"In order to understand people, walk in their shoes," everyone says.

I tried walking in other people's shoes. I walked and I walked and I walked. I walked until blisters covered my feet.

My mother's shoes. Badass cowboy boots on the outside, soft fur on the inside.

Hanajima and Arisa's shoes. Black flats for Hanajima, hiking boots for Arisa.

Yuki's shoes. Blue moccasins. Velvety the touch. Slip smoothly onto one's feet.

All of these shoes fascinated me, but none fit me. Then I found a pair that did: Kyo's shoes.

Kyo wore a red pair of sneakers. Simple sneakers, really, but they fit like Cinderella's glass slippers.

I paid little attention, though. Back then, I was too preoccupied with other shoes. So I moved on.

Shigure's shoes. Shiny, black cleats with tattered insides.

Momiji's shoes. Fluffy slippers with rabbit ears.

Akito's shoes. White rainboots with miniscule black polka dots. After a while, I realized that some of the dots were holes.

My long walk was over at last. The blisters in my feet had nearly erupted.

My own pair of shoes stood before me. All I had to do was step into them.

But they looked so impersonal, so alien.

Do not walk in other people's shoes. Otherwise, you'll forget the shape and feel of your own.

Kyo walked up to me. "Come on, put 'em on," he urged, grinning. "What are you hesitating for?"
"Um, well," I spluttered. How could I tell him the truth without sounding insane?

"Typical spacey Tohru," he laughed. "Come on, I have somewhere fun to take you."

He knelt to the floor, shoved my feet into my shoes, and laced them for me.

He grabbed my hand and ran out the door.

Something about his smile erased the pain in my feet.