Apparently Not a Xylophone

After school, in the library. The two of them side by side, sharing one pair of earphones.

Yui “He wrote this for his mom, apparently.”

Sota “Really. …Now that you say it, yeah. You can kind of hear that.”

Yui “It's like a waltz that's holding someone, isn't it?”

Sota “Yeah. Not a dancing waltz. More like rocking.”

Yui “Exactly. Like a cradle.”

Sota “A cradle — I like that.”

Yui “But it kind of breaks apart in the middle, right?”

Sota “Yeah, that moment where it suddenly opens up.”

Yui “I love that part. It's been so careful the whole time, and then it just unravels for a second — and then comes back.”

Sota “…And the fact that it's written for his mom makes that even better.”

Yui “How so?”

Sota “Like it's not just the pretty parts. It includes the messy part too.”

Yui “…I could never write something like this for my mom.”

Sota “What about a letter? Not a song — just a letter?”

Yui “Still no. Too embarrassing.”

Sota “Maybe that's why people write songs.”

Yui smiles a little.

Yui “Okay, then one day I'll write it on the saxophone.”

Sota “I want to hear it.”