The first Saturday in July, and the surface of Kasumi Pond had finally regained its calm face. The rainy season had ended three days ago. The sky was high, white clouds drifting slowly. Along the pond's promenade, an elderly man walked with his dog, and a salaryman ate his lunch on a bench. The smell of summer hung in the air. Sunlight bounced off the water's surface, making the windows of the Water's Mirror café glimmer with fine light. Akio was grinding beans behind the counter. He turned the hand mill's crank slowly. Mandheling from Indonesia, delivered from Takane Coffee Farm—deep roasted, with a strong bitterness and characteristic earthy aroma. This afternoon, regular customer Hagiwara Tomoko was here, and by the window, Ogata Takumi had a paperback open. Just another quiet afternoon. (She won't come.) Even as he thought it was strange, Akio confirmed it to himself. More than two weeks had passed since that rainy day. The soaking wet female college student who'd left after learning there was no Wi-Fi. There was no reason for her to come back. This was an old café run by a single master who used a flip phone. Yet somehow, it lingered in the corner of his mind. Like a grain of sand in a shoe, something that bothered him slightly with each step—that kind of sensation. The brass bell chimed softly. Akio didn't stop turning the mill. He had no habit of looking at the door each time it opened. If a customer came in, he could sense it. Today was Saturday, and the afternoon light was soft. It might be someone stopping by during a walk. He heard footsteps. Light. Hesitant, small footsteps. Only then did Akio look up. Tsukishima Mio was sitting in the corner seat at the far end of the counter, near the shadows. She looked completely different from that rainy day. Not a white blouse, but a faded blue-gray cut-and-sew top. Not soaking wet, not speaking rapidly. Only—her eyes were red. It was immediately clear they were swollen from crying, her bloodshot eyes downcast as she stared at the counter. Akio's hands stopped for just an instant. At the end of the counter, Tomoko noticed and shifted her posture slightly. Takumi by the window didn't look up from his book, but his page-turning motion stopped. The menu blackboard hung on the wall. But Mio didn't look at it. "[whispers]……The bitterest one, please" Her voice was small. Akio said nothing. He didn't ask why. Didn't ask what had made her cry or why she'd come here. He simply reached for the shelf and took down the Mandheling jar. He set aside the beans he'd been grinding and measured out a fresh amount for Mio. Deep roast. Strong bitterness. Almost no acidity. (My body knows it's better not to ask anything.) That was all it was. Not logic, but a sense cultivated from years of facing customers. People have times when they can talk and times when they can't. Right now, this girl couldn't talk. So he'd brew coffee in silence. That was enough. He moistened the flannel drip filter with hot water and added the ground beans. He poured a little water and let it bloom. Thirty seconds, waiting. Low jazz played in the shop. Mio placed both hands on the table and sat still. Her gaze was unfocused. She had the eyes of someone looking at a distant place. Akio could tell that Tomoko was pretending not to notice while still not taking her eyes completely off her. That was always how she watched over people. He poured the water slowly and thinly, drawing circles, carefully. The aroma of Mandheling rose up. Deep, slightly earthy, but with sweetness hidden in the depths. The white cup filled with coffee. Dark amber. Akio set the cup on the counter in front of Mio. Quietly. That was all. He didn't even say "here you go." After a moment, Mio wrapped both hands around the cup. Slowly, as if confirming its warmth. Then she took a sip. Her eyes opened wide. The bitterness must have spread to the back of her tongue. It might have been much more bitter than she expected. But—that bitterness must have touched something. Tears began to fall from Mio's eyes. There was no sound. No sobbing. Just quietly, still holding the coffee cup in both hands, Mio wept. Akio started to open his mouth. He was about to say something like "Are you alright?" "[whispers]Leave her be" Tomoko's voice came low, reaching only Akio. "Everyone needs to cry sometimes" Akio paused for a beat. Then he returned to the inside of the counter. He began polishing a cup with a cloth that he'd already wiped. He didn't drive her out, didn't comfort her, but he was here—he simply created that kind of space. Mio wept for a while. Silently, but unmistakably. Jazz played. Outside, the surface of Kasumi Pond glimmered. No one said anything. Akio could sense, in some way, how Mio gradually became aware of this. That no one would ask her anything, that she wouldn't be rushed, that even though she was crying, no one would panic—she was realizing that such a place existed. Five minutes, or ten. He didn't check the clock. Mio wiped her eyes. She took out a handkerchief from her pocket and did so carefully. Then she took another sip of coffee and breathed deeply. "[sad]……I'm sorry about last month" Akio replied without stopping his hands. "[serious]I don't mind" It wasn't a lie. He'd already put the broken cup somewhere else. A cup was just something you could buy again. After a moment, Mio spoke again. Slowly, choosing her words as if searching for them. "[sad]At university, there are three people. Three people who say they like me" Akio continued polishing the cup. "[sad]Someone from my club, someone from my lecture, and then……someone like a childhood friend. I know they all mean it seriously. But I can't refuse them. I thought if I refused, our relationship would break, so I've been giving ambiguous answers to all of them" She took a sip of coffee once. "[sad]When I go to the club, I make eye contact with someone, when I go to lectures, there's someone else……it feels like I have nowhere to belong. Every time someone says they like me, I get tired. It's strange, isn't it?" Her voice was self-deprecating, yet genuinely exhausted. Akio didn't respond. Instead, he moved. He reached for the Mandheling jar on the shelf and measured out another cup's worth. He'd seen that Mio still had half her coffee left. But he began brewing anyway. (Every time someone says they like me, I get tired.) Those words spread slowly through Akio. He tried not to think about seven years ago. But sometimes, a drawer opened unexpectedly. Back when he was at the company—the more human relationships he had, the more alone he somehow became. That sensation. Everyone wanted something from him, and he had to give something back to everyone, and before he knew it, everything was heavy. His fiancée, the company—it all came down to one word in the end: "tired." The structure of what this girl was saying was similar. The more people there were, the fewer places to escape. Even kindness became a weight. Akio finished brewing the coffee and quietly placed the second cup on the counter. Mio looked at the cup. Then she looked at Akio. Akio said nothing. He looked away. Mio said softly, "Thank you very much." Her voice was a little more settled than before. Silence continued for a while. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence. Jazz played, the pond's light flickered in the window, Tomoko quietly brought her cup to her lips, and Takumi finally turned a page. "[gentle]I'm Tsukishima Mio. I'm a second-year university student" It was an abrupt introduction. But Mio said it in a proper voice. Akio paused for a moment. "[serious]I'm Kujo. The master here" That was all. A name and a title. But Mio smiled slightly. With her swollen eyes, just the corner of her mouth rose a little. Then Mio took out her wallet and stood up. She wasn't carrying a coat. It was summer, so that was natural, but for some reason Akio remembered the coat from that rainy day. "[gentle]Can I come again?" Akio looked away once. He looked at the wood grain of the counter. One or two seconds. "[serious]Do as you like" It was blunt. But there was no edge to his voice. Mio placed a thousand-yen note on the counter. Akio gave her change and extended his hand. As Mio's hand reached out to take it—their fingers touched. It was neither's fault. It happened in the simple act of handing over change. Mio's hand stopped for just a moment. Akio's fingers, holding the coins, also didn't move for an instant. "[whispers]Oh, sorry" Mio withdrew first. She took the coins and put them in her wallet, saying "Excuse me" softly as she reached for the sliding door. The brass bell chimed softly. The door closed. Akio stood before the counter, and before he knew it, he was looking at his own hand. His left hand. The one that had held the change. It was an ordinary hand. No wounds, nothing changed, just a normal hand. "[laughing]That girl's nice, isn't she?" Tomoko's voice came. You could tell she was grinning. "Looks like she took a liking to you" "[serious]She's just a customer" Akio answered as he took the cup to the sink. "[laughing]Sure. But you made her a second cup, didn't you?" Akio didn't answer. He turned on the water and washed the cup. Rinsed away the bubbles. He concentrated on just that. A quiet voice came from by the window. "……She had good eyes" It was Takumi. Without looking up from his book, his eyes still on the paperback's pages, he said it quietly. Then he fell silent again. Akio's hands stopped midway through wiping the cup. One second. Two seconds. Then he resumed wiping as if nothing had happened. Tomoko was chuckling. Takumi was already turning pages again. --- After closing, Akio walked along the promenade around Kasumi Pond. The pond at dusk was dyed orange. The sky after the rainy season's end dissolved into the water's surface, rippling. Akio walked slowly around the promenade, which circled the pond's perimeter of about eight hundred meters, as he always did. Every time someone says they like me, I get tired. Mio's words were still somewhere within him. As he turned them over in his mind, Akio unintentionally recalled different words his former fiancée had once said. ——You really don't want anything, do you? He understood now that she hadn't been complimenting him. Had she been exasperated? Contemptuous? Or was it something else? In the end, Akio never found out, and that person was gone. He stopped at a bench by the pond's edge, in front of the gazebo on the southwestern shore. Local people said fireflies appeared here in summer. It was only early July, still a bit early for firefly season. Akio took a short breath and started walking again. On the way home, something vibrated in his pocket. His flip phone. Not a call, but an email. He thought it was probably a delivery notice from Takane Farm and didn't open it. Twelve streetlights around Kasumi Pond drew long lines of light across the water's surface. The orange gradually darkened. The cherry trees on the far shore became black silhouettes, reflected in the water. The nights in Minase City were quiet. It had been a very long time since he'd walked alongside someone on a night like this. He knew it was better not to think about such things. Akio put his hand in his pocket and walked. His left hand, in his pocket.