Forgiveness

Ksenia laughed and looked away.

"...Are you angry?"

"No." Ksenia looked ahead. "I'm at my dorm. You should head back early too."

"Ksenia..."

"The final performance is at the beginning of next month. Even if it keeps running after that, I won't be the lead anymore," she said softly. "Will you come?"

"...I will."

"I'm telling you in advance this time. There shouldn't be any special circumstances again, right?"

"There won't."

Hesta stood at the intersection and watched Ksenia walk toward the dormitory entrance. Just before going inside, Ksenia suddenly stopped. When she found Hesta still standing where she was, an inexplicable sorrow washed over her.

That fleeting expression of grief struck Hesta's heart like lightning. At last, she sensed that something had been wrong between her and Ksenia tonight. Perhaps it wasn't just tonight—lately, the two of them no longer seemed able to talk as smoothly as they once had.

Many times, Hesta had vaguely felt that Ksenia was expecting something. But whenever she asked, Ksenia always breezily turned the conversation elsewhere. Hesta could have pressed on, yet she could clearly read a hint of disappointment on Ksenia's face, as if there was something Hesta ought to have understood but hadn't. Hesta felt at a loss, and their conversations would always swiftly drift elsewhere through such gaps.

Hesta had once resolved to talk to Ksenia about it. Yet there was always too much time between making that resolution and actually seeing her, and too many things in between wore away at her strength. Whenever she saw Ksenia, all she wanted was to sit quietly at her side, even if neither of them said anything.

Perhaps that was precisely why things had slowly gotten worse.

Back in her dorm, Ksenia was still thinking about the moment before they parted. Her