There she was again, sitting at the bank of the quite shallow but very wide river. He stared at her for some time, watching her dip her pale hands into the clear water, washing her face and just splashing about. He saw her bring her cupped hands, full of water, up to her face, then her face.
He shook his head. She was from the city, obviously. At their age, 13, she should be darker skinned from playing out in the sun so much if she were from the country. He could also tell from the way she marveled at the clarity of the water, as if she had never seen anything quite like it before. Judging from the milky appearance of her skin, she had had a sheltered life, always indoors. He passed her, and crossed the river, using the stepping stones, large stones used as a "bridge," stationed about a foot away from each other across the river. He did not turn back to look into her mysterious eyes. He just kept on jumping from stone to stone.
Just like yesterday, she was at the river again. She was always there, it seemed. She always went there since she moved here, about 6 days ago. This time, however, she had sat herself down on one of the stepping stones. Her black knee-length skirt of her middle school uniform was soiled with dirt. He plopped himself down on the bank and waited for her to move. Her long hair flew everywhere as a late-summer wind blew around her. A little boy tried to pass, and she moved. He followed the boy before she could settle on the stone again.
She was sitting on the same stone as yesterday, washing her feet. Her eyes glanced to his way once. He did not ask her to move, nor did she move for him. He sat down as he did yester day, hoping the little boy might come again.
After a few minutes, she picked up a small, smooth, white rock and abruptly stood up. She turned his way and threw the rock at him.
"Baka," she whispered, then flounced away. He picked up the white rock, which had completely missed him. He stared at it, then tucked it in his pocket and stood up to leave.
She wasn't there…. Again. He knew he should be relieved, but after the day she threw the rock at him, she didn't come anymore. He hadn't seen her for nearly a week. He had gotten into the habit of rubbing the white rock with his fingers inside his pocket. He had started to just sit at the banks of the river for a while before actually crossing the river. He wasn't waiting for her to show up or anything, of course…. Right? Of course.
Today, he sat on her stone, and washed his face and splashed the water as he saw her do. He saw his tanned face in the water. He thought of her fair complexion. Suddenly, he hated his face. He swiped at his reflection in the water.
He sensed someone watching. It was her. He turned and ran, blushing. His foot slipped on a stone once in his haste, but he kept on going. He had been caught missing her.
She started coming again. He had half a mind to go the long way home, just to avoid her. He didn't. He didn't sit at the bank. He approached her, on her stone, with her crouching and him standing behind her. He rubbed the white rock.
"Those hills over there, and those fields," she started. "Have you ever been there to pick flowerers?"
He nodded. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
"Maybe we can go together some time, with you showing me those pretty flowers on those hills."
He remained silent. He nodded again. She smiled again. And with that, she got up and left.
"Let's go now," she said. He shrugged. Maybe he shouldn't have nodded yesterday. He didn't know how her mind worked. He went anyways, because he promised. And he needed a friend.
"What's this flower called?" she asked.
"An iris," he informed her.
"I didn't know they were so pretty," she told him. He shrugged.
"What's this, then?" she asked once again.
"I don't know, but I know where there are lots," he said.
"These are prettier than the irises. I love them."
He heard her comment.
"Wait," he said before disappearing for a few minutes. He came back with an handful of the flowers, a small bouquet. She smiled.
"Thank you."
"Huh…"
A sudden shower rained down on them. She gasped. She was only wearing a thing, soft pink sweater, since, though it was almost fall, it was still late summer.
He took her to an old hut next to the field of colorful flowers. It had so many holes in the thatched roof and no walls that it did not do any good for them. He placed her where there were fewer holes. She shivered still, getting soaked. She trembled. He frowned. He spotted a straw pile in the field. It was hollow inside, therefore used as a hideout for the younger boys when they were in trouble. It was small. They could not possibly both fit in there.
He led her to the straw pile. He told her to crawl in. She did. He sat outside, in the rain.
"Come in," she whispered on his shoulder. "Come in."
He sighed and did so. As he came in, he accidentally ruined her bouquet he made for her. She didn't think it was very important, but she was suddenly afraid, looking at the crumpled messy bouquet. The feeling passed quickly, and thought nothing more of it.
When he finally got in the straw pile, she could smell his damp "boy smell." She did not turn her head away at the smell. Rather, it comforted her, spreading warmth inside her.
The rain stopped. They went to the river to get home by crossing it, but found that the water level had risen.
She looked down at her skirt. Crossing the river and getting the skirt in worse condition would surely ruin it.
"Get on my back," he said, and crouched down. She looked at his back, dirty with mud. She didn't care. She got on.
He could feel her silky tresses caress his hands and cheeks. His face heated up.
The water reached his knees.
"Oh," she said softly. He carried her across the river and to her house.
Why wasn't she there today? He frowned. She hadn't shown up for three days now. What happened?
Ah, there she was. What was wrong with her?! She had gotten skinny, and her complexion was even paler, if that were possible.
He went to her, and she looked at him, smiling weakly, as if even that pained her.
"I've been sick," she stated. He nodded.
"Are you all well now?" he asked. She shook her head no.
"I needed some fresh air."
He told her to go home and rest. She smiled weakly again.
"I just wanted to talk to you for a while," she explained. He raised an eyebrow.
"Where do you think I got this stain from?" she asked, pointing at the reddish brown stain on the front of her soft pink sweater. He thought.
"I remember now," she said, "I got it when I rode on your back! This is from the mud that was on your back." He turned red. Her eyes danced with amusement. Then she was serious again.
"You know, I'm moving after a little 'party,' in honor of my uncle who is buried here, tonight. I just wanted to see you again one more time before I left." She got up and left. He stared after her.
What a baka he was! He hadn't even asked her to come back to the river once more before she moved so he could say goodbye for real.
"Baka…. You baka…" he thought to himself.
He was lying in bed, about to fall asleep. He heard his father's voice. Was he back from her 'party' already?
"…wasn't she their only child, too?" asked his mother.
"Yes, and now they lost her…" he heard his father sigh. "She'd been sick for a while now, too… all they needed to do was ask for some help… then that poor little thing wouldn't be dead."
"Oh my," he heard his mother gasp.
"She wants to be buried in her stained sweater, they say… I don't know why…" his father trailed off.
He froze. Kikyou was dead? Because he had taken her to pick flowers? Buried in her pink sweater with his mud stain? He was sad, but tears did not come. He knew he had at least given her a happy memory to carry on with her. Sudden showers are very short, but very strong. And their love, he realized, was as short and as strong as the rain they had stood in together.
2 years later
SHE was gone now, he knew, but he kept waiting at the bank of the river, every day. For what, he did not know. But he waited anyways. And today, she was here. Oh no, not HER, of course. But she was here, playing with and splashing the water like SHE used to. This time, he decided, he neither needed nor wanted a white rock thrown at him to get him to talk to her.
" Hey," he greeted, holding out his hand. "I'm Inuyasha."
She smiled, and his heart rate quickened, for it wasn't like HER small smiles. It was a big, genuine, glad-you-talked-to-me smile.
"Kagome Higurashi," she said, shaking his hand.
SHE watched from above. Yes, this Higurashi girl would do… she would be willing to give HER Inuyasha to him. SHE smiled also, predicting a much longer and much more intense love between them, about to bloom.
( next day, later the same day)