I stood at the door for a long time. My hands were cold enough to sweat, and my heart was beating erratically. Even though I knew you were behind the white door, I felt like something irreversible would happen if I went in. Still, I had to go in.

I reached for the doorknob, pulled back, reached again, and then finally, with a thump— I pushed it open.

The fluorescent light stung my eyes. In the far corner of the empty room, I saw you sitting by the window. Outside, the winter sky was a dull gray. The sight was both unfamiliar and strangely familiar.

"...What are you doing here?"

My first words were pathetic, I even found it funny. Regret filled my throat, but I was afraid that if it came out, it would be an apology too late. So, I pretended to be angry. It felt like I could still breathe only if I acted like you were the one who called me.

"No, if you had contacted me, wouldn't I have come? Back then, and even now, it's all your fault—"

I had to cling to blaming you, even if it was forced. It made the time I was gone, the days I ignored you, seem less cruel.

But your eyes, that expressionless gaze, somehow dismantled all my excuses. The cold air choked my throat, and my fingertips trembled.

Not knowing what else to say, I just stood there. It was all I could do.