Β©Novel Buddy
Accidentally become a father-Chapter 10: The Distance That Began to Shrink
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"You didnβt?"
I looked at her.
"I said she was pretty and had a nice voice."
"Just that?"
"Thatβs enough."
She fell silent. ππ«ππ²πππ―ππ¨π§ππ.ππ π¦
Stared at her own hands resting on the futon.
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"If you liked Mama, maybe I wouldnβt have had to come here."
Her tone was light.
But a little too light.
I leaned back on my hands.
"If I liked your Mama, my life would probably be a lot more complicated."
She whipped her head around.
"Why?"
"Because wildly popular people usually bring a lot of noise with them."
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"Am I noisy?"
"Not yet."
She let out a small sigh.
Then lay back down on her futon.
Staring at the ceiling.
The room now held two people staring upward from two different spots.
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And the armβs length of space between us felt like an invisible line that we were slowly testing.
The main light was still on.
I sat up slightly and reached for the wall switch.
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"What time is lights out?" Yuna asked.
"Now."
Click.
The room plunged into dimness.
dark.
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Yuna was still lying down, but her eyes were open.
"Do you usually sleep early?" I asked.
"If Iβm told to."
"Nobodyβs telling you to right now."
She was quiet for a moment.
"What if I donβt sleep?"
"You still have to wake up tomorrow."
"What for?"
"To live."
She turned her head slightly toward me.
"Do you always answer like that, Papa?"
"Long answers are exhausting."
A brief silence.
The sound of a passing car echoed in the distance.
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"You didnβt ask about Mama," she said softly.
"I know enough."
"Arenβt you curious?"
"I know sheβs an idol. That alone explains why your life is so complicated."
"Arenβt you mad, Papa?"
"At what?"
"Because you suddenly have a child."
I stared at the ceiling.
"If I were mad, what would change?"
She didnβt answer right away.
"You could have just rejected me."
"I could have."
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"You could have sent me away."
"I could have."
Her voice grew smaller.
"But you didnβt."
I let out a soft sigh.
"You showed up with official documents. That takes a lot of effort."
"That wasnβt me."
"I know."
She went quiet.
Truly quiet this time.
Not the kind of silence waiting for a response.
But the kind of silence of someone who had lost their script.
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"I donβt like acting," I said suddenly.
She stiffened slightly.
"I know youβre smart," I continued. "You can give quick answers. Put on the right expressions. Look tough."
Silence.
"But this is a small apartment. There are no cameras here."
She didnβt move.
"If youβre tired of being a good kid, then donβt be."
The blue light from outside was just enough to show the thin line of her tense shoulders.
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"I donβt have to be a good kid?"
"Just donβt become a criminal."
That drew a short breath from her, almost like a laugh.
Thenβ
A small voice.
Very small.
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"Papa."
I waited for the correction to leave my mouth.
It didnβt.
I simply replied,
"Hm?"
"If I get a little noisy... can I still stay?"
I closed my eyes.
"As long as you donβt use a megaphone."
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A few seconds of silence.
Then, the soft rustle of fabric.
As if she had rolled over to face me.
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"Good night, Papa."
The inflection was different this time.
Not a statement.
Not a strategy.
More like an experiment.
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I opened my eyes a fraction.
The ceiling remained plain white.
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"Good night."
No correction.
No rejection.
Just two gray futons in a small Tokyo apartment.
And an armβs length of space that felt just a little bit shorter than before.
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