“What?”
Keiichi set the saucer down in the sink and walked back over to Sumi. Had he not given her enough food? Haruka might’ve forgotten to feed himself when he got busy, but he’d never forget to feed his cat. Not knowing what to do, he knelt down in front of her. Sumi then stood up, walking away from him. He headed back toward the counter, thinking she was done with him, but she meowed again. Looking over once more, she was still staring at him.
Did she want to play?
When he stepped closer, she walked away, glancing back over her shoulder before jumping into the bottom shelf in the bookshelf farthest inside the store. Then, she poked her head out, as if she was inviting him inside.
“I won’t fit in there.”
As he knelt down, he noticed something in the corner of the shelf. It was a memo block, with “Free Papers” written on the first page. There was also a note to take the pages in order from the top.
“It couldn’t be…”
Keiichi reached his hand into the shelf. When Sumi bolted out in surprise, a little piece of Japanese paper floated to the floor. It said “Sayokyoku.” Apparently, Sumi’s favorite spot had a new shelf owner, who had yet to put any books out.
He flipped through the memo block. Each page had a different title and passage of prose written on them.
“Messy Bangs”
Spring had finally come for me. Lured out by the sunshine, I pulled out my bicycle for the first time in half a year. The pedals were heavy, and I was outpaced by pedestrian after pedestrian despite not being on a hill. Could an old couple walking their dog beat me because my body was still in hibernation? Was it because my muscle strength had dropped while I wrapped myself in blankets, freezing? Was the bike rusted?
I pedaled and pedaled. As I traveled down the azalea road, the scent of the earth carried through the air, and the voices of high schoolers playing burst out. All humans were surrounded by a membrane. No matter how many words you exchanged, or how much you pounded their chest, you could never rip through. How about I fly outside and search for a small hole?
Running children effortlessly passed me. I pedaled and pedaled, a common bluebottle butterfly overtook me, my ankles gradually wore out, and my forehead dripped with sweat. The bangs I straightened out with my flat iron were already messed up and ruined. Even though I still hadn’t gotten anywhere.
“Is this a diary?”
Each of the pages had a date, and the prose was never reused. Any writing mistakes were crossed out with lines, so the writer probably hadn’t intended on distributing them to other people. Were people supposed to take one page of these daily writings each? Keiichi had seen journals and essays left out for free on other shelves, but they were all printed. He’d never seen anything handwritten like this before.
He looked at the shelf name again. Sayokyoku was the Japanese word for a serenade, which was a song played while thinking of a loved one. It was a musical term, but it must have been widely used, because he couldn’t find anything linked to the shelf owner online despite changing his search terms multiple times.
Picking up the block note, Keiichi headed to the reading counter. As he flipped through the pages, he heard the sound of a bell approaching him from behind. Surprisingly enough, Sumi jumped up to the counter using a chair as a step.
“You want to read too?”
After getting a few pets on her back, she lay down right where she was.
Drinking his now-cold coffee, Keiichi read through the memo block from the beginning again. The seasons changed from spring to fall. The first pages were about daily life, but the writer must not have gone outside much over the summer, because the prose started turning into internal reflection, and as the seasons went on, their hidden feelings for someone overflowed word by word.
“Are they really okay with giving these away, regardless of who reads them?”
The way the author hadn’t hesitated to write out all kinds of things that people would unconsciously hide made him feel like he was looking at something he shouldn’t.
He went back behind the register counter and checked the shift calendar hanging on the wall. In three days, Haruka’s name had been crossed out and “Sayokyoku” was written in its place.
“That probably means they’ll be here to put out some books.”
After checking his own plans for that day, he wrote the date down in his planner. He was interested in what sort of books “Sayokyoku” would put out, but even more than that, he wanted to see what sort of person the memo block’s author was.
Keiichi had been planning on reading a novel he’d brought from home while minding the store, but he held off. If he didn’t read the prose written in these notes today, he would never be able to. As he flipped through the pages, he thought about why they had chosen those particular words. Was it an unconscious choice, or did it have to be those words?
He pulled the notebook he used to record his reading out of his bag and wrote down the date and where he found the memo block. Then, he titled it “Sounds of the Heart,” and let his ballpoint pen race across the page.
The rain pounding the asphalt was gradually getting heavier. Just as Keiichi ran inside Frère, he heard thunder crash.
“I’ve got no luck.”
He watched the relentlessly falling rain from inside the building. Praying that it would just be a passing shower, he combed his completely straight hair back and calmed his breathing.
The note saying that there was a cat inside was on the door. He looked up the staircase to the second floor, but the office light was on. Was Haruka teaching the new shelf owner how to take care of the store? Keiichi quietly opened the inner door.
“Good evening.”
The sound of the rain slamming against the glass overlapped with the worker’s voice, drowning it out somewhat.
At the register counter was a petite woman, whom Keiichi greeted. She must have been the owner of Sayokyoku. Her features were youthful, making her look like a high schooler, but she was probably in her early twenties. She had a calm air about her and wore a navy-blue dress and black-framed glasses. When he saw her pin-straight bangs, he imagined she must have straightened them with a flat iron.