“Who lived next door to you before?”

She is referring to the empty double bed room next to mine. My dorm. The higher class one. I could just barely pay for the expenses, my freshman year in university.

Our dorms are co-ed, so my room was sandwiched between two guy rooms. I was supposed to have a roommate, but she didn’t come on move-in day. A last minute cancellation. To the university across the city. The room on my left had two from the baseball team. They came here with big dreams and sports scholarships. But the room on my right.

The now empty spacious room was home to someone. Someone who was like me. With an invisible roommate. But now, he’s gone too. My invisible friend.

-

We first met one day after morning classes. He had held out his pale hand with long fingers. A handshake of greeting.

“Hello. Nice to meet you. I’m Shiro.”

“Shiro” means “white” in his mother tongue.

Maybe the color white was also the color of solitude. He was always alone. And I was his silent observer. I felt drawn to my mysterious dorm neighbor. Alone at meals. Alone during classes. Alone in his room.

He played piano, on the frail and aged grand in the common room. Quite a valuable instrument to put in a dorm. Well, the higher class dorm is no cheap place.

He would play with the moonlight on his bleached white hair. The stardust dancing upon his fingertips. His shadow would split the beams of light that poured through the window, long strips of white. I would stand beside the wall, barely poking my nose around the corner, listening in silence. Secretly. But he noticed me one night. He beckoned to me with his warm smile and I drew up a chair next to him. Beautiful melodies would envelope me and race through my ears. Like drops of moonlight. Like dancing amongst starlight.

Suddenly, one day, he stopped playing.

One night, I noticed his door open. A sliver of silver light shone through. And a voice from within, whispering my name. Calling to me. I slipped through the door, bathed in silver.

He’s in his bed. With the wide window behind him wide open. A full moon. It hung as if by a string, floating above his head, an actor in a school play, the stage set for performance. He looked suddenly frail and weak. His thin arms, pale branches upon his covers. The cool night airs waved the silken curtains about. The moonlight made his skin glow. He smiled his warm smile. And held out his hand. The hand that played piano with grace and beauty.

I took it. It was full of warmth, despite the cold air against my skin.

The next day, after I had finished class, I knocked on his door. But there was no answer. A passing fellow dorm member spoke.

“No one is there anymore. The occupant moved out.”

I couldn’t speak. So was last night, a farewell?

There was a single piece of paper in my mailbox. Hastily torn out of a pocket book. A jagged edge and thin black lines. Gracefully scrawled words.

“Thank you for being my friend.”

-

I throw my gaze upon the door. Polished wood. An empty name plate over the mailbox.

“A friend.”

A friend who I miss. Terribly.