A couple of years ago:
In this simple, four-story apartment in Kabukichō, the ceiling was plain concrete, marked with water stains. The rain hammered on the window in a gentle, almost hypnotic cadence.
I sat on a narrow futon laid right on the tatami floor, the thin mattress offering little comfort against the cold dampness. My hands were resting on my knees, my gaze buried in the drops that fell down the glass.
Thinking about it, my gaze was fixed on the flashing neon sign of a love hotel across the street. Its gaudy pink light painted the rain-streaked alleyway in a lurid glow, its kanji for 休憩 (break time) and 宿泊 (stay) pulsing through the steamed-up window. The air was thick and heavy, filled not just with the humidity of a Tokyo night, but with the unspoken tension of men ready to 'get violent' in a way that could be both rough yet pleasant.
I ran a hand through my damp hair, the metallic tang of blood still clinging to my knuckles.
Another night, another job.
I flexed my fingers, feeling the familiar ache in my knuckles, a dull reminder of the life I never choose. The life I'd been bred for. A life I'm about to sworn loyalty to under the dim light of a sake cup.
The door creaked open, and a shirtless hulking figure with a tattoo snaking around his bicep and upper body stepped inside. "Oi, Shiroi," he grunted, his voice rough like sandpaper. "Quit dicking around and get your ass in gear. Oyabun's got shit to discuss."
I nodded, rosing to my feet, the floorboards screeching under the weight. I didn't speak nor ask questions. I simply followed until we got outside, my footsteps echoing in the desolate hallway.
For a brief moment, the world faded, replaced by a buried memory...
It was a blurry, yet warm memory. A girl with a soft voice and honey-colored eyes that seemed to hold their own inner light was talking to me.
We used to sit together in a place where the light was unchanging, a constant, even glow that bleached the world of color. The silence was so profound we could almost hear the blood rushing in our ears. There was not much to do there, except chat, whisper dreams in low voices, and steal fragments of humanity amidst the nothingness.
"Have you ever stopped to wonder about Earth?" she pauses, her gaze drifting up to the stark expanse of the ceiling before continuing.
"It's astonishingly vast. Immense oceans that are mostly unexplored, deserts stretching beyond the horizon, towering mountains... countless different cultures. So impossibly huge it's hard to grasp. But we spend so much time wondering about what's out there, we forget to appreciate the simplicity of what we have, don't you think?"
I frowned, thoughtful. "I'm not sure. I never thought about that."
She shifted slightly closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Tell me. If there were something... capable of granting wishes, what would you ask for?"
"Huh? You're talking about a god or a genie or something?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.
"Well... sort of. Like imagine something powerful that could make anything you want happen."
"Anything? Could it make this room... bigger?" I tilt my head, genuinely curious.
She laughed, a light, melodic sound. "That's all? My, what simple desires you have. Come now, surely you can think of something more exciting than that! It's your turn to answer. What would you wish for?"
I tilted my head, thoughtful. Her questions caught me off guard like always, as if opening a door I didn't know existed. "Uhm... I don't know." I paused, staring at the ground.
"But you were talking about the Earth... the oceans. Maybe to see one. A real ocean."
She let out a clear, light laugh that echoed like an echo through that endless space. I laughed with her, a genuine laugh that reached my heart, a laugh I had not felt before or after. It was a small, fragile yet real moment.
"And you?" I asked, still smiling.
"A garden," she said, closing her eyes as if she could smell the flowers.
"One where nothing wilts. A place where everything is eternal."
I nodded, imagining it. A corner filled with life, where the passage of time is nothing more than just empty words. But even then, something within me whispered that wishes like those aren't meant to come true.
All good things begin, and all good things end. Like the sun that sinks into the horizon. One day, she was no longer there. In front of me, her light that used to heal my soul faded silently, as suddenly and irrevocably as a cherry blossom petal torn from its branch.
The shock I experienced that day is still very clear in my mind. Her last words were a broken whisper: "I'm sorry." Nothing more. Only those two words, filled with a weight that I couldn't decipher, sticking to my soul like invisible thorns that nearly drove me into despair.
And that was how my life lost all of its color. The air became colder, the light more sharp. But still, I didn't cry, nor scream, nor break. I simply went on, existing rather than living, like a ghost haunting the halls of my own existence.
Trying with every effort I could do to deny the harsh reality that presented itself to me without warning.
But dwelling about the past is illogical in and on itself. I have to...
No.
I will move on.