271 I Want to Keep Watching Sendai-san - Story About Buying My Classmate Once A Week

I Want to Keep Watching Sendai-san Chapter 271 She's late. Sendai-san hasn't returned from the bathroom. I walked in a circle around the table in the shared space and then let out a deep sigh. Facing her feels difficult. Even talking to her seems hard. Today, I was the one who suggested doing it, and I did what I wanted. Yet, Sendai-san appeared different from how she's always been, which makes me feel as though I've also become someone other than who I was before. If possible, I'd like to escape this house and go somewhere—anywhere. But if I run away, I wouldn't know if Sendai-san ended up somewhere else entirely. If something that belongs to me changes into something unknown in my absence, it would be troubling. That's why, despite the embarrassment, I have to stay here and keep my eyes on Sendai-san. Yet, she hasn't come back. When I asked about dinner, she unexpectedly said, "Cup noodles are fine," and has since vanished into the bathroom. I should have set a timer like with cup noodles—something like forty-five or sixty minutes. That way, all I'd have to do is watch the clock, without fussing over when she'd return from the bathroom. I poke at the container of one of the two prepared cup noodles, the one on the right. The tall container rolls along the table, towards the edge, stopping just short of falling to the floor. "She's definitely late." I place the rolling cup noodle atop the other. It feels like it's been over an hour now. Maybe she's collapsed in the bathroom. If I keep waiting here, it might be too late. So, I should go check on her. If nothing's wrong, that's fine. If something is, then going to the bathroom will have served its purpose. I leave the shared space and walk down the short hallway, stopping to anxiously gaze at the bathroom door. I've never opened this door while Sendai-san was bathing, nor have I ever thought to. "I'm just concerned." I murmur softly, exhaling. This is not a mistake; it's the right thing to do for a roommate. If she's unwell, that would be a problem. She's more prone to catching colds than I am, having been bedridden twice that I know of. It's not that she's weak, but she's not especially sturdy, either. It's simply concern about her being in the bathroom so long. This isn't deep or profound. "I'm opening it." Facing the bathroom, I say the words I don't quite mean, and open the door. Naturally, Sendai-san isn't there; only the basket holding her change of clothes remains. I look at the door separating the sink area from the bath. One step, then two. I move closer to the door. There's light inside but no clear glimpse of her. I hear no water. No singing. —Though I don't even know if she sings in the bath. I give the door a light tap, calling, "Sendai-san." There's a splash and her voice floats through. "...What?" "Are you alive?" "I'm alive. What's going on?" Sendai-san answers in her usual clear voice. It only faintly echoes, and her tone hasn't shifted. "I just came to confirm you're still alive." "What's that supposed to mean?" "You were taking too long, so I was worried you might've collapsed." "I'm fine, so don't worry. I'll be out soon." "Well, that's good." It's not really good. Knowing she hasn't collapsed or is unwell hasn't made my legs change their rooted stance. Despite having no more reason to stay, I can't take my eyes off the door. "...Miyagi, are you still there?" A voice neither loud nor soft reaches me, followed by another gentle splash. "Yeah." I voice my reply towards the door and tap lightly again. "Even if you don't stand watch there, I won't get dizzy." Though she let me touch her and made rarely heard sounds earlier, her voice now seems to have forgotten all that. I thought I knew everything about Sendai-san, but with her beyond this door, she feels like a stranger. I tap the door once more, pressing my palm flat against it. "Sendai-san." I can't see her even though she's so close. My Sendai-san remains out of sight. "Yes?" "Can I open it?" I find the door obstructive, covering what I wish to see—my Sendai-san. I want to open it now and affirm her presence. But she isn't a stuffed toy. She's not like the penguin resting in my room—something I can turn, rotate, or do as I please with. If I opened the door without asking, she might not want to talk to me or could begin to dislike me. So, I wait for her response. "...No." Her faint, unclear voice reaches me. "Why?" "Why, you ask? That's my line. Why would you open it? There's no need." "Because I want to see." I respond carefully, barely loud enough for her to hear, but get no reply. Only the sound of water gently breaking the silence reaches me. Sendai-san doesn't speak. Though it's unlike her to show modesty. She's usually unashamed. Yet today, she won't respond to my words. "Sendai-san." When I call, urging an answer, another splash sounds and then her voice arrives. "If you say you'll join me in the bath, I might let you open it." Her trivial suggestion miffs me—I give the door a light kick. "...I'll be in my room, so come out before you faint." "Miyagi, you're such a killjoy." The loud splash sounds and the bathroom lapses into silence. I detach my hand from the door and unroot my reluctant feet, retreating to my room. Switching on the light, I pull a black cat plush from my shelf and place it by my pillow. Shoving the penguin that I'd tucked in towards the bed's edge, I lie down. With a heavy exhale, I press the unrelinquished plush against the wall. "Are you going back to Sendai-san?" The penguin that came to my room from hers now seems like it belongs beside me, preventing me from returning it. Sendai-san hasn't been asking for it back. Thus, perhaps it's fine for it to stay with me, but who knows—maybe the plush wishes to return. "Say something, won't you?" The penguin doesn't talk. Of course not. Yet it's bothersome. "You're a lot more taciturn than Sendai-san." I place the penguin on my chest and give its head a light pat. Tomorrow is White Day, but today is just an ordinary day. While it might be one of those dates that's easily memorable, it's not a day that could be called an anniversary. Since it's just an insignificant day, I figured it should be fine. Just a regular spring break day. There's nothing wrong with feeling like "I want to do it" on one out of the 365 days, especially when Sendai-san might accept it. Even if it feels like I've become different from who I used to be, that's just how it is for today. So, I'll make up my mind. I'll return those muddled feelings of wanting to see, touch, or be touched, along with the penguin Sendai-san gave me, and decide not to engage in such things anymore. I inhale deeply, then exhale. I pinch the penguin's beak. Doing such things repeatedly would surely drive me crazy. I don't need to rewind time to when I was eating instant noodles alone, but maybe I should go back to being the version of myself who didn't know the Sendai-san I saw atop the bed. I release the penguin's beak, gazing at its expressionless face. Once more, I touch its beak, hesitating over whether to kiss it. Instead, I toss its round body up towards the ceiling.