Koto Nanka Zenzen Suki Janain Dakara Ne | Okaasan No

And Haruki, for the first time in years, didn’t add his usual line.

The next morning, walking home in the frozen dawn, Haruki kicked a can down the empty street. Yuki walked beside him, still wearing his scarf. okaasan no koto nanka zenzen suki janain dakara ne

He stared at the note. Then he ate his rice alone, watching the snow pile on the windowsill. At 8 p.m., she still wasn’t home. At 10 p.m., he called her phone. No answer. At midnight, he pulled on his jacket and walked two miles through the blizzard to the city hospital. And Haruki, for the first time in years,

“Okaasan no koto nanka zenzen suki janain dakara ne” — “It’s not like I like you or anything, Mom.” Every morning, thirteen-year-old Haruki muttered this under his breath before slamming the front door. His mother, Yuki, would just smile from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Have a good day, Haru!” He stared at the note