Today was Hana's sixteenth birthday. But instead of looking forward to it, apprehension was the only thing she felt. November 9 may have been the day she was born, but it was also a completely different birthday. A far more disastrous event, which had enormous repercussions in the life of the child she once was.

Three years ago, her parents died.

Outside, it was pouring. Unceasingly, for some time now. Even the heavens seemed to agree that there was nothing to celebrate. The sky was gray. Bland. Light struggled to cross them. The clouds spilled their tears continuously, making the mood even gloomier than it already was.

So cliché, Hana mused as she strolled through the now muddy alleys. The gravel crunched unpleasantly under her feet, and as she progressed along the path that had become just as slippery as muddy, the water seeped into her shoes and began to soak her socks too. As if that weren't enough, the brunette hadn't taken an umbrella with her. The water trickled through her hair, seeping under her jacket and freezing her epidermis. From time to time, slight tremors shook her frail shoulders.

Hana could have expected it. Every time, she'd end up soaked from head to toe after wandering the streets during the rain. The young woman should have known that today, D-Day, would be no exception, not to mention the fact that she'd once again be skipping her classes in this miserable weather. She'd been walking to the school gates for several days before finally going in the opposite direction, not having the courage to go in.

Boots would probably have been more appropriate for such wet weather, but the thought hadn't even crossed her mind. It was far too busy counting the hours until she would actually get to the cemetery, and now that she was finally there, a feeling of emptiness had taken the place of the anguish that had been reigning within her for several weeks already.

Finding her parents' graves in this almost endless row of slabs wasn't a difficult task. Countless objects had been left in their memory by those who once iodized the figure skating couple. Flowers, letters, even pictures. There were so many of them that they were spilling over onto the gravel path. The young woman almost felt sorry for the neighboring graves, bare in comparison with that of the late Hoshino couple.

Hana sat down the flowers she had brought with her. A bouquet of chrysanthemums, bought earlier from the florist. In the store, she'd found it to her liking, but now that it was among these arrangements of flowers, each more opulent than the last, the young woman couldn't help but find her bouquet tiny and insignificant. It was pitiful. She felt ridiculous with her offering.

It was as if she were just another fan, not the daughter of the deceased.

What a strange feeling, to realize that once again, complete strangers were paying homage to her progenitors far better than she ever could. If we saw her like this, would they still think of how insensitive she seemed regarding their loss? Would they still remember how she hadn't shed a single tear during the funeral? Would they call her heartless when they saw her emotionless face in the newspapers?

What kind of atrocities would she still have to face if she were seen bringing such a small bouquet of flowers as a tribute on the third anniversary of her parents' death?

—Let them say what they want, muttered Hana, kneeling down in front of the white marble tombstone. Those people who iodized you, they don't know what you were really like.

Her gaze fell on the epitaph and latched on to the engraving "Yuki Hoshino & Ha-Yoon Hoshino", and despite the knot of resentment tightening in her throat, the need to express what she'd been holding in for too long managed to override it.

—They didn't know you like I knew you, she continued in a low voice. Nobody but me saw you in your true light, when the cameras and spotlights were off. They don't know...

Her chest tightened, and her eyes began to sting. Unconsciously, her hands clutched the fabric of her skirt with a little more insistence. In the distance, passers-by pretended not to see her, vaguely suspecting her identity.

She must have been a sight to behold, with her pale complexion and livid eyes.

—They don't know, said Hana, her voice trembling. They don't know that you didn't want to see me cry.

How could she forget her father's words? He'd repeated them often enough for them to remain engraved in her mind forever. Under no circumstances was she to cry. She wasn't allowed to. Not then. Not now. Not ever. But it's...

—But it's too hard.

Her teeth suddenly sank into her lower lip, barely containing the sob she'd been holding back for days. Hana had always thought she'd be better off without her parents, so why was she angry with them for abandoning her to her fate? Why did she feel an emptiness in her heart when she thought of them?

—I hated you for making me suffer when you were alive, Hana breathed in a broken voice. You were so hateful to me, when all I wanted was to make you proud. Did you ever once feel that way about me?

She was just a child forced to grow up too fast, now lost in the contradiction of emotions she didn't understand. How could anyone both wish and regret the death of their tormentors? How could relief and pain coexist within her? No words would ever be strong enough to describe how torn her soul was at that single thought.

—When you were alive, did you love me, even for a second? Murmured the brunette, her eyes glistening with tears. Or was I just a burden on you and your reputation? Did I ever reach a quarter of your expectations?

So many questions to which she would never get an answer.

—I think I hate you even more for making me suffer now that you're gone, Hana admitted, closing her eyes. I miss you. Even after everything you've put me through. It's not right. I'm not normal. You're horrible.

Was it rain or tears, streaming down her cheeks? The distinction was as unclear as the flood of emotion she felt when she thought of those who had once been her parents.

—What am I supposed to do now? She wondered aloud. I was forcing myself to follow your path, but now that you're no longer here to see my progress, there's no point in continuing. Still, quitting isn't even an option I can think about.

Forcing herself to do what she didn't want to do had always been one of her specialties.

—I don't have anyone to count on. No one who would care about me if it weren't for figure skating. My existence in the eyes of others can only be summed up by what you've bequeathed me. So if I stop, it's like putting an end to who I am.

Well, not quite, Hana mused, as the face of a boy with pretty light eyes flashed across her mind. There was one person who seemed to be interested in her for a reason other than figure skating or the celebrity she might embody. He had never sought her out because she was the Hoshino's daughter. To be precise, he didn't even know who she was when they first met on the bridge. And even after that, nothing about his behavior towards her had changed.

However, Hana would be lying to herself if she were to claim that his reasons were more laudable, but that didn't change the reasoning of her thought. He was there because she, just she, interested him. And nothing else.

With the back of her hand, the young woman wiped away her tears. She found herself pathetic, talking alone over her parents' grave while whining about subjects she didn't want to give any more credit to. The past couldn't be changed. Events would remain etched in time, whether she liked it or not.

—I don't think you'd like the weak girl I've become, Hana joked bitterly, laughing nervously. I've been skipping school all week. And some training, too, though I'm about to start competing again. I even got detention once, but that's a long story.

Another laugh escaped her lips as she recalled her famous detention.

—But what I do most is sneak out at night, she confided as soon as her laughter had subsided. I often go to parties where there's enough alcohol for a blackout to ensue. And sometimes I smoke. Not always, but enough for me to mention it. And that's not all...

Hana paused to catch her breath.

—I've met a boy. We're not exactly friends, but we're far from being strangers. He's older than me, but he still treats me as an equal. It's hard to explain, but he makes me feel like I don't have to pretend. It's thanks to him that I can party and try out new ways of having fun.

A strangled laugh escaped him.

—If you were still here, I'm sure you wouldn't have approved. He has several tattoos, doesn't bother coming to class on time, and smokes quite a few unsavory substances. But then, when I would have told you his name, I think you'd probably have changed your mind about him. You'd probably have turned a blind eye to any faults you might have found in him, simply because he belongs to a good family and lives in an affluent environment. The image we reflect always takes precedence over the other side of the coin, doesn't it?

Hana sighed softly, letting her last words float in the air.

—That's why I think I can go now without someone accusing me of being an ungrateful daughter, she murmured as she struggled to her feet. I've spent enough time lamenting my miserable life to make anyone watching me in this cemetery believe that I'm simply and deeply saddened by your fate.

Even when they were no longer there to reprimand her, she felt obliged to keep up appearances. As if in fear of further tarnishing their image. She couldn't help it, and as much as she hated herself for acting this way, Hana didn't have the strength to do otherwise. If she had to be seen grief-stricken at her parents' graves at least on the day they died, she would do it for the sake of peace.

The real source of all her sadness, no one needed to know. It was better this way.

—See you in a year, my dear parents.

With her head held high despite the tears blurring her vision, Hana walked away without a backward glance. Mechanically, her steps led her out of the cemetery, and in the same way, she let herself be guided through the pedestrian streets. She needed to walk, to clear her head of the thoughts haunting her mind.

Lost in her dreams, several hours passed before she became aware of it. Soon, the last rays of sun would disappear, and the young woman had no idea where she could be.

Hana slowed down, then came to a complete stop. At that moment, she realized for the first time how much her legs were shaking. Whether from fatigue or cold, she couldn't tell. What she did know, however, was that she couldn't go much further without the risk of collapsing at any moment. So, without further ado, the young woman crossed her arms on the railing and watched the sky until it lost its last glimmers of light.

Behind her, Hana could hear the night traffic speeding by. Headlights blinded her before plunging her back into the dusk of night. In the distance, a streetlight faintly illuminated the road, but she hadn't bothered to approach it. She didn't want to draw attention to herself, for a car to stop and ask if she was all right, no doubt telling her that it wasn't very reassuring to find a young girl alone, so late at night, on the edge of a bridge whose morbid reputation left much to be desired. And although Hana would say anything to clear her name, no one would have believed her when they saw her deplorable appearance.

Hana closed her eyelids and sighed heavily. True, she was no longer crying, her body having no tears left to spare, but her eyes were red and irritated. Her throat was completely parched, making her uncomfortable, and her head felt so heavy that she wondered how she could still find the strength to hold it in place on her shoulders. At any moment, the young woman could have collapsed.

What a great way to spend a birthday.

After a few more seconds, Hana sniffed loudly and opened her eyes again. Her head tilted forward, diverting from the night sky to the utter emptiness that lay dozens of meters below. With intensity, her eyes began to stare at the trail that taunted her, barely visible in the half-light. And the more she observed the ground, the more it seemed to beckon her to crack her skull on its asphalt surface.

Like an invite she couldn't refuse.