Chapter 20 _ What Reached Her, and What Finally Reached Him
I was carrying waste when I noticed someone standing at the edge of the street.
She didn’t belong there.
Her clothes were clean.
Her posture was stiff.
And her eyes were fixed on me.
“…Iris?”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The smell around me was awful.
My clothes were damp with sweat and grime.
My hands were rough, cracked, still faintly red.
I wanted to turn away.
I didn’t deserve to stand in front of her like this.
“…Why,” she asked quietly,
“are you doing this kind of work?”
I swallowed.
“It pays,” I answered.
“That’s all.”
She didn’t look convinced.
“…You’re lying.”
“No. I’m not.”
I met her eyes.
“I’m doing this because I can.”
Because it’s work no one wants.
Because it keeps the city alive.
Because it hurts, and doesn’t let me lie to myself.
But I didn’t say any of that.
We walked.
Not side by side—
but not apart, either.
“I heard… something,” Iris said.
I didn’t ask what.
I already knew.
“…You shouldn’t have,” I said.
“Why?”
“Because I ran away from you once.”
Her steps stopped.
“…I know.”
I turned to face her.
“When you told me everything…
I couldn’t stay.”
“I wanted to help you.
But I had nothing.”
“No strength.
No money.
No right to say ‘I’ll save you.’”
“I was ashamed of that.”
I clenched my fists.
“So I did the only thing I could.”
“I didn’t do it for praise.
I didn’t do it to be thanked.”
“I just… didn’t want to regret doing nothing.”
Iris stared at me.
Her eyes trembled—not with anger,
but with something far more fragile.
“…You’re an idiot,” she said softly.
“Probably.”
“…Why are you telling me this now?”
Because if I didn’t,
this feeling would rot inside me.
“Because I like you.”
The words left my mouth quietly.
“No—
that’s not right.”
“I respect you.”
“I’m afraid of you.”
“And I care about you
more than I know how to handle.”
I lowered my head.
“I don’t expect anything from you.”
“I just needed you to know
that I never saw you as someone to pity.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then Iris laughed.
A small, broken laugh.
“…You really are cruel.”
“Sorry.”
“Not like that,” she said.
“You’re cruel because you’re honest.”
She stepped closer.
I could smell clean soap.
The distance between us vanished.
She reached out, hesitated—
then pressed her lips lightly against mine.
It was brief. Awkward. Soft.
When she pulled back, her cheeks were red.
“…That’s enough for now,” she said.
“For today.”
I nodded.
“…Yeah.”
She turned away.
Then stopped.
“…Mario.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for not choosing me
because you thought you had to.”
“I’d hate you for that.”
She walked off without looking back.
I stood there, holding my breath,
until her figure disappeared into the crowd.
The smell of waste still clung to me.
My body still ached.
Nothing had changed.
And yet—
For the first time,
the weight I carried felt… bearable.
I picked up the bucket again
and returned to work.
