Beneath the Ashes

Chapter 1

The crisp evening air enveloped me, cold and biting but strangely gentle, like a thin blanket wrapping around my skin. I walked slowly along the outskirts of Miyajima Island, the trees rustling softly in the breeze, as if whispering secrets to the night. My stomach growled, reminding me of the hours that had passed since I last ate. The gnawing hunger clawed at me, sharp and insistent.

Then, out of nowhere, a scent drifted toward me—warm, savory, rich. It wound through the breeze and reached my nose like a beckoning invitation. My senses sharpened instantly, and without thinking, my feet began to follow, as though I were being pulled by some invisible string. Down a narrow, cobblestone alley, the lanterns above flickering in the growing darkness, I found myself standing in front of a small ramen shop tucked between two taller buildings, hidden away as if it were a secret not meant to be discovered.

The shop's sign, swaying gently in the wind, was illuminated by the soft glow of orange light spilling from within. Though the kanji characters on the sign were unreadable to me, it didn't matter. The smell of rich broth, soy sauce, and miso mixing with the delicate scent of grilled meat and green onions was all the invitation I needed.

Peering through the window, I saw the humble interior—wooden tables placed close to each other, with only a few customers scattered about. The walls were lined with shelves full of jars and bottles, ingredients and sauces I couldn't identify but imagined held the secrets to the perfect bowl of ramen. Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting a warm, intimate glow over everything—the kind of light that felt like home, even to a stranger like me.

But it wasn't the coziness of the shop that held my attention. No, it was her.

Behind the counter stood a woman. Her long black hair was tied into a ponytail, a bright orange ribbon weaving through the strands, making the dark sheen of her hair all the more striking. She moved with effortless grace, her hands deftly stirring a large pot of steaming broth. Her motions were fluid, rhythmic, as though she were more than just cooking—she was creating something sacred. As she turned slightly, I caught a glimpse of her profile. Her features were soft, almost serene, and there was a quiet strength in the way she worked. Everything about her commanded attention without demanding it.

I didn't realize I was walking inside until the bell above the door chimed, startling me back to the present. The sound seemed to jolt her too. She turned toward me, her eyes locking onto mine.

Her gaze held me there, suspended. They were brown, but not just any brown—they were deep, warm, like autumn leaves kissed by sunlight. Her eyes seemed to hold stories I couldn't yet understand, but they drew me in all the same. And her smile, though subtle, felt like a gesture meant just for me—welcoming, but with a hint of mystery that made my heart skip a beat.

"Welcome," she said, her voice soft, rich, almost as inviting as the scent of the ramen she was preparing. "I'm Aika. Take a seat wherever you like. I'll be with you in a moment."

Her name, I would come to learn, was Aika. But in that moment, I knew only the pull of her presence, the way her eyes seemed to see right through me, making me feel both exposed and somehow comforted.

I took a seat at the counter, my movements automatic, though my mind was anything but. The warmth of the shop, the low chatter of other patrons, the clinking of bowls and chopsticks all blurred together. My attention was consumed by her, the way she floated between tasks, ladling broth, balancing bowls, and greeting each customer with a smile that seemed effortless but sincere. She moved like someone who was both familiar and foreign to me at the same time, as though she existed in a space just beyond my reach.

When she finally placed the bowl of ramen before me, the aroma hit me like a wave, intoxicating in its richness. The miso, the garlic, the pork—each scent blended together in perfect harmony, calling to the hunger that still gnawed at me. But even then, the food wasn't my focus. Not really.