Shiori came tumbling into my apartment almost immediately after she broke up with this friend of ours. She had an allowance, and she was the kind of person who preferred to live a very well-ordered life, but for some reason she didn't like the idea of living in any one place. And every time she moved she'd throw away everything she had, even her books, even presents she had received. She said it irritated her to have too much baggage. All she brought with her from our friend's apartment was her pillow, a terry-cloth blanket, and a single overnight bag. She wasn't one of those people who can't handle being alone, not at all, but she was constantly drifting from one friend's house to the next. It seemed to be something of a hobby.

“So why did you break up?” I asked her.

“Well, you know. I mean, I was the one sponging off him, right? So if I didn't go, there wouldn't be much he could do, would there?”

It was a vague reply.

“What did you like about him?” I asked.

“The way he speaks makes him sound so gentle, you know?” she said, and smiled a little nostalgically. “But once I was actually living with him, let me tell you, I found out he doesn't always talk like that. It's a lot more fun living with you. After all, you're always gentle, right?”

Shiori grinned again. White cheeks, hazy eyes—when she smiled, her face looked almost exactly like a marshmallow. We were still in college then, commuting between the apartment and school, yet no matter how much time we spent together—and our daily schedules were almost the same—we never fought. Before either one of us knew it, Shiori had come to feel completely at home in my apartment. Her presence had come to seem so natural it was as if she were diffused into the air.