Foreign and Falling

Emi

I hadn't been back five minutes before Baa-chan and Jii-chan were hovering in the kitchen, waiting. I took off my shoes carefully, hoping my quietness would give the illusion of tired professionalism.

"Where did you go?" Baa-chan asked as I stepped into the room. Her voice was light, but her eyes were sharp.

"Kyoto," I answered too quickly. "A client needed something urgent. I had to meet them in person."

Jii-chan made a noise from the table, one of those grunts that meant more than a sentence. "Kyoto, huh? Funny. The boy didn't go to Kyoto."

I blinked. "It was just work."

I moved quickly to the sink to pour myself a glass of water, hoping the abrupt motion might steer the conversation away. I didn't meet their eyes. I didn't want to lie any more than I already had—but I also didn't want to admit the truth. Not yet.

Baa-chan didn't press. She turned back to the kettle, but her silence was heavy. Jii-chan stared for a few seconds longer than I could handle.

I forced a quick laugh. "I have a lot of work to do," I said quickly, waving a hand dismissively before turning away.

Then I turned on my heel and retreated upstairs quickly, clutching my canvas bag like a shield.

As soon as I stepped into my room, I collapsed onto the tatami mat floor, the coolness grounding me. I pressed my ear slightly against the floor, just in case they said anything else. Just like I used to do when I was a child and they were talking about something serious and adult downstairs.

From the bag, I pulled out the little heart plush. His stitched smile looked up at me as if he had no idea the trouble he was causing. I set him gently on the bed, next to my pillow.

My phone buzzed in my hand. I looked down.

Adam: Hope you got home safe.

A small, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of my lips.

Voices rose from below.

"Honda-san said she got off a southbound bus," Jii-chan muttered.

"He lives by the station, you know. Kyoto is not south."

Baa-chan replied, "Maybe she changed routes."

A pause.

"She went to see the boy," Jii-chan said, voice flat.

Baa-chan replied, a little softer now, her voice almost bargaining, "He seemed nice."

Jii-chan's voice cut through the quiet like a blade. "Anyone can seem nice for a couple of days. He's not even Japanese. We should forbid her from seeing him. She's only going to get hurt."

I pressed my face into the floor.

The tears came quietly.

For a long time, I just lay there. The wood creaked beneath me every so often as I shifted. I opened WhatsApp. My thumbs hovered.

I can't see you anymore.

I stared at the words.

Then deleted them.

Instead, I typed:

Emi: What's your route?

I hit send before I could overthink it.

Still lying there, I pulled out my sketchbook. My fingers moved almost by muscle memory. I drew Adam's arms, thin but strong, wrapping around me. I shaded his glasses, fogged at the top just like when I kissed him. I drew the slope of his nose, the twitch of his smile when he was flustered.

Downstairs, I heard the kettle whistle. Baa-chan speaking softly again.

"I'll take her some tea."

Panic jolted me upright. I scrambled to my desk, flipping open my laptop, setting my sketchbook behind it like it had never left. I clicked on an old illustration file, pretending to be mid-edit.

A rare knock.

"Come in," I called.

She stepped in quietly, carrying a tray with two cups and a small plate of senbei.

"Did you get to go to your favorite tea shop in Kyoto?" she asked, placing the tray down.

I shook my head. "No. I was mostly in an office building. Didn't even have time for dinner. I had to grab konbini food across the street."

She frowned, the disappointment flickering across her face like a match. Then she wrapped her arms around me.

"I just want you to be happy, Emi-chan."

"I know," I whispered.

But I didn't know anymore what happy meant.

Not without him.

And maybe, just maybe, happiness had a new definition now.