Eternal Beauty | Chapter 16

“The only journey is the one within.”

— Rainer Maria Rilke

The sound of faint birdsong reached Kei before his eyes opened. His head felt heavy, his mind sluggish as though he’d woken from a dream he couldn’t quite remember. The air around him smelled unfamiliar—something warm and slightly sweet, mingled with the faint scent of lavender. He blinked a few times, his vision adjusting to the soft morning light filtering in through half-drawn curtains.

The room was smaller than his own dorm, yet cozier, with neatly arranged furniture and personal touches that felt distinctly feminine. A soft blanket was draped over him, and when he sat up, the unfamiliar weight of his clothes—or lack thereof—registered. He was in an undershirt and short pants, his usual school attire nowhere in sight.

Kei froze, his pulse quickening as flashes of the previous night flooded his memory: his anger, his outburst, the rain-soaked kiss…and Marin.

The faint rustle of movement pulled him from his thoughts. His stomach growled in response to the scent of something familiar, Gyunyu Pan. Slowly, Kei swung his legs over the edge of the couch, his bare feet meeting the cool floor as he padded toward the sound.

The kitchen was modest, its walls adorned with small touches of charm—a vase holding a single wilted flower, a neat row of tea cups.

Marin sat at the table, her posture relaxed as she took a small bite from the fluffy white bread in her hands. She glanced up at Kei as he entered, her black hair tied back in a loose ponytail, revealing the delicate lines of her face.

Her attire was casual, almost startlingly so. A tight purple top emphasized her figure, her neckline dipping just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. She wore gray sweatpants that clung to her hips, and her feet were tucked into simple slippers. For a moment, Kei stood frozen in the doorway, his thoughts fumbling over the sight of her looking so…ordinary.

“You’re awake,” Marin said softly, her voice carrying a faint warmth. She gestured to the chair beside her. “Come sit. I didn’t want to wake you.”

Kei obeyed without a word, his movements slow and deliberate as though testing the boundaries of a dream. The seat creaked slightly as he sank into it, and Marin slid a plate with a piece of Gyunyu Pan toward him.

He didn’t eat. Instead, he stared down at the table, his mind swirling with fragmented thoughts. The silence stretched between them, heavy and unspoken, until Kei finally asked, his voice low, “Why?”

Marin tilted her head, her half-eaten bread still in her hand.

“Why did you follow me?” Kei continued, his gaze still fixed on the table. “Why…did you kiss me? After everything I said to you?”

Marin was quiet for a long moment. She set her bread down carefully, her fingers brushing against the plate’s edge as though grounding herself. “Because I love you, Kei,” she said simply, her tone unwavering.

Kei’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look up. Marin continued, her voice softer now, “You have every right to be angry. To feel confused. I know I’m…difficult to understand. But nothing will change how I feel about you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Kei asked, his words tumbling out unfiltered. “Why now? Why like this?”

Marin hesitated, her gaze dropping to the plate in front of her. “Because I was afraid,” she admitted. “Afraid you’d reject me. Afraid you’d never see me as anything other than Sugei—” She stopped herself, swallowing hard. “I mean as your best friend.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pressed on. “But when I saw you that night…when you ran out into the rain…I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I didn’t want to lose you.”

Kei finally looked up, his eyes meeting hers. Marin’s expression was steady, though her cheeks were faintly flushed. She picked up her bread again, her lips quirking into a small, teasing smile. “You’re staring, Kei. Do I have crumbs on my face?”

He blinked, startled by the sudden shift in tone. “N-No,” he stammered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks.

“Good,” Marin said with a soft laugh. “I’d hate to look anything less than perfect for you.”

Kei glanced away, his pulse quickening. He couldn’t deny the magnetic pull he felt toward her, even as his thoughts twisted themselves into knots.

After breakfast, the morning light filtered softly through the curtains of Marin’s dorm, bathing the small room in a gentle, golden glow. Kei leaned back in his chair, still processing the events of the night before. His emotions were tangled—guilt, anger, confusion, and something deeper, something he wasn’t ready to name, all simmering beneath the surface.

Marin stood by the counter, rinsing the dishes with a quiet focus. The casual way she moved, the small hum of a tune barely audible under her breath, made her feel like an entirely different person from the girl who had kissed him in the rain. She was at once Sugei, Marin, and someone wholly new.

“Kei?” Marin’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. She turned, a dish towel in her hands, and gave him a faint smile. “You’re awfully quiet.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing away.

“Don’t apologize,” she said, stepping closer. Her bare feet made soft sounds against the wooden floor, and she perched herself on the edge of the couch, tilting her head as she studied him. “It’s just strange. You always had something to say when we were kids. Now you seem…lost.”

Kei hesitated. Marin’s words hit too close to home. “A lot has changed,” he said finally, his voice low.

Marin nodded, her gaze lingering on him. “It has.”

A moment of silence passed between them, heavy with the weight of unspoken things. Then Marin’s expression brightened slightly, her smile widening. “Do you remember that board game we used to play? The one I’d always beat you at?”

Kei blinked, caught off guard. “You mean the one Sugei—” He stopped himself, the words catching in his throat.

“The one I always won,” Marin finished for him, her voice gentle but firm. She stood and moved to a small cabinet, pulling out a worn box with faded lettering. “I still have it. Thought it might be fun to see if you’ve improved.”

Kei couldn’t help but laugh softly despite himself. “I doubt it.”

The two of them sat cross-legged on the floor, the board spread out between them. Marin’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she explained the rules, her tone teasing. “Remember, no cheating this time.”

“I never cheated!” Kei protested, his cheeks flushing.

“You used to distract me with stupid jokes whenever I was about to win,” she shot back, her grin widening.

“That’s not cheating—that’s strategy,” Kei muttered, but his lips curved into a reluctant smile.

Marin moved her first piece, her slender fingers deftly handling the tokens. Kei found himself watching her hands, the way her nails were perfectly trimmed and painted a deep, glossy black. Everything about her was so meticulously put together, a stark contrast to the boy he had grown up with.

They played in relative silence, punctuated only by Marin’s occasional taunts and Kei’s half-hearted protests. Slowly, the tension between them eased, replaced by a quiet camaraderie.

“You’re getting better,” Marin remarked after a particularly close round. “Or you’re getting worse,” Kei countered, earning a playful glare.

At one point, Marin leaned back on her hands, her gaze drifting to the ceiling. “It feels good,” she said softly.

Kei looked up, his brow furrowing. “What does?”

“This,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the room, the game, the two of them. “Being here with you. It feels…normal. Like we’re just two people, not…” She trailed off, her smile fading slightly. “Not everything else.”

Kei’s chest tightened. He wanted to say something, to fill the silence that had suddenly grown too loud, but the words wouldn’t come.

Marin straightened, her smile returning as she reached for the box to put the game away. “Anyway, it’s nice to know you’re not a complete lost cause at board games.”

“Gee, thanks,” Kei said dryly, though his tone lacked bite.

The morning stretched lazily into the early afternoon. Marin disappeared into her small kitchenette, rummaging through her cabinets. “Tea?” she called over her shoulder.

“Sure,” Kei replied, leaning back against the couch. He watched her move about the space, her ponytail swaying slightly with each step.

When she returned, she handed him a steaming cup, her fingers brushing against his briefly. Kei felt his pulse quicken, but Marin didn’t seem to notice. She sat beside him, tucking her legs under her and blowing softly on her tea.

“Do you ever think about how different things could’ve been?” she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Kei hesitated, his grip tightening on the cup. “All the time.” Marin nodded, her gaze distant. “Me too.”

The weight of her words lingered, pulling at something deep within Kei. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, taking in the slope of her shoulders, the way her fingers cradled her cup. For a moment, he wanted to reach out, to close the distance between them, but he couldn’t bring himself to move.

“Thanks for staying,” Marin said, breaking the silence. Her smile was small but genuine, and Kei felt his chest ache in response.

He nodded, unable to trust his voice.

***

The afternoon light filtered through the dense canopy of trees as Kukui ascended the mountain path. Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her shoulders. The trail was uneven, winding through clusters of moss-covered stones and small streams that trickled faintly in the distance.