Morning came, and nothing had happened. Some part of me was relieved that nothing had. And being relieved made me a little angry.

I'd only meant to see him off at the station, but at the ticket gate, my feet didn't stop. Before I knew it, I was standing on the bullet train platform. I can't really explain why.

As we said goodbye, he gave an embarrassed little smile and said, "If neither of us is married by thirty, marry me, okay?" I didn't take it seriously. I didn't forget it, either.

The next month, I was leaving for Paris. It was already decided, and that day, I didn't tell him. I loved Utrillo, who painted the streets of Paris. Back in middle school, I used to paint pictures like his. I'm sure he never knew.