He raised his hand to stop my words, looked at me with unforgettable reproach, and, opening the door cautiously, went back into the other room.

I almost walked out the back way—just as Gatsby had when he had made his nervous circuit of the house half an hour before—yet I turned around and decided to see their dialogue reluctantly. The speechless conversation and the vestige of separation were the only things I could expect.

“How long have you been here?” demanded Daisy on an artificial note.  Gatsby couldn’t look at her. “I didn’t hear the news that you had emigrated to the West Egg.”

“It has been almost a year.”

Daisy stared at him in an amazed way. “Same with me.”

I believe that Gatsby wanted to say that he came to follow her, but he didn’t say anything. Then the conversation stopped again. Gatsby got himself into a shadow, while Daisy carefully touched the pearls from her necklace. The dominant existence of her necklace made her uncomfortable, and even me, to endure this atmosphere. The air hung heavy with the weight of unspoken words and forgotten dreams. Surrounding blooms, exhaling fragrances, raindrops ceaselessly flowing outside the window, and the relentless sweep of the clock’s minute and its tick-tock sound—all reminded me of flowing time.

Taking my boredness unconsciously, Gatsby seemed to change his mind. His trembling hand, once like rough waves on a rainy day, calmed down, and his eyes were fixed solely on the green aura from Daisy’s eyes.

“I missed you, Daisy.” Gatsby murmured. He and Daisy exchanged awkward glances.

“I really missed you, Daisy. You may not believe—”

“Then why didn’t you come back from the war?” said Daisy with tense. Gatsby suddenly stopped to talk. He seemed to hesitate to organize and carefully bring back his past at this time.

“I was afraid,” said Gatsby with an earnest voice. “ I was afraid to see you as me. I was nothing. Boy Gatsby couldn’t see Ms. Daisy.” he leaned closer to Daisy.  “Only—Mr. Gatsby—could have seen you. That was why.”

Daisy was honestly surprised, and, throwing doubt and anxiety on her face, looked at him closely.

“Time is so fast.” she said cynically, but less than the previous time. “Until you became a man, I became a mother, Jay.”

“But you are still Fay, Daisy.” murmured Gatsby toward her, with a more comfortable voice. “There is something time can’t replace.”

Daisy laughed, with a glowing voice. “You’re still the same, Gatsby, aren’t you?” He seemed to be embarrassed by her words. “I don’t know what you mean—”

“I mean I missed you, Jay. I missed you.” said Daisy, with the most earnest and sincere voice she could say, leaning towards him.

After their confession, I felt that the atmosphere had shifted. Gatsby and Daisy shared their stories. Unraveling the threads of memories buried beneath their minds, Gatsby carefully touched Daisy’s cheek with a gesture of exultation, and Daisy looked at him, with a gaze, that which she never showed to anyone. Looking at their interaction, I couldn’t recognize the time flowing. Suddenly, a big raindrop fell from the roof and wet my coat. That sudden moment made me fail to hear the reason behind Daisy’s tears. But I wanted to console her.  Honestly, there was a desire within me to stay beyond the window, and instead, to belong among them—uncertain which desire overwhelmed the other.