“Let’s get married when we grow up.” A promise made in childhood. Entwining their little pinkies, the two vowed for the future. “Finger-snap oath—lie and you’ll have to swallow a thousand needles.” Thus, the two sealed that fateful promise. As if by fate, no matter how much they grew up or how far apart they became, their feelings never changed. Is that really so? With his overseas transfer, the two could no longer meet. Yet fate is a beautiful thing; after twelve years, they reunited. Indeed, fate is mysterious—what began as a child’s promise has now transformed into an enduring form of love that will never fade. So this must just be a sense of unease. Something must have changed over those twelve years. Yes, surely that’s it. That’s why he doesn’t want to talk about the past. That’s why his words and actions feel a bit different. That’s why he speaks of me as if I were someone else. That’s why his habitual phrases have changed. That’s why his likes and dislikes seem somehow insincere. That’s why his smile feels different—it’s all probably just my imagination. This is the tale of where that crimson thread, which might yet lead to swallowing a thousand needles, will take them.