After Story: If Winter Comes, Can Spring Be Far Behind?
THE ayakashi of the Towada residence mirrored the conceptions of their beholder. Their appearance changed not by choice but via human inconsistency. And that inconsistency was itself incongruent, capable of shifting over time. I had once seen them as furry orbs. Then they sprouted arms and legs, transforming into zashiki warashi, and that perception had never wavered since.
For me, the mystery of their appearance was settled, but what about my nephew?
“Takumi, do they still appear goblin-like to you?” I asked.
He gave me a wary glance. “Why?”
“Just wondering. Maybe they’ve changed and now resemble something like Haruka’s stoats. Wouldn’t that be cute?”
He hesitated. He sat restless at the dining table, his brow creased with conflict. He’d always been a boy of few words—and fewer expressions. Whether his reticence was an adolescent phase or a lifelong trait, I honestly couldn’t have said.
“Have they?” I pressed.
“Not really.”
Though terse, he didn’t ignore me or stand up to leave, didn’t end the conversation prematurely. I liked to think that was his way of showing consideration, deference—or perhaps even affection—toward me, his guardian.
Kaoru and I never bore a child. Our age difference had caused the thought to drift away before it could take root. Besides, the ayakashi in the house had always felt like my surrogate offspring, and Takumi had begun to fill a similar space in my heart.
I was born into a venerable lineage in which the desire of the child was secondary to family expectation. While my kin reveled in the exceptional talents they produced every generation, I, the ordinary child, had faded into obscurity, forgotten and unobserved. Takumi and I weren’t related by blood, yet I recognized much of my younger self in him.
Neither of us initially had a place to call home; we were both isolated, frustrated by circumstances out of our control. In our first meeting, I couldn’t help but feel that his vacant, emotionless gaze reflected the ghost of my youth. It wasn’t sympathy that surged through me but a profound affinity—a silent recognition that we were, in essence, kindred spirits.
Unlike me, however, Takumi’s ties with his parents were still mendable. As his aunt by marriage, I had no intention of usurping their role. Family was family, and reconciliation was the best possible outcome. All I hoped for, at least for the duration he lived with me, was that they would let me play pretend.
I’d never expected a family of my own, and then I met Kaoru, joined him in matrimony, and intertwined my path with Takumi’s. I was struck by how insatiably greedy my heart had become.
“They changed, right? For you?” Takumi murmured.
“That’s right. They used to be these little balls of fur. Over time, they grew arms, their bodies stretched out, legs appeared, and the next thing I knew, they were wearing kimonos, the cute little things.”
He emitted a nonchalant hum.
“It was a gradual process. But back then, they didn’t appear quite as frequently as they do now. One day, I happened to see one again and realized it was a zashiki warashi.” I caressed the silky raven tresses of the ayakashi on my lap. Without a doubt, the hair was that of a human, not the fur of a stoat or any other creature. The bisque dolls Kaoru had described had multicolored, often curly hair, making me wonder if the beings had more individuality than I first thought. “They certainly didn’t emerge just to see me like they do now. That was only after Haruka started coming around. Just how much do they love that girl?”
“I just hope she doesn’t mind.”
“Do you really think she does?” I probed, knowing Takumi was well aware of the truth by that point. Yet I couldn’t blame him; his condition provided him ample reason to disdain the little fellows. “You tell me if she feels anything but love for these adorable creatures. She’s on her way right now to make donuts for them, isn’t she?”
“I guess.”
The oaties climbed onto Takumi only for him to shrug them off. I knew he didn’t engage with them on purpose, but the oaties seemed to enjoy “playing” with him. He once actively ignored and slighted the creatures, so his newfound behavior was a refreshing change of pace. “I’m sure you’re used to it by now, Takumi,” I said, “but wouldn’t you feel more…I don’t know, comfortable if they weren’t so goblin-like?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you really?”
“They’re not so bad anymore.”
“Ah,” I giggled. “So they have changed.”
His lips zipped shut when he realized his misstep, and he averted his gaze.
Meanwhile I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. As I watched Takumi battle his embarrassment, the doorbell rang. “That must be Haruka,” I said.
The oaties, previously clambering all over Takumi, dropped to the floor in unison as if compelled by some unseen force and scampered to the door. I rose to let her in, and Takumi stuck out his hand, halting me. “Just… It doesn’t matter what they look like to me, okay?”
“Well, I can’t help but be curious,” I said. If they were cute goblins, then that was one thing. But they weren’t. I just wished the whole experience could be a little less unsettling for him.
He moved to the door. “Why do moms always worry so much…”
Moms?
His words had barely registered since he was already a fair distance away, but I could’ve sworn… My heart fluttered erratically as I grappled with the implication.
“Hi Ayako! …Ayako?”
“Oh, hi, Haruka, welcome!”
“Are you…feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine, I just gotta go wash my hands real quick.”
I didn’t need to glance at a mirror; I already knew how I must’ve looked. I rushed to the bathroom and splashed cool water on my face.
“He called me ‘mom’… Oh, Kaoru…”
My voice trembled not with sorrow but an overwhelming emotion I couldn’t quite name.