Small Fingers, Heavy Vows

Her name was Sakura.... at least, you think it was. Time has a way of blurring names. All you remember for certain is that you met her the same month she was preparing to leave.

Back then, you weren't really expecting anything extraordinary. You had traveled to Japan for nothing more than a vacation, mainly to visit your relatives. The days passed quietly, each one much like the last. Nothing about the trip felt special until she came into your life.

It happened on your way back from a small convenience store. The bag in your hand was filled with things you can no longer remember buying, and the streets were quiet beneath the fading light of the afternoon.

Though you never actually met her that day, she stood alone in the mouth of a narrow alleyway, half-hidden by shadow. Then she looked up.

For the briefest moment, your eyes met. The setting sun slipped between the buildings, washing her face in warm gold. Her eyes caught the light like polished amber, bright enough that, even now, you can't tell whether they truly shone that way or if your memory made them brighter than they actually were.

The moment lasted only a heartbeat. You kept walking.

You had no way of knowing that the girl from the alleyway would find her way back into your life the very next day.

“Hey.”

You turned at the sound of the voice calling you. Standing a few steps away was the girl from the alleyway.

She was smaller than you remembered, she looks like she’s barely 4'11", probably younger than you too, with short hair that framed her face in a way that made her look almost effortlessly carefree. The afternoon light from yesterday was gone, but somehow she still carried the same presence.

She narrowed her eyes, her stare judgemental. “You're the one who kept staring at me yesterday, aren't you?”

“...”

“What? Are you some kind of creep?”

“I wasn't staring,” you said. Your Japanese came out rough around the edges, the way it always did when you were caught off guard. “You looked at me first. I just looked back.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That's your defense?”

“It's the truth.”

“So you're saying you weren't staring at a random girl in an alley?”

“I'm saying...” You hesitated, trying to arrange the words properly. “We... looked at each other.”

A small smile tugged at her lips.

“You're not from here, are you?”

You lowered your head for a moment, letting out a small sigh before nodding.

“Yeah... I guess it's that obvious,” you admitted. “So my Japanese isn't very good. But I promise I wasn't staring.”

For a second, she looked like she was about to argue. Instead, she smiled.

“That’s why your Japanese is funny.”

You blinked. “Funny?”

“Not bad,” she clarified. “Just... different.”

You let out a light chuckle. “Well I'm still learning.”

The misunderstanding faded, and after a few more words, the conversation became less of an argument and more of an introduction.

You told her you were Japanese but raised in Canada.

You told her you were only here for a vacation, visiting relatives and seeing a place you had never really gotten the chance to know. You explained that you would be leaving the following month.

“Next month?” she repeated.

You nodded.

She looked away toward the street, a little surprised.

“Me too.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?”

She nodded. “I'm leaving Kagoshima next month.”

There was a brief silence.

“Where are you going?”

“Hakata,” she answered. “In Fukuoka.”

The way she said it carried a strange sense of finality. Like Kagoshima was already becoming a memory to her, even though she was still in the city.

Funny, you thought. You had only just met her, and already you both had one thing in common.

Neither of you were staying.

Days passed, and somehow, you found yourself seeing her again. You didn’t mind it, not because you missed her or anything, but because you guys shared a bond.

It was another quiet evening in Kagoshima. You had just finished throwing away the trash when you noticed her sitting outside, watching the street like she was trying to memorize every little detail of it.

It was the same girl from the alleyway.

The same girl who was leaving soon.

“You're always outside, are you homeless?” you asked.

She turned around, surprised, before slapping your shoulder.

“Oh shut up!”

You act hurt, holding the shoulder. “Well every time I see you, you're always outside.”