Before long, classes resumed. On days when our schedules coincided, K and I left the house together. Whenever possible, we walked home together too. To an outside observer, we would seem close as ever. Deep down, however, we were no doubt each scheming in our own separate worlds. One day, as we walked on the street, I suddenly confronted K. My first question was whether his confession of the other day was to me alone, or whether he had also conveyed his feelings to Okusan and her daughter. My approach henceforth, I'd decided, hinged on his answer to this question. He assured me that he'd confided in on one else. The situation was as I'd surmised, and in my heart I was duly elated. I knew that between the two of us, K was the more brazen. I could never match him in audacity. Strangely, though, at the same time I trusted him. He'd let his adoptive family fund his education for three years under false pretenses, but this, in my eyes, in no way diminished his credibility. On the contrary, I admired him all the more. Despite my distrust of humanity, I readily took him at his word.
I turned to him again and asked where he intended to go with his feelings. What I wanted to know was whether his confession was the end of the matter or, having confessed, did he hope to take things further to fruition. On this point, though, he provided no answer. With downcast eyes, he resumed walking. I beseeched him to keep no secrets, to tell me everything. He answered simply that he had nothing to keep from me. The information I sought, however, did not cross his lips. We were standing in the road, and I couldn't hold my ground indefinitely. For the time being I let it go.