‘You knew he was a teacher.’

‘Even that, he might have been making up,’ she said, taking a sip of her tea. ‘Just like now, I might be lying to you about everything. Perhaps I’ve told you a make-believe story.’

Had she? Unlikely. She would have to be a great storyteller to come up with something so detailed and convincing.

Mizuki gave a half-smile. ‘You can’t tell, can you?’

‘True, but if you start doubting everything, then there would be nothing left to believe in,’ Shoji said. ‘Are you still looking for him?’

She paused. ‘I think so, even though it’s been years.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Perhaps I’m in love with the idea of waiting. It gives me a glimmer of hope,’ she said. ‘Sometimes, I’m not sure if what I’m doing right now is waiting or letting go. It’s been so long. It’s getting hard to tell them apart.’

‘You must be a patient person, Mizuki.’

‘Aren’t you the same, Shoji?’ She looked into his eyes. ‘Aren’t you looking for something too?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I don’t know. I just sense it. From the first time we talked, I felt it within me: This person is like me. He’s looking for something. But what you’re searching for, I can’t tell. And somehow, I feel that I shouldn’t be asking.’

He didn’t reply.

‘As for me, at the end of the day, nothing might happen,’ she said. ‘I might never find him again. And that is fine. I’m all right with the way things are. Even though we never met, we made good memories.’

‘You don’t know that yet. Maybe you’re close to getting what you want.’

‘Positive, aren’t you?’ Mizuki said. ‘Now it’s your turn to tell me a story.’

‘What do you want to know?’

‘Anything,’ she said with a smile. Her gaze was soft. ‘Like, how did you get that faint scar above your lip?’

Shoji touched the slightly raised mark. No one had ever asked him about it, not even Yoko. ‘I got it when I worked part-time at a second-hand bookshop back in Fukuoka. When I opened the shutter, a metal bar fell and grazed my face.’

Her eyes widened. ‘Was it serious?’

‘Not really, but it was quite dramatic.’

•

A few years had passed, but Shoji still remembered the incident in vivid detail. It had been a Monday morning, and the shops around the area were about to open. Shoji was there for the first shift. He was pulling the shutter up when a huge metal bar fell on him. A sharp pain shot through his upper lip. People nearby turned and stared. Eri — his boss’s daughter, who was opening the shop with him — screamed hysterically. His boss ran over to check he was okay.

‘Don’t worry,’ Shoji said to them, wiping his lips. ‘I’m fine.’

But when he looked down, his hand was smeared with blood, and so was his white shirt. As a precaution, he and Eri went to the hospital. Clutching Eri’s floral handkerchief to stem the blood, Shoji worried about her. She was still sobbing, her body shaking.