Page 27 of Kotori
"What about you, Kohana-chan?" I ask. "What do you dream about?"
"Books," she says immediately, then blushes. "I mean, writing them. Stories where people get to choose their own endings."
"And you, Aya-chan?"
"I want to be a veterinarian!" she announces with a grin. "And have lots of animals and help them when they're sick!"
"Those are all wonderful dreams," I say firmly. "And dreams aren't selfish—they're necessary. They're what make life worth living."
"Easy to say when you're American," Mizuki mutters, but there's no malice in it. Just tired acceptance.
"You're right," I admit. "I am American. I grew up believing I could be anything I wanted. But you know what I learned? Dreams without action stay dreams. And sometimes the people who love us need to see us fighting for what matters before they understand how important it is."
Mizuki looks up sharply. "What do you mean?"
"Your father sees a daughter who accepts her fate without question. What if he saw a daughter with passion, with direction, with specific goals she was willing to work toward? Do you think his response might be different?"
"He'd be angry," she says automatically.
"Or would he be proud that he raised a daughter strong enough to know what she wants?"
I can see Mizuki's expression hardening. "I couldn't disappoint him," she says, voice getting colder.
"Honey." I reach toward her hand. "Sometimes the biggest disappointment is watching someone you love give up on themselves."
Mizuki jerks away from my touch, her composure finally cracking. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
"Mizuki-chan."
"No." She stands abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. "You've been here a week and you think you understand our family? Our world?" Her voice rises, eighteen years of pressure exploding. "You don't know anything about sacrifice or duty or what it means to be part of something bigger than your selfish dreams!"
Kohana shrinks back in her chair. Little Aya's eyes go wide with confusion and fear.
"I was just trying to—"
"To what? Save me?" Mizuki's laugh is bitter. "I have responsibilities you couldn't comprehend," Mizuki continues, her perfect posture rigid with fury. "We all do. And some naive American teacher isn't going to change that with pretty speeches about following dreams."
She grabs her books with shaking hands. "Kohana, Aya, lessons are over for today."
"But—" Kohana starts.
"Now." Mizuki's tone brooks no argument. She heads for the door, then turns back. "And Paige-sensei? Next time you want to play savior, maybe learn something about the people you think need saving first."
The door slides shut behind her with controlled violence, leaving me alone with Kohana's worried face and Aya's trembling lip.
"Is Mizuki-nee okay?" Aya whispers, tears starting to spill.
"She will be," I say, though I'm not sure I believe it. "She's just frustrated."
"She's scared," Kohana says quietly. "We all are."
"Scared of what?"
Kohana looks toward the door where her sister disappeared. "Of wanting things we can't have. Of disappointing Otou-san. Of being weak."
The weight in her young voice breaks my heart. "Wanting things doesn't make you weak."
"It does in our world," Kohana says with the resignation of someone far too young to sound so defeated. "Mizuki-nee knows that. She was trying to protect us from hoping too much."
