Early April brought back the bright pink of the university’s cherry bolsos, spreading that gentle scent that always made me feel like the world could be softer than it really was.

  I ignored the bench in the shade and sat directly on the damp grass beneath the first tree.

  It was still too early for any other student to be there, but ever since my father died — four days ago — I hadn’t been able to sleep.

  I never learned to sleep alone. I always fell asleep wrapped in my parents’ arms, surrounded by their warmth and safety. Now, everything was empty.

  I was scared. Alone. Sick. But I wasn’t sad. Sadness had always been a strange feeling to me: I would cry, but it felt as if my body were only signaling that something was wrong; the next moment, I could laugh just as intensely.

  And that’s exactly what happened when I saw her: an almost childish smile lit up my face the moment Nara appeared around the corner of the path.

  She had just turned eighteen, with straight, long hair falling down to the middle of her back, and a delicate beauty that hurt. Since I moved to that coastal town, Nara had been my anchor — the one who supported me the most, the only one who truly tried to understand me.

  I am absolutely certain that without her, I would have died long ago.

  But, like everything in my life, she was both my salvation and my source of suffering.

  Nara forced me to keep my distance from boys — she said I lost myself too easily — but made up for it by staying close to me, hugging me, giving me the kind of affection that kept me alive.

  The problem was the way I saw her. Passion is desire.

  And I desired her — not with the body: at that age, sex was still a distant concept.

  My desire was different, deeper, more voracious.

  If I could, I would glue my lips to hers and never let them go.

  But there were rules. And if I broke them, I would lose my friend — or worse, bring trouble to her and her family.

  So I learned to feed only on what she allowed me: her hugs, the gentle touch of her hands, the way she held me when she noticed I was about to collapse.

  For her, it was some kind of therapy; for me, it was love in its purest and most desperate form.

  “How are you, Yoko?” she asked, sitting beside me.

  Her worried eyes contrasted with the joy I felt just by seeing her.

  “Awful,” I confessed. “I really need a hug.”

  “Just a hug! No kissing on the mouth again,” she grumbled. “I already told you I’m not a lesbian.”

  I smiled, embarrassed.

  The day before, the attraction I felt for her was so strong that I kissed her while crying.

  Even I didn’t know whether I cried from sadness or joy.

  What mattered was that she let me do it. Scared, yes. But she let me.

  That had been the third kiss I stole from her.

  The first was the day we met — and she ran away from me for days, until she understood my condition.

  Then she apologized… and I, thinking everything was beautiful, kissed her again.

  I promised I would never do it again. Promise broken, of course.

  “I know…” I whispered. “But I needed it. I’m sorry.”

  She didn’t look angry — she looked more afraid of what could happen to me.

  When I raised my eyes, I saw hers glistening with tears.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  I could almost hear her thoughts…

  but I got distracted devouring the softness of her lips with my gaze.

  “The whole class knows about your condition,” she said with a sigh.

  “That’s why no one minds hugging you… but kisses on the mouth, Yoko… you only did that with the boys.”

  She hugged me, and I held on to her as if my life depended on it — because it did.

  “Kissing boys is allowed…” I complained.

  “I’m embarrassed, but the need is stronger. I’ve kissed many.

  They don’t want anything serious with a girl who clings like that.

  Some want sex… and complain when they get slapped.”

  I didn’t understand what shame was.

  It sounded like an impossible luxury for someone who needed human touch so desperately.

  “You hit Kazuo way too hard.”

  “If he comes at me again, I’ll hit him again.

  He touched what he shouldn’t.

  And he even bet with the others that he could get more than kisses.

  Is it so hard to understand that all I want is affection?”

  If there had been love in his touch, I would have allowed it — and asked for more.

  “Just affection? Yoko, you don’t let go.

  Boys don’t want to commit to a girl who’s glued to them. There’s a limit to everything.”

  “And my life has a limit too,” I murmured.

  She took a deep breath, trying to hold back her own agony.

  “I don’t know what would become of me without you, Yumi, and Aiko.”

  “We know you need this. We’re your friends. We love you.”

  I smiled and rested my head on her shoulder.

  Her embrace dissolved me.

  The world became bearable again.

  “Thank you. I love you too.

  Your hugs… or your kiss…” I smiled, blushing,

  “they nourish me more than any kiss without love.”

  “And now? What are you going to do without your father?

  Are they going to let you live alone?”

  I broke the hug and let the tears fall.

  I caressed her black hair before managing to say:

  “The same thing that happened to my mother will happen to me.

  She had the same disease.

  Nara… I’m going to die.

  My mother didn’t last even a month without my father.

  And these four days of sleeping without his embrace… are killing me.”

  Sometimes I felt that the more love I received,

  the more my body demanded.

  Before, a hug was enough.

  Now… it seemed like I always needed a bit more to stay alive.

  “No!” She grabbed my arm, desperate.

  “You need to talk to your doctor. Maybe there’s a stronger medicine.”

  Her concern gave me an absurd joy.

  “There is no medicine.

  Only love keeps me alive.

  But…” I smiled sweetly

  “I’m happy. Reaching eighteen in this condition is a victory.”

  “Stop!” She cried. “I won’t let you die.”

  And then she kissed me — crying.

  I cried too, but from happiness.

  I needed that more than I could explain.

  “Thank you…” I whispered.

  “I don’t even know how to explain how good that feels.”

  “We need to find you a husband,” she said, wiping her face.

  I rolled my eyes. The same old conversation.

  “I don’t want someone to marry me out of pity.

  And he would have to truly love someone so clingy like me.

  Some even feel disgust…”

  “I know,” she sighed.

  “I felt it too… at first.

  But then… then I started liking it.

  When you hug… when you kiss…

  it’s like a force comes out of you and enters me.

  I think it’s your love. It feels… nice.”

  Nara blushed, and I wiped her tears.

  “I feel it too,” I admitted.

  “I feel like I’m absorbing something from you… and I love it.”

  Suddenly, she stood up with a determined expression.

  “I’m not going to let you die.”

  I stood too, waiting.

  “I’ll ask the principal to come to my house and explain everything to my parents.

  You’re going to live with me. You’ll be my sister.

  You’ll sleep wrapped in my arms.”

  My heart nearly exploded.

  “Will your parents understand?” I asked, already crying.

  “You know they will. They adore you.

  My mother is always saying you’re special.”

  I fell to my knees, overwhelmed with gratitude.

  She pulled me into a long hug until my body stopped shaking.

  “Tell them I won’t be a burden.

  My father left enough money…”

  “Perfect. Tonight you’ll sleep there.

  And we’ll have time to find a boyfriend for you.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “And if we don’t find one?”

  “Then I’ll marry you,” she said, furious.

  I smiled.

  “But you said you’re not a lesbian.”

  “I’m not.”

  She took a deep breath.

  “But I love you.”