Chapter 85: 72 - Hesitation
"Do I need to practice?" I asked, allowing a hint of mock mystery to color my tone.
A mischievous glint entered my eyes. This was risky, but a part of me, the part that thrived on pushing boundaries, couldn’t resist.
"Eh... what practice?"
Her confusion seemed to deepen, making her even more endearing.
Without a moment’s hesitation, without any warning whatsoever, my hand just went ahead and landed directly on her chest. It wasn’t a gentle touch, more of an exploratory tap, driven by an insatiable, if somewhat ill-timed, curiosity.
Flat... just like mine.
The thought, unbidden, flashed through my mind.
Her chest was surprisingly flat, much like my own. A silly observation, given the gravity of the moment, but my brain worked in mysterious ways.
"Ouch... that hurt, you know."
She said flatly, her voice devoid of any real surprise or indignation.
Her tone was uh, actually... calm?
This was not the reaction I had anticipated. I braced myself for a scathing retort, a slap across the face, but all I got was a mild complaint.
"You know what I mean, don’t pretend you don’t,"
I snapped, pulling my hand away abruptly and turning my face away—half from acute embarrassment, half from... well, profound regret.
That was a spectacularly ill-conceived move. My face was burning.
"Yes," she replied, her gaze dropping to the floor, her voice barely a whisper.
The playful façade had vanished, replaced by a somber resignation.
"With your sister?" The question was out before I could stop it, a reckless dive into sensitive territory.
She was silent. The air in the room grew heavy, thick with unspoken emotions. Then, slowly, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. It was a small, hesitant gesture, but it carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words. It looked like a heavy burden she had carried for far too long, a secret that had festered in the quiet corners of her soul.
"Then... doesn’t that mean we’re the same?"
A strange blend of relief and sorrow washed over me. If she had experienced something similar, perhaps I wasn’t as alone as I sometimes felt.
She was silent for a long time before answering. The silence stretched, becoming almost unbearable, filled with the unspoken truths that lay between us.
"Yours is different compared to mine, Kairi." Her voice was soft, but firm, carrying an underlying current of sadness that resonated deep within me.
I narrowed my eyes. "What do you mean?" I pressed, a ripple of unease running through me. What distinction was she drawing?
What hidden depths lay beneath her seemingly simple statement?
* * *
Kairi always speaks her mind.
Bluntly. Unfiltered.
Her words are often like a sudden, unexpected gust of wind—jarring, but ultimately cleansing. She throws out observations, questions, and sometimes even accusations, without the slightest hesitation.
Even about things that I think... should be more sacred, more private, whispered only in the deepest confines of one’s own heart.
But oddly, inexplicably, I’ve never felt truly bothered by it.
Never felt offended either.
Perhaps it’s because she’s often confused by her own words too, backtracking or fumbling for explanations after the fact. Like a stray cat that blusters and acts like it knows every alleyway and shortcut, when in reality, it’s just as lost as the next creature.
And honestly, I find myself deeply drawn to that side of her. I like that side of her. It’s raw, authentic, and utterly devoid of pretense.
When she held my cheek just now, a warmth spread through me, a sensation so profound and unexpected that I reflexively rubbed my face against her palm. It wasn’t a calculated move, not an attempt to flirt or manipulate.
It was a pure, unadulterated response, a craving for comfort. But because it had been so long... I hadn’t felt that kind of warmth from someone who truly wanted to be close. Someone who didn’t demand anything in return.
No unspoken expectations, no hidden agendas.
Just a simple, genuine desire for connection.
Kairi’s hand didn’t press.
Didn’t force, let alone judge. It was a gentle presence, a source of solace.
It was different from my sister’s hand. Her touch had always been heavy, possessive, a tool of control disguised as affection.
And when she touched my chest—it wasn’t gentle, indeed, it was rather abrupt and surprising—I knew instinctively that she didn’t mean to hurt me.
There was no malice behind it, no cruel intent.
She was simply trying to understand something that she hadn’t yet grasped. Her curiosity, though sometimes clumsy, was always pure.
I envied her courage to ask.
I sometimes envied her ability to be so openly vulnerable, to voice the very questions that clawed at my own soul but remained trapped behind locked lips.
I envied that she could with such effortless ease say things that I needed years—years of internal struggle and silent anguish—to even admit to myself, let alone utter aloud.
"Have you ever... done that?"
Of course, I had.
The memories were a dark, festering wound in my mind, a phantom pain that never truly faded. But it wasn’t because I wanted to.
I only... didn’t know how to refuse at the time. I was so young, so lost, so desperate for any scrap of affection. He said it was a form of "love" or "caring".
I thought so too, in my youthful ignorance.
Until finally, the truth began to claw its way to the surface. Every time I slept and woke up to the unmistakable sound of a knock on the door—a soft, insistent rap that sent shivers of dread down my spine—I knew... that night wasn’t mine anymore.
My body, my peace, my very being, would be taken from me.
But I didn’t want to explain all those specific details to Kairi.
No, not for now.
Not when she wasn’t ready to hear it, when the weight of that truth would crush her innocent understanding of the world. Not when my own heart wasn’t ready to let all those wounds flow, to spill the agonizing details of my past into the light.
I wasn’t strong enough, not yet.
...
"What do you mean?" Kairi asked.
Her confused gaze was still fixed on me, searching for answers.
She hadn’t fully understood yet, hadn’t grasped the profound difference between our experiences.
She couldn’t see that what appeared to be the same action, the same interaction, did not always stem from the same feeling or intention.
"I have never known what it feels like to be touched without hidden intentions."
I finally articulated, my voice a fragile whisper, laced with a pain that was both ancient and raw. The words, once spoken, hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken meaning.
"When you touched me just now... it wasn’t scary. It was different. But I’m still learning to distinguish which is sincere, and which is merely... the completion of a requirement."
My voice trailed off, the last words barely audible.
I was still navigating the treacherous waters of human connection, still trying to discern genuine affection from the insidious demands that had once shaped my world.
She fell silent. Her face, usually so expressive, was now a mask of contemplation. Perhaps she was regretting her earlier bluntness.
Perhaps she was simply more confused than ever.
"I’m not angry, really," I continued, sensing her discomfort, wanting to alleviate any guilt she might be feeling.
"It’s just... I don’t want to pretend to be strong either. So, if someday you really want to know... don’t touch first. Listen first."
I looked at her, my gaze unwavering. The true path to understanding lay not in physical contact, but in the willingness to truly hear.
Kairi looked down, her usual vibrant energy subdued. Her face, usually so full of animated expressions and an endless stream of words, was now quiet. Thoughtful.
But she still held my hand. Her fingers remained intertwined with mine, a silent promise of support and connection.
And that was enough for now.
Nope, not just enough.
It was more than enough.
