AFTER lunch, Towada escorted me home as usual. I’d asked whether he wanted to spend more time with his father before Akira returned to the hotel that evening, and he replied that the afternoon’s visit had been more than enough.
“That was probably the most I’ve talked to him in…ever.”
“R-Really?” My mind briefly drifted back to the worrying flurry of French at the end of the meal. “Ayako seemed concerned…”
“She’s just afraid that things could get dangerous for you if the other encounters continue. That’s probably what they were talking about anyway.”
“You think so? But you always walk me home. Besides, it’s just my hearing giving out for a bit—it’s not that big of a deal.”
Towada paused. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“For getting you wrapped up in this mess,” he said, his grip tightening on Koro’s leash. He was so considerate, always matching my pace. His eyes darted to the oatie on my shoulder. “All things considered, the oaties are more aligned with our realm than not, so more people can see or sense their presence. Their influence on us is also minimal.”
“Right, Ayako can see them, and Takanori said he could feel them as well.”
“But almost no one can perceive the ones we saw at school and in the park.”
“Ayako did mention she couldn’t see anything besides the oaties, didn’t she?”
He nodded. He explained that while ayakashi were largely invisible, they could still affect our world in various ways. They could subtly alter the ambiance, for example, or sway one’s luck for better or worse.
“A variety of ayakashi visit us from beyond. Some are potent, others not so much. Cross paths with a malevolent one, and ‘misfortune’ could follow—accidents, injuries, that kind of thing. Positive encounters occur too, though their effects are much more…lackluster.”
“Lackluster?”
“They might make your flowers grow better or something.”
“Oh, is that why Ayako’s garden is so…?” I blurted, immediately picturing her vibrant green yard. Every corner of her garden radiated life, from the flowerbeds to the bloom poised in decorative pots, to even the tenacious weeds. When Ayako told me she didn’t take special care of the plot, I almost hadn’t wanted to believe her. But after helping her plant tulip and grape hyacinth bulbs a few months prior, I had no choice but to accept the truth. The way she randomly dug the holes, tossed bulbs in, and covered them with dirt without a care in the world for orientation or arrangement or crowding had been eye-opening—and reassuring, oddly enough.
I’d rather hoped she didn’t garden as adeptly as she cooked, because otherwise she’d essentially be superhuman. Yet despite her ad hoc method, the emerging tulip shoots looked robust and promising, and I eagerly awaited their full blossom come spring. I was sure both my mother and I would’ve killed for such a green thumb.
“But it’s not like you get to pick and choose—and that’s only how they affect those who can’t see them,” he cautioned.
“I see. Then it’s different for us? How do they affect you?”
He hesitated, his eyes distant. “On the rare occasion they reach out to me, it’s like…I’m momentarily tethered to the other side.”
“What?” My voice quivered.
“If only they stopped there. Some are more insistent, trying to show me their world or even drag me there. Sometimes, I’m left falling into the hollow they leave behind when they disappear.”
The other side? The hollow? The magnitude of his admission gripped my heart. There was an authenticity in his voice, a rawness that suggested he wasn’t trying to scare me but was speaking from personal experience. “I…I can’t see them like you do, so I don’t know about all that…”
“Yes, but they seem drawn to you. If this continues, you might end up like me.” The bitterness in his tone was tangible as he forced out the words one by one.
Suddenly, the pieces all fell into place—Towada’s protective stance, Ayako’s anxiety. “Is that why you’ve been so insistent on staying by my side? You were afraid they’d take me?” Was that also why Ayako and Akira had been so concerned earlier?
He lowered his head, guilt evident in his posture. “Sorry.”
True, it was a lot to take in.
Definitely a lot to take in, but…
“Why apologize? You’ve kept an eye on me all this time. Because of you, I haven’t been afraid, and besides…”
I hesitated, searching for the right words. Although I’d lapsed into silence, though my thoughts were a jumbled mess, Towada patiently waited for me to speak.
He really was kind.
I changed my approach and instead considered how I could express the warmth spreading in my chest. “Being with you, seeing the ayakashi, it’s not all that bad.”
My unfiltered opinion elicited a strange grunt from him. I turned, and his slightly slack-jawed expression indicated that I’d blundered again. Scrambling to explain, I stammered, “I-I mean, they all look like animals to me, right? So it just feels like I’m in one big, bizarro zoo…”
“A zoo…” he echoed in disbelief. “Okay, I get that, but how can you stay so positive about all this?”
“I don’t think it’s about staying positive. It just really isn’t all that scary to begin with. You’re right here with me, and if this is something we have to face, isn’t it better to face it together? Maybe they’d prefer it that way too.”
“That’s…not really something you need to worry about.”
“You’ve been dealing with this alone all this time, haven’t you? Ever since your uncle passed.”
Towada’s face tightened in pain.
“I don’t know about you,” I continued, “but I hate being alone.”
Even when I still had amnesia, I’d never truly been isolated. I’d had my family, my ballet friends, and eventually Mao and Honomi—then Towada and Ayako. That missing piece of memory, though small, had cast a long shadow over my heart, dimming my self-assurance, and only with the support of those around me did I reclaim a sense of normalcy. I had come to understand that. And If I deserved help, why didn’t Towada? If I could lessen his burden merely by being present, then shouldn’t I? The ayakashi, phantoms that they were, entered our realm simply to be seen. Perhaps even someone like me could make the right difference in that regard.
While I justified myself the best I could, Towada listened intently. “I just have to stay away from them, right?” I concluded.
“I…don’t think it’s quite as simple as that.”
“I’ll also be careful, especially at night,” I said, clenching my fists, trying to sound determined.
That time, it was Towada who lapsed into silence and I who waited patiently for him to speak. After a beat, he murmured, “We’ll need more time…”
“Time?”
“And there’s the matter of my parents…”
His words trailed off, voiced more to himself than to me, and he seemed unwilling to clarify. His earlier worry appeared to have faded, however, his face was markedly less troubled. “I’m…not sure what you mean, but ‘there’s no need to rush,’ right?” I repeated his advice back to him in my best impression of his cadence. I hoped he realized how much of a comfort his counsel had been that night.
Catching my intent, he met my gaze and offered a weary half smile that made my heart flutter in my chest. I wished our walk could last forever, but my house loomed ahead. He passed me Koro’s leash, which I accepted reluctantly.
“I’ll keep you safe from them. That much I should be capable of,” he said.
“Sure,” I replied simply, acknowledging the resolution in his voice. I would press no further.
He gently removed the oatie from my shoulders. His touch, warmer and more delicate than before, left a cold wake in its absence.