The final week of August, Tuesday. Mizukagami was closed. Mio held her bag and walked along the path around the pond. Kasumi Pond in the morning was quiet, its surface barely rippling. Since the end of last week, there was something she'd been thinking about constantly. Come on, today's the day. Inside her bag's inner pocket was a folded resignation letter. She'd rewritten it many times before finally managing to finish it. Go to Mizukagami, take out her personal belongings, submit the letter—that was all she'd intended to do. The brass bell didn't ring. Since it was a closed day, the door was locked. Mio used the spare key to enter quietly. The small key she'd been given when she started working part-time. The shop interior was dark, and the jazz record had stopped playing. Only the morning light filtering through the windows spread thinly across the floor. She placed her apron from the shelf, her change of clothes from the locker, and the memo pad she'd kept in the back of a drawer into a plastic bag, one item at a time. Her eyes stopped at the edge of the counter. A transparent clear file was sitting there, forgotten. It belonged to Akio—since he was meticulous, it was rare for him to leave something behind in a place like this. Nothing was written on the cover, but several documents were tucked inside. Mio lifted it gently. She could see through it. The characters "Copy of Resident Registration" and what appeared to be a tax return document. A single line that entered her vision unintentionally—an address. Green Heights Kasumi, 103. Akio's apartment was a three-minute walk from Kasumi Pond. Mio knew that. She'd heard somewhere along the way that they both lived near the pond. She should return it. That's what she thought. At the same time, another voice spoke. Return it for what? To knock on that person's door, what kind of face would she make? With a resignation letter in hand, going to a married man's room— Mio held the clear file to her chest. It was slightly cold and thin. But it was someone's important documents. She couldn't just leave it. She'd return this final favor and that would be the end of it. That was all. Mio locked the shop and walked around the pond. --- Green Heights Kasumi was an old four-story apartment building standing on the west side of Kasumi Pond. Its exterior walls were a slightly faded white, and the entrance wasn't an automatic door but a heavy glass door you had to push by hand. Room 103 was a corner unit on the first floor. When she stepped into the hallway, she could hear the sound of daytime television from somewhere. Before pressing the intercom, Mio took a deep breath. One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. There was a click as the lock disengaged, and the door opened. Akio was standing there. A gray T-shirt and thin chinos. Casual weekend clothes, different from his work attire. His hair was slightly disheveled, and he held a book in his hand. He appeared to be in the middle of reading, his thumb holding his place, and he looked at Mio with surprised eyes. "[surprised]...Mio," "[gentle]I'm sorry for the sudden visit. This was left on the counter at Mizukagami," She held out the clear file. Akio took it, checked inside, and exhaled softly. "[gentle]You went out of your way," "[gentle]I thought it was important documents," There was a moment of silence. Akio opened the door a bit wider and glanced back down the hallway. Then he turned his eyes back to Mio. "[gentle]...Want to come in?" His voice was quiet. When Akio spoke in a small voice, he always had a slightly troubled expression. He must have expected to be refused, Mio thought. "[gentle]Thank you for having me," She stepped into the entryway and removed her shoes. Next to the shoe rack, a pair of leather shoes and a pair of sneakers were lined up neatly. That was all. There were no women's shoes anywhere. As she walked down the hallway, she could see the bathroom door slightly ajar. One toothbrush. On the bathroom shelf, there wasn't a single cosmetic product. Only shaving cream and one bottle of hair gel. She was shown into the living room. Plain navy curtains. White dishes lined up neatly in the cupboard, all appearing to be from the same set. A coffee table in front of the TV. A potted coffee plant on the windowsill. There was no color. There was a sense of life. But no warmth. It wasn't a space prepared for someone else, but a room where one person had accumulated the bare minimum. The words Tomoko had said echoed in her mind again. His wife left him. He's been alone ever since. Mio sat down shallowly on the edge of the sofa. Akio went into the kitchen and there was the sound of him taking something out. After a while, he placed a glass of barley tea on the table. "[gentle]It must have been hot," "[gentle]Thank you," She reached for the glass and took a sip. It was cold, and she felt slightly relieved. Akio sat on the other side of the table and placed the clear file on the shelf. Then he stared at the coffee plant for a while. "[gentle]I was thinking of stopping by Mizukagami to check on the prep work earlier," "[gentle]Then it worked out well," "[gentle]It helped," The conversation died. It was quiet. The sound of a door closing somewhere, a car running down the street. But inside the room, it was quiet. Mio wrapped both hands around the glass and swallowed the words she was about to say several times. But—she might regret asking later. Still, the question that had been clinging to her chest burst out. "[gentle]...Tomoko said something. That your wife left you, and you've been alone ever since," Akio's hand stopped. The hand that had been about to lift the glass returned to the table. Keeping his gaze on the coffee plant, he paused for a moment. "[gentle]...She was my fiancée," His voice was quiet. "[gentle]It was seven years ago. Tomoko is just confused. We never registered the marriage," Something inside Mio slowly shifted. Fiancée. Seven years ago. "[gentle]...What happened to her?" Akio said nothing for a while. He took a sip of barley tea and set the glass back on the table. Then he began to speak, little by little. --- Back then, Akio worked for an IT company. He and his fiancée, who he lived with, had been saving for marriage over two years. About three million yen. Money they'd set aside for their shared future, which they'd barely touched. One night, when he came home, the room was quiet. A different kind of quiet than usual. Her shoes weren't in the entryway. When he opened the closet, her clothes were gone. When he checked the bankbook, the balance was nearly empty. He reported it to the police. But they said financial transactions between fiancés were a civil matter. "Please resolve it through discussion"—that's what they told him. He couldn't reach her anymore. "[gentle]...That's all it was. Just a story of being left with nothing," His tone was matter-of-fact. But deep in his voice, seven years of something was packed. "[gentle]I quit the company too. If I'd stayed there, I would have spent every day with the same faces. With the remaining money and severance, I started Mizukagami," "[gentle]...Why a coffee shop?" Akio thought for a moment before answering. "[gentle]Because coffee doesn't betray you," Mio's eyes began to blur. "[gentle]You choose the beans, apply heat, and drip it, and you get a proper answer. It's just that simple, but—it was really good for me back then," Mio bit her lip. He wasn't married. He'd been betrayed by his fiancée, and he'd been alone for seven years. The person who'd taken three million yen and disappeared. He'd rebuilt himself and created that small shop by the pond. The guilt she'd been carrying about her "love for a married man" crumbled. In its place came something bigger and heavier. A tear fell. She tried to stop it, but couldn't. Her hand holding the glass trembled. Mio set the glass on the table and covered her face with both hands. She tried not to make a sound, but her shoulders shook slightly. "[crying]...I'm sorry," "[surprised]...Why are you apologizing, Mio?" "[crying]Because...that's terrible. That's just terrible," Akio seemed about to say something. But the words didn't come. Mio went around the table and knelt in front of Akio. Then—she wrapped both hands around his hands. Akio's hands were cold. Or rather, they were the same temperature as the room, but they felt cold to Mio's fingers. The hardness of hands that had been making coffee, the bony feel of his knuckles, a faint tremor—it all transmitted through her palms. Akio froze. It felt like his breathing had stopped. He didn't pull his hands away, nor did he squeeze back. He simply remained rigid, watching Mio's tears fall. Mio looked up. Akio's eyes were a different color than usual. In the depths of his calm brown eyes, something—something he hadn't let anyone touch for seven years—seemed to be melting in this moment. (I want to squeeze back) Something inside Akio thought that. It was definitely there. But his fingers wouldn't move. For seven years, he hadn't known this sensation. Human warmth was so—frightening. Frightening, and frightening, and frightening— "[gentle]...You're a good person," The words leaked out softly. Mio cried again. This time from somewhere deeper than before. The two of them stayed like that for a while. --- It was when the sky outside the window had turned to twilight colors that Mio said she should go home. Akio walked her to the entryway. Mio put on her shoes, stood up, and turned around. "[gentle]...Thank you very much," Akio only said "Yeah." In the instant before closing the door, Akio looked at Mio. He seemed about to say something but didn't. Mio saw that and gave a slight bow, then stepped into the hallway. --- The path around Kasumi Pond was dark now. The streetlights reflected on the pond's surface, wavering. With softer light than during the day, orange streaks stretched and contracted slowly across the water. The sound of insects drifted from the direction of the pavilion. The smell of summer's end hung in the air. Mio walked alone along the path. She couldn't possibly fall in love for a while. She didn't know if she had the right to stand beside someone who was wounded. That person was still afraid of getting close to anyone. The hand that hadn't squeezed back proved it. And yet. The temperature of that hand still remained in both her palms. (Just being nearby is enough. I don't need to ask for anything. That's enough) She told herself that. Even as she told herself, she knew the words were a lie. She was asking for something. Something much deeper. Because she'd learned about that person's seven years of solitude—her feelings of love had become heavier than before. Mio stopped and looked at the water's surface. The light of the streetlamp reflected in the pond wavered, even though there was no wind. It might be because something inside the water was moving gently. She put her hand in her bag's inner pocket. The resignation letter was creased. It had been taken in and out of the bag so many times, it was already wrinkled. Mio took it out and unfolded it. "Due to personal circumstances—" She read it, then put it back in her bag. She didn't tear it up. She didn't throw it away. She simply returned it to its place. It was a short distance to Hibari Apartments. Akio was probably alone in his room right now. He might be watering that coffee plant. He might be reading again. (Next shift is Wednesday) That was still a week away. She had time to figure out what kind of face to make when she went to the shop. As she climbed the apartment stairs, Mio thought: the reason to quit had disappeared. But she still couldn't quite put the reason to stay into words. And yet. She wanted to see Akio making coffee again behind that counter. That alone was Mio's answer for tonight. S