As the night went on, the breeze became stronger. Soon, rumbles of thunder sounded. Shoji knew he should make his way back to the station — there was no shelter around — but somehow, he wanted to stay there longer.

He recalled the night he’d spent with Liyun inside the telephone booth. If he ever saw her again, he would tell her how he’d managed to finally find this spot. He missed her cooking and her laughter. He even missed the way she would leave the television on, no matter what he told her. His cheap apartment had been so much warmer with her around. He had no idea where she was, but he hoped she would be fine. She was a smart and talented woman. She should do well wherever she was.

He thought of Mizuki. How was she? Would things be better for her now that her husband was no longer around? He hoped that she could restart her life, that she would have the courage to leave the cage she was trapped in. Someone so kind and compassionate deserved much better.

And then, he thought of Yoko, and the run-down apartment in Akakawa they used to share. They didn’t have much money, and the building was aged and falling apart, but those days had been the happiest of his life. Many things had not been perfect, but that hadn’t mattered. When he was with her, he had felt like he was finally home. If only he could return to that time.

The cold wind continued to caress Shoji as he started to sob under the darkness of the night. It was oddly satisfying to show his weakness, to admit defeat. Yet, at that moment he thought of what he had told Eri. As long as we’re both alive, I’m sure we’re bound to meet again. He wanted so badly to believe it. For all of them.

Shoji stayed by the river the whole night, listening to the rustling wind, the flowing stream, and occasional rumbles of thunder that never materialised into rain. Eventually, the dawn came, along with the glaring morning sun.

He got up, feeling sore and slightly dizzy. Despite having been awake the whole night, Shoji wasn’t sleepy. He walked to the station, realising that his head had started to hurt. Yet he didn’t feel like boarding the subway. He walked home, a good four-hour stroll. On his way, he stopped by a convenience store to get a bottle of water and a cup of coffee, which only made his headache worse.

But his steps were lighter, as if he had grown tiny springs in his soles.

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