After shopping, we used the planetarium tickets the lost-girl’s parents had given us. We settled into the chairs, stars projected on ceiling and walls. I’d hardly been to a planetarium — fresh.
“Recognize those three stars?”
“Deneb in Cygnus, Altair in Aquila, Vega in Lyra.”
“You know them.”
“Summer Triangle is famous.”
She looked mildly impressed; I delivered my limited astronomy knowledge with full smugness. (I only know the Summer Triangle and the Big Dipper.)
“Vega is Orihime and Altair is Hikoboshi — you knew that. But did you know it would be very difficult for them to actually meet once a year?”
“Really?”
“Vega and Altair are over fourteen light-years apart. Even at light speed it’s a fourteen-year trip each way.”
“Didn’t know that.”
If it took 14 years one-way, they’d only meet a handful of times across a lifetime. The myth says they were separated for getting lazy after marrying — that punishment seems harsh.
“So when we get married let’s not get lazy like Orihime and Hikoboshi.”
”…When did we get married become the baseline assumption?”
“Is the idea of marrying me bad?”
I’d retorted and her face went sad. Guilt — I scrambled.
“Not bad. I just can’t picture it yet.”
“Then let’s live together to make it more imaginable?”
“That is skipping a lot of steps — we aren’t even dating!”
“You said you couldn’t picture it — try it. Kissing and sex are also fine, of course.”
“Please don’t tease me.”
“I’m pretty serious actually.”
(Cannot win.) The planetarium became almost incidental. An hour and a half flew, and we walked out into evening light.
“Got a lot done.”
“Aquarium, shopping, planetarium — fun.”
“The planetarium got hijacked by your bit, though.”
“Aw — did I do that?”
“I remember it clearly.”
We headed to bike parking. Even with the new shopping, the rear box held it all.
“This weekend is my school’s open campus, right?”
“Yeah. The follow-up report is crushing my soul preemptively.”
“Big sister will be your tour guide, leave it to me.”
“You’re actually going to guide me?”
I’d taken her I’ll guide you from the Tokyo Summer Hills conversation as a joke. Unless you’re staff you can’t really guide.
“And — I’m registered as a high schooler for the open campus.”
“Wait — you can do that?”
“Yeah, our open-campus registration doesn’t really check.”
She showed me her phone — the confirmation email. Lots to comment on.
“Age fudged, fine. But — Kujo Kano for last name?”
“If I registered as Yuki Kano people might recognize. So Kujo.”
(There was actual thought behind the absurdity.)
“So we’re going as classmates.”
“Already a lot of pre-anxiety here…”
I had nothing but worries. But you can’t stop Kano.