Each word means something as she folds them up into the shape of a plane to release it, to let him know that despite everything she loves him more than anything she'd thought she'd be capable of again. Each folded word is an I love you encoded into a plane, each one hopes to reach him, to touch his heart, and to leave him both listening to them and writing back to her.
Planes have wings, and they can go so much farther than words know how to travel, and maybe they will reach Zen and let him know just how much she loves him. If they don't, Shirayuki will fold up even more and hope they'll reach him or she'll sit down and try to put an endless stream of words on to a page that still make no sense to her.
Loving from a distance is a lot like throwing a dart against the night, hoping it will hit it's target, and a little unsure of how. She loves him so much sometimes that it practically hurts, like a jagged knife sticking into her chest, and she can't quite find the words to let them be spoken, let alone written. I love you is sometimes scrawled across the pages that become paper airplanes, but they are not always written down.
Shirayuki folds in on herself, and for a moment on a hospital's roof, pictures Zen, at home, crouched over a desk, back demanding release from it's too tight position, and maybe, just maybe, he has a partially written letter in hand, one that makes no sense, and he can't figure out how to rewrite.
Maybe one day that will bring him all the way out here, or maybe bring her back there. She has another year or two of study here, but even so, it feels like an eternity in an instant. Shirayuki grabs an abandoned sheet of paper, and instead of folding it, she begins to write.
'Zen, sometimes this distance is hard. And I know it's okay, it's okay that I don't have words to say, or that I work long hours or that you are around the world, working your long hours. And I know I should sleep more, and you probably should too. What I mean to say, really is, that I love you, still. And the distance is just too far to say anything else. I love you. It should feel like a revelation, shouldn't it? It just feels normal. Okay, so the staff here is great, really great, you'd probably like them, and the hours are long, but you should see my patients! Well, it both breaks my heart when kids come in, and yet, I've never felt so happy as when they make me laugh, or when I see them smile with their families, you know? What I mean to say is, that maybe even with the distance, we'll grow closer, and I still have so much to tell you, but not the words to say them in. I miss you. I hope you can visit soon. Shirayuki.'
And it feels like a balloon leaving her chest and flying high, high, high up, perhaps higher than even the paper planes know to go. And Shirayuki takes a deep breath, and stares at a letter that feels incomprehensible, and when she thinks of folding it, instead she tucks it away, away in the pockets of her uniform, away to be taken out later, maybe flattened, maybe crossed out and edited and maybe stamped and sent. It's an answer she doesn't have for a moment, and that's okay too.
It's a wonder what's all okay, what all can be held on to, what all can be let go, and in a moment, she thinks she understands love a little better, maybe not perfectly, but she chooses to stay and fight another day, and that's enough for her. Some words are elusive, something Ryuu taught her once, and she knows and holds to be true. They are the words that sneak away when you go searching, and don't make sense in that easy way you long for.
Perhaps love is one of those words, and maybe it's as complicated as missing someone and trying to send paper airplanes to him, even though it's easier to buy a plane ticket and go herself. But tomorrow, her job's calling, and the weekend looks pretty busy too. But despite the distance, she knows that they'll see each other again, and that it will be wonderful when it does arrive.
Shirayuki grabs the last of the paper and takes that with her too, as she finally walks back into the hospital, ready to face whatever comes at her next.