“I want to be like Hikaru Genji, from The Tale of Genji.”
That’s what he said to me when I was 21.
…Honestly, what the hell?
But back then, I loved him.
I really did.
I took a long-distance bus just to go see him.
I had to see him.
He was chasing a dream in music.
Sending out demo tapes (do you even know what those are?) to record labels, hoping for a break.
Now that I think about it, that whole “Hikaru Genji” thing—maybe it was just his way of saying he wanted to be adored.
I didn’t fully get it at the time.
But I think he wanted to be seen—not just by me, but by everyone.
Sure, I was young. But so was he. We were both just kids.
One day, I was at his place when someone came to the door.
He peeked through the peephole and said it was a woman from the second floor he knew.
I thought he might answer the door.
But instead, he whispered,
“…Let’s pretend I’m not home.”
And just like that, he and I sat there in silence, pretending not to exist.
A foggy thought drifted into my head:
What am I to this man, really?
I wasn’t his girlfriend. Not exactly a friend, either.
Just someone who showed up when called.
The version of me today?
She’d’ve packed her things, walked out the door, and said to that woman:
“He’s cheating on you with me.”
(Laughs.)
But back then, I didn’t say anything.
I just sat there, hazy and silent, like it didn’t matter.
Later, while he dozed off, I slipped out for a walk.
It was March. The light was warm, but the wind still held a chill.
I walked under rows of cherry trees, all bare.
An elderly couple passed by, hand in hand.
They gave me a gentle nod. I smiled back.
By the riverbank, mustard flowers bloomed wildly.
They were beautiful.
When I got ready to leave, he said, “See you.”
I said, “Yeah. See you.”
Like nothing had happened.
I took the same bus home.
Somewhere around the express lane, the tears started falling.
I had known, deep down.
I was just pretending I didn’t.
I never saw him again after that.
He called once and asked, “How have you been?”
I said, “I’m fine.”
And the years passed.
Not long ago, I came across his Facebook.
Looks like he’s still doing music.
That made me happy, in a distant kind of way.
No, he never became Hikaru Genji.
But he’s still standing, still creating.
Even that little ache I felt back then—
somehow, now, it feels soft. Almost sweet.
A memory that quietly visited me this morning.
He chased his dreams back then.
Now, it’s my turn.
With my MacBook Pro at my side,
I’ll keep living,
keep writing—
as a novelist,
quietly.
Steadily.