Tokyo Puts on Fake Smiles

THIRTY FIRST ACT: The Bolt of Clairvoyance

Epiphanic Flash

That night it snowed, but no one cared, because, after 25 years of constant slips, I'd reached a point where there was enough snow to keep me stuck.

I lived cloaked in lies, layers of secrets. I became best friends with a fleeting mask, forgetting how easy it was to simply smile, to enjoy.

I spun in circles on the palm of Kazuhiro's hand, waiting for the day he'd close it into a fist.

The line that separated us faded. The wall crumbled before my eyes, and only then did I realize that Kazuhiro was as bad as I was. I had to escape him. But I didn't.

We couldn't escape the lights of Tokyo; they enveloped us in their lie, and we buried our bodies in it, holding hands. I faked everything, while faking nothing.

My wish wasn't granted, and I cried, screaming into the wind.

☻☻☻

The next day, after stepping out of the bathroom with a freshly made low ponytail and still in my pajamas, I walked into the living room where, as I'd suspected for half an hour, I saw the downpour.

"It's not going to stop..." I murmured.

Falling in torrents, strong, large, and aggressive drops struck the balcony glass, driven by gusts of wind, tracing erratic, winding lines on the fogged-up windows. Both Kazuhiro and I, hearing the rain, had moved to the terrace to watch the scene, darkened by heavy clouds that blocked any trace of light.

Arms crossed, I sighed, glancing over at Kazuhiro, who, with a serious look, did not take his eyes off the deluge. "What are we going to do?" I asked.

"It's unlikely, but there's a typhoon warning," he replied, still gazing at the glass. "Fortunately, Okamoto called an hour ago because my radio interview has been canceled," he said, catching my eye sidelong. "If it calms, I'll head to the studio, but for now" —he lowered his head, turned around, and walked to the table— "it's best we stay home."

I nodded. "I don't think they'll need me at the office," I said, following him, "so we could have a mini-interview here."

Smiling, he sat down, looking up at me. "Let's save that for later. For now, let's have breakfast."

The sound of the storm, though still without lightning or thunder, became our soundtrack.

☻☻☻

As I expected, my toast had gone cold, but at least it was still edible—unlike yesterday's. And although Kazuhiro's breakfast was likely cold too, he didn't mention it. He was too busy sending messages on his phone, chuckling to himself.

"Texting Nanako?" I asked.

He looked up from his screen and nodded. "She says she just noticed a leak in her house," he snickered, "and now she's swapping the water bucket every two minutes."

"Isn't it a bit cruel to laugh at her misfortune?" I took a bite of my toast. "Shouldn't you be concerned?"

"Sorry, but I stopped worrying back in high school," he said, picking up his toast. "After the third incident with her microwave, I accepted she's just that type of person—the kind who'd end up slipping on a banana peel."

"You're only proving my point," I said, placing a hand on my forehead.

"Whatever." He switched off his phone, leaving it on the table, and leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Yesterday, I talked to her about meeting her parents and the idea of commitment."