…Ain, you’re such a jerk lately.”
“What’s new about that…? Ow! Asha, that hurts.”
And sure enough, her shoe heel slammed into my shin. That was thanks to Uncle’s advice: Kick him in the shin with your heel whenever he pisses you off.
“Who told you to tease me when we’re busy? That’s karma.”
“…”
I gave her my best I’m innocent look, but she just stuck out her tongue and trotted off to the counter with a clatter-clatter. Of course, once she got there, she glanced back at me and flashed a beaming smile.
So that was our scenery, even after becoming adults. It was a scenery we still shared.
Looking back on it all… The day Asha told me it was okay to leave on my journey. The day gray ash swirled endlessly, piling up like snow in the alley. She’d smiled and said it was fine, but the scenery around her screamed otherwise. The hand clutching my clothes trembled, begging me not to go. Her lips quivered, twisting unnaturally just like her emotions.
That was the indelible trace of gray, no matter how hard the woman tried to hide it.
So I understood. How much she’d held back to say those words. How much resentment she’d bottled up inside all that time. From the gray tales I’d read in the novel, and from the nearly ten years we’d spent together facing it all firsthand.
I knew how hard she was trying. Always so dazed, always smiling. Nodding along at everything I said. It hit me then that the woman before me wasn’t so simple after all.
And then.
“I’m… fine.”
“…”
She repeated the same words, as if she refused to say anything else.
“I can wait, Ain.”
“…”
Her fists clenched so tight that blood seeped from them, as if she were barely holding back her emotions. Even after long deliberation and decision, when the moment arrived, she couldn’t control herself.
So there I was, staring blankly at her, thinking: At the very least, I had to give her the belief that even if I left on my journey, I wouldn’t forget her. That in the remaining two years, I had to create more memories than all we’d built so far.
With that in mind, I hooked my pinky with hers. I promised that wherever I went, I’d pick out gifts for her first. That we’d make even more memories in the time left.
“A promise… Ain.”
“Yeah. I promise.”
I made that vow while watching her desperately settle the swirling ash. Even after turning sixteen and starting a new role, I promised not to abandon the one I’d held onto until now.
That’s how those two years passed. Even small things—like her freely kicking my shin and scampering off without a second glance—carried that much meaning.
And then.
“Ain, let’s go for a walk.”
“Sure, just let me change clothes.”
As the day of my departure drew near after becoming an adult, she seemed to sense it instinctively and suggested walks together every day.
Spring rain comes without warning. Plip-plop—raindrops fall on the street, sending umbrella-less people scurrying to avoid getting soaked.
“Ain, your shoulder’s getting wet.”
“…It’s fine. I can just wash up.”
And there we were, sharing one umbrella between us. Clop-clop—our shoes kept steady rhythm as we walked.
“I’m not saying ‘wash up’ because I want to hear it—I’m saying stick closer.”
“Doesn’t matter if I get wet.”
“I don’t like it.”
The slight distance between us vanished in an instant.
“…We should’ve brought two umbrellas, then.”
“Then it wouldn’t be romantic. You said romance is important in life.”
As I floundered at our sudden closeness amid her grumbling, I gradually noticed something: a woman’s skin carried a sweet, personal scent.
“…”
“…”
The fragrance of a mature woman was like that. I called it sweet, but it wasn’t something so simply defined. It only emerged slowly when we were close, wrapping around me. It flustered me enough to twist away, but she wouldn’t let go of my arm.
“Don’t pull away again. Your shoulder’s getting wet.”
“…”
She’d shed every trace of childhood, her slender jawline tilting up to meet my gaze—a scenery all its own.
“…”
“…”
Our eyes met, and inevitably, our steps halted. The world seemed to pause, leaving us in silence.
Except for the plip-plop of raindrops drumming on our umbrella, reminding us the world hadn’t stopped.
“…Where to?”
“Wherever you want.”
To shake off the awkwardness from that brief silence, we decided on a direction, as always.
“Then let’s go to the library today. It’s almost time for my appointment with Idrin anyway.”
“Mm, you sure? You’ll just end up suffering if we go.”
Her choice for today was the library.
“If you were gonna worry about that, you shouldn’t have introduced us in the first place. Telling me all about her and now saying this—you think I’ll let that slide just ‘cause you’re cute?”
“…Let’s hurry.”
I couldn’t muster a proper retort under her sharp glare and quickened my pace.
Truth be told, I hated rainy days. I hated how my pants and shoes soaked through. I hated the heavy clouds dragging my mood into a strange melancholy. Rain made people sentimental, dredging up old memories—and I didn’t like that either.
But.
“Ain, don’t keep drifting away. Stick close.”
“…Yeah.”
Now? It didn’t bother me much anymore. Maybe because the clouds were grayish. Or because the hazy, overcast scenery felt fitting. Or perhaps because of the two of us and our single umbrella walking between them.
I didn’t know the exact reason, but I no longer thought I hate this.
Plip-plop—the rain kept pattering on our umbrella. Each time, she edged a little closer, then a little more, as we walked.
The way to the library was quite long. As we went on in silence and I glanced at her, her lips curved up ever so slightly.