Night Before

The fan ticked in lazy circles overhead, stirring the heavy Verona summer air like a spoon through warm syrup. Outside, the sunset pooled gold across the ancient rooftops, shadows inching their way between chimneys and church spires.

But inside, none of that warmth reached my chest.

I stood barefoot on the tiles, pacing. Our landline phone sat on the small table near the entrance. Every few steps I glanced at it, willing it to ring. Or maybe daring it to. Either way, I didn’t touch it.

“Are you gonna call?” Sylvie said from the couch.

I turned to her, arms crossed. “Tomorrow, I’ll sleep on it now.”

“You’re not going to sleep.”

She wasn’t wrong. The idea of hearing Shizuka’s voice again after all these years—what would I even say?

Hey, it’s me, Natsumi. I might be coming back. To the house. The one we used to sit outside of every summer.

I chewed on my thumb, then stopped myself. “What if it’s too weird? What if I ruin it? Maybe I should just write. Or—nothing. Nothing is safe.”

Sylvie didn’t answer right away. The silence was soft but not empty.

I sighed. “I’m not scared of Shizuka. I’m scared of… that feeling again. Of opening something I worked so hard to lock up.”

Sylvie finally set down her tea. “Then maybe leave it locked.”

I looked at her.

“But if it’s already leaking through the cracks, then maybe it’s not locked at all.”

I sank onto the couch, curling into the corner, wrapping my knees in my arms.

She gave me a look that was too calm to be casual. “Are you really calling her tonight?”

“I… want to,” I said. Then corrected myself: “I thought I should.”

“You don’t sound convinced.”

“It’s late in Japan,” I murmured, half-grateful for the excuse. “I’ll do it from the auditorium tomorrow.”

Sylvie studied me. “You don’t have to, you know. This trip—it’s about legal stuff. The house. Not about calling people from a different life.”

I blinked. “But it’d feel wrong. Like sneaking in.”

She leaned back. “No one said you have to announce your arrival. It’s not like you’re anxious to see them again.”

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

“You’re still thinking like she’s your best friend. Like you’re both teenagers again, trading school gossip and soda cans. But that’s not it anymore, Nat. That time’s gone.”

I looked down at my hands. “Maybe I just want to pretend it isn’t.”

“And that’s okay. Just don’t let it decide what you have to do. If you want to call her, do it when you’re there. When it’s real. Not because you’re scared of seeming rude.”

The room settled again.

Sylvie shifted topics gently, like a breeze flipping a page. “Forget Shizuka, what about that Ryōji guy at the café.”

My mood flipped like a coin. “I mean, did you see him?” I half-spun toward her, voice rising. “That jacket. That voice. That glare. I thought he was going to vaporize Renzo on the spot! And when he cracked that little smile—bam, I nearly died.”

Sylvie’s eyes peered above the rim of her glass, unimpressed. “You’re very animated for someone who ‘nearly died.’”

I waved dramatically. “You don’t understand. He was cinematic. If he told me he was a cursed ronin or a spy trying to outrun his past, I’d believe it. I’d help him escape it. Probably fall in love and tragically disappear.”

Sylvie smirked. “You’d trip over your suitcase and take him down with you.”

I flopped backward onto the rug, arms sprawled. “He’s like if noir had cheekbones.”

“You need help.”

“Possibly.”

Sylvie set her glass down. “Better or worse than your last mysterious boyfriend?”

The air shifted. Just a little.

I didn’t move for a moment, then found myself reaching for my bag. My fingers found the small photo album I’d been carrying for months—never looking at, never leaving behind.

“Kyoshi wasn’t mysterious,” I said, pulling it out slowly. “He was… light. Warm. And completely lost inside himself.”

Sylvie’s eyes widened slightly as I opened the album. A photo of him smiled back—laughing at something off-camera, hair falling into his eyes. That clueless, boyish grin had made my chest ache all through high school.

“Oh,” she breathed, leaning closer. “He’s adorable. Like a lost puppy.”

“Exactly.” I traced the edge of the photo with my thumb. “But you couldn’t count on him. You could only hope. That’s what hurt the most.”

I stared at the worn cover in my hands.

Sylvie reached over and squeezed my hand. “The fact that you can even show me this… maybe this trip to Tokyo is already doing something good for you.”

“Maybe.”

Sylvie exhaled, then offered her knee. I leaned into it, letting the album rest in my lap.

“You know what I’m wondering?” she said after a moment, her fingers gently stroking my hair. “What Ryōji’s like with women. I mean, really like.”

I tilted my head to look up at her. “Probably intense. All that beautiful and damned energy has to go somewhere.”

“God, yes. He’s got that whole tortured soul thing down to an art form.” She paused. “I bet he’s the type who ruins women completely.”

“In the best possible way,” I found myself saying, then immediately felt my cheeks warm.

Sylvie grinned. “There she is. I was wondering when you’d admit you’re actually attracted to him.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Your voice went all breathy.” She laughed. “He’s dangerous, isn’t he? The kind of beautiful that makes smart women do stupid things.”

“Exactly.” I closed the album and tucked it back into my bag. “Which is probably why I need to stay far away from him.”

“Or,” Sylvie said, eyes sparkling with mischief, “why you need to get very, very close. Just promise me you’ll call if he turns out to be the type who writes poetry on your skin.”

“Deal.”

The fan kept turning. The phone stayed silent. But for the first time in months, my heart felt like it might remember how to race again.