Mundane. Going to school, coming back with Yumi and Aya, eating dinner, doing homework. So mundane. She was not sure anymore she could feel any joy, or excitement, or sadness. Everything about her existence was so boring. Her mother's cooking, so perfect she could not stand it. Her father's job, do profitable she was disgusted by it. She was stuck in that repeatable cycle, school – home – school, always perfect, never failing to meet her parents' expectations. 'She's gifted, they said, She can reach so high if she ever tries, they wondered. Despite all of this, she was unwavered in her coldness, equally impassive towards close ones and strangers. None of that mattered to her, in fact, her sole existence seemed like a fleeting blossom of a wildflower to her.
'Does it really matter?' she replied every time another annoying relative inquired about her plans for future. She learned to be unresponsive, so that she would not be able to feel anymore – to feel pain. And what a pain it was! Searing, tearing her apart, her fragile heart unable to withstand the storm of emotions she encountered every time she remembered.
His eyes, so warm when he spoke to her for the first time, giving advice. His voice, steady but compassionate, when he reassured her, gave her the meaning to go on, the reason to fight -
No! She must not remember. She dares not see these memories, so vivid in her mind, so painful to bring back, causing her voice to tremble, her eyes to water, and her heart to ache. She dares not remember the gleam in his green eyes when he said she broke his curse, the light playing with his jade locks, the soft feeling of his cheek against hers. For her, he was no more, less than a spirit brought to life by constant praying at his temple, one she could never reach nor see again.
So she coped with her daily life, following despised routine, socialising with silly girls, doing pointless homework, never sparing a thought to her once believed fated lover. It was only on a warm night like this, a night resembling the one on which they met for the first time, that she remembered, daring to whisper out loud, so engrossed in her memories she cared no more:
'Can you remember when we held our hands? You promised to see me again, but you never do and never will, isn't that right? Haku?'
A single tear streaked down Chihiro's cheek; a sole proof of her feelings, strong and intact after six long years of soltitude.