The Moon Moves 3.8 Centimeters Away from the Earth Each Year

2.

“Want to go stargazing with me?”

She had been quietly reading a children’s book filled with cute illustrations of constellations when she suddenly said that.

“Stargazing?”

“Yeah, summer’s coming soon.”

“What does summer have to do with stargazing?”

“The constellations you can see change with the seasons. No matter how hard you try, you’ll never see the summer constellations during winter.”

“…Is that so.”

While I responded indifferently, her tone was calm yet tinged with enthusiasm.

“In summer, you can see the Summer Triangle, made up of Vega from Lyra, Altair from Aquila, and Deneb from Cygnus,” she said, leaning slightly across the table and lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret.

“You can also spot constellations like Hercules, Delphinus, and Ophiuchus.”

Her bright expression seemed to ask, What do you think? Her face was lit up with a playful smile.

I tried to ignore her and focus on studying, but that smile was too much to resist. Reluctantly, I replied.

“Did you get all that from the book?”

“This much? I have it memorized.” She closed the picture book and said, “I brought this because it’s the book I used to read a lot as a kid.”

She hesitated, then added in a softer tone, “I figured I wouldn’t get to see it again later.”

She pulled out another book she’d brought along, setting it on the table. From the cover, it seemed like an old novel I vaguely recognized.

It was then that I remembered we were in a public library. Glancing around cautiously, I confirmed that there was no one nearby to glare at us for our conversation.

It wasn’t surprising; early on a weekend morning, there weren’t many people rushing to get their reading done.

Still, I felt a bit regretful. If we’d been sitting in a crowded area, she might not have bothered me like this, and I could have studied in peace.

But my natural aversion to crowds had led me to pick this secluded corner, and it had now backfired.

To be fair, I’d been studying quietly by myself until she decided to show up unannounced because her initial plans had fallen through.

Lowering my voice, I asked, “Do you really have all the constellations memorized by season?”

She nodded slightly.

“Yeah.”

“…That’s impressive.”

“I’ve loved stargazing since I was little. Maybe when I was in kindergarten? It’d be weird if I didn’t remember by now.”

She rested her chin in her hand, casually flipping through a page of the novel.

“Back then, I wanted to be an astronomer. It was as simple as, ‘I like stars, so I’ll become an astronomer.’”

She smiled faintly. “Of course, I gave up pretty quickly.”

“Why did you give up?”

“There were a lot of reasons. When I said I wanted to be an astronomer, my parents told me I’d need to study a lot of math, and they started pushing me hard. Not even a month passed before I begged them in tears to let me quit.”

She pouted slightly in displeasure. I chuckled and said, “…It was that bad?”

“I was in first grade, and they made me study for eight hours a day under supervision. You’d cry too.” She shot me a look over the novel, as if even recalling it made her shudder. “Even now, I think my parents went way too far.”

The conversation made me think back to my own childhood. My memories were dominated by my mother keeping a close watch on me as I tackled an endless stack of practice books.

Not pleasant memories. I sighed internally.

“But when I think about it, it wasn’t just because of the studying.”

“Then why?”

“I found something I liked more than stars.”

“What was it?”

“…Volleyball.”

I said nothing. The words didn’t come.

I wasn’t someone skilled at offering profound words of comfort to someone who had fallen short of their dreams. But neither was I callous enough to brush it off as if it meant nothing.

All I could do was stay silent, an awkward middle ground.

The stillness didn’t last long. As always, she was the one to break it.

She closed the book in her hands and looked at me intently.

“What was your dream when you were a kid?”

“…An astronaut.” Not wanting the silence to stretch any longer, I answered honestly. “It must’ve been in fourth grade, when I saw a water rocket launch during a school event. I thought being an astronaut would be amazing.”

At that, she stifled a laugh, her shoulders shaking.

“…What’s so funny about that?”

She tried to control her amusement, her lips twitching as she said, “It’s just—it’s so random. An astronaut?” She chuckled again, the sound bubbling up despite her efforts to suppress it.

As her laughter continued, I began to feel slightly annoyed.

“If you’re going to keep laughing, go do it outside,” I muttered.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” She sat up straighter, taking a deep breath to calm herself. It didn’t take long for her to settle down. “It’s just…you were cuter than I expected as a kid. That’s why I laughed.”

“Cute? I don’t get it.”

Her lips curved into a thoughtful smile as she tapped her finger against her cheek.

“Let’s see… I always thought you were a boring kid who only cared about studying, but it turns out you had this surprisingly innocent side to you.”

“…What’s that supposed to mean?”

I looked at her skeptically. She twirled a strand of her shoulder-length black hair around her fingers, her pale hands contrasting against the dark fabric of her hoodie.

Her hands were strikingly white for someone who had once trained as an athlete, but then I remembered her saying she’d spent a year in treatment and hadn’t been able to train properly.

That thought weighed on me a little.

She rested her arms on the desk, crossing them as if she were getting comfortable.

“It’s a shame we were never in the same class in elementary school. I think we would’ve gotten along pretty well.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, we both had dreams about space, didn’t we? I’ve never met anyone else who liked space as much as I do.”

Feeling awkward, I replied, “The thing is…I’ve never actually been interested in space.”

She burst into laughter, loud and unrestrained. The sound echoed through the quiet library, drawing the attention of a few people seated far away.

“Sorry,” I mumbled repeatedly, bowing apologetically to the onlookers. Meanwhile, she buried her face in her book, her shoulders shaking silently.

She laughs at everything, I thought with a sigh.

When she finally calmed down, her cheeks were flushed from laughing so much.

“So you dreamed of being an astronaut without being interested in space?”

“Well, kids don’t dream of becoming president because they love politics, do they?”

“…Fair enough.” She nodded, still giggling softly.

I stayed quiet for a moment before she suddenly spoke again, her voice low and soft.

“How about you start liking stars now?”

“…Stars?”

She nodded firmly. “Yeah. If you look up at a night sky full of starlight, I bet you’ll fall in love with them too.”

Stars. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d given them a thought.

Humans tend to forget the things that aren’t essential for survival, like the fact that the Earth has a mantle and a core.

If I hadn’t met her, I might’ve gone my whole life forgetting that stars existed.

“…I’m not sure. I’ve never really looked at the night sky. The light pollution here is too bad.”

“Then all the more reason to go. Just come with me. Right?”

“…Wouldn’t it be better to go with your family?” I replied. “You’d have to travel far to get a good view of the stars.”

She hesitated, then answered with a faintly troubled expression.

“Well, my family thinks I don’t like stars anymore.”

“…Why?”

“Because I told them I didn’t.” She spoke matter-of-factly. “Think about it. How do you think my parents would feel if their sick daughter still loved stars as much as she used to?”

“…I see.”

I hadn’t considered it. Illness didn’t just affect the person suffering—it left an imprint on those around them, especially family.

I’d momentarily overlooked that.

She smiled faintly, almost proud of herself, as though finding satisfaction in her own thoughtfulness.

“So you’re the only one I can go with.”

“What about your other friends?”

“They’re more into karaoke and makeup shopping than stargazing.”

“…I see.”

That made sense. Among students these days—especially girls—how many were really interested in stars?

Not many, I imagined.

Avoiding her gaze, I stared at my workbook for a while before exhaling quietly.

“…I’ll think about it.”

“Think about what?”

“Going stargazing with you. I’ll think about it.”

“Can I take that as a yes?”

“Depends on how you behave.”

“Does that mean I shouldn’t bother you now?”

“Glad you understand,” I said bluntly.

She grinned and leaned closer, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

“Make sure you keep your schedule open during summer break, okay?”

I didn’t respond.

Satisfied, she began humming softly as she turned back to her book.

I glanced at the children’s constellation book she had set down beside her, then returned to solving my problems in silence.