Eagle-eyed Tomoko had apparently noticed the plastic bag and pointed to it, a smile playing on her lips. She must’ve somehow guessed what was inside and was happy when she opened the bag and confirmed its contents. She set the bag nearby and pointed to a chair.
“Just have a seat and wait. I’ll bring us something to drink.”
By drink, she meant soy milk. Yura had developed a fondness for soy milk in the time she’d been friends with Tomoko.
There were several pieces of antique furniture throughout the six-mat wide shop. There was an old-fashioned nightstand with a lamp and wall-mountable candlesticks on top. Vases and china were positioned in the display case by the window. There was a flower table with intricate designs engraved upon its tabletop and legs.
There was an unassuming but deftly crafted, Satsuma Kiriko cut glass. Stained glass on the wall, an armful of boat lamps—every kind of antique was displayed all over, both on the floor or standing on its own. There was a variety of different goods, and though the shop was messy, it had an enchanting quality to it.
It had become Tomoko and Yura’s hangout spot, and Tomoko’s current father seemed to have very good tastes.
But does he really get enough business out here?
That thought had crossed her mind every time she visited. Compared to downtown, bustling with pedestrians and cars, this neighborhood bore only the slightest hint of life. It was in the middle of a residential area, and the road before it was an elementary school zone. On top of that, the road was only wide enough for one car to fit through.
In fact, Yura could count on one hand the number of people she’d seen in the shop in the two years since she started coming that were actual customers. Every now and then, while she and Tomoko were chatting, she would catch someone peering in out of curiosity but not actual customers.
“Is it because you aren’t actively trying to sell the stuff?”
When she had asked Tomoko, she’d responded with a big laugh and said, “I’ve never really thought about it.”
At that time, Tomoko shouted to the owner himself, who just happened to be present, “Are you making money off this, Papa?”
Mr. Hatada reassured Yura with a friendly smile that they really weren’t trying, and that in all honestly, he didn’t even want to sell any of these objects.
Then he’d recommended a nearby chair to Yura that had a 40,000-yen price tag.
“Isn’t it lovely? Touch anything you like. Antiques like this become lovelier the more they are held and cherished. Well…that’s the same for women, isn’t it?”
Tomoko was always full of energy, but she was a romantic at her core.
Thinking back on that memory made Yura smile.
She gave each of the nearby chairs a good look and pulled up the one that caught her eye the most. As she sat down, the chair emitted a peculiar wooden squeak, having not been sat on for many years.
The inside of the shop was dim. Not only were the windows small to begin with, but there were goods stacked everywhere and only on the brightest of days did the light get through.
Yura sat still with her legs together, in an attempt not to accidentally topple any boxes, and listened carefully. She could hear Tomoko moving about in the back. In the distance, a high-pitched klaxon wailed twice and then fell silent.
All was suddenly quiet. The light piercing the window warmed the peaceful shop. Yura was so comfortable that she might fall asleep if she wasn’t careful.
In this welcome stillness in front of Yura, a ray of sunlight shone on a giant mirror hanging on the wall.
Yura gently closed her eyes.
It’s so bright…
The crimson light reflected off the mirror, showering Yura with the remnants of the setting sun’s rays. The mirror was sharing just a bit of the sun’s pleasant warmth. A sudden sound caused Yura to open her eyes.
Footsteps.
Wondering if it was Tomoko coming back, Yura looked around. Nothing. But still, she heard the footsteps in the back of the shop.
I must be hearing things.
She closed her eyes once more.
She heard the sound of a heavy door closing, followed by a child’s soft footsteps.
This area does have some affluent homes, she thought.
It must have been a child from one such home leaving their house and running around outside. At this time of day, perhaps they were off to cram school? She often saw children sporting the firm-sided backpacks elementary schoolers wore rushing to and from the nearby school.
In the beginning, the sound started as a run, then began to slow. They were walking. And…they were crying.
Sobbing.
The child’s voice was very clear. Yura thought she could hear it now and then.
Unlike adults, when children cried, there was no guile. All their sadness and their anger shined through.
It was a tense sound, like a bow pulled taut. It echoed as it grew more intense, and the one crying couldn’t hold back the hiccuping sobs. Yura opened her eyes once more and looked around for the person.
She looked for a face and saw none.
When her eyes returned to the mirror.
She was taken aback.
Huh?
It was an utterly unbelievable sight.
A child was suddenly standing before her. He seemed to be in the wall itself.
Yura blinked. Over and over to be sure. And then finally, she was sure of it—standing before her, inside the mirror with strands of packing tape still on it, was a boy of about seven, his body shaking as he rubbed his eyes.
The child was clad in old-fashioned clothes, with a somewhat stylish stand-up collar.
At first, Yura was sure she’d made some sort of mistake. She turned away in surprise, then looked back again. She hadn’t noticed it before, but if she hadn’t gone crazy, then the mirror should have been reflecting the one piece of used furniture, the umbrella stand with the little oil painting hanging above it.
But behind the child was a place that looked like a castle of some sort rather than the antique shop.
Trembling, Yura rose from the chair and approached the mirror. The child still hadn’t noticed her. He merely stood still in front of the mirror, blowing his nose. He covered his eyes and blinked as several more tears fell. Coughing, he finally looked her way and stopped moving.
“……”
Yura’s eyes widened at the sight of a child with such a guarded expression. The face was unlike a child’s, cold and distorted by the tears. It was almost like a beast trying in vain to mimic human emotion.
The child looked up at Yura. She timidly drew closer. Finally, in front of the mirror, her eyes met his. He spoke not a word, merely staring.
The child’s eyes were a beautiful color. Perhaps because of the tears, they sparkled like jewels. They were a gentle, clear, and innocuous green. Despite her hesitancy, lulled by those eyes, she spoke in a whisper.
“…Hey, you okay?”
The child gave no reply, merely staring blankly at Yura.
After remaining quiet for a few moments, Yura tried again.
“…Hello? Hey…umm, is that where you’ve always lived?”
The child sucked in his lip and, after a short time, nodded. Somehow, he could hear Yura.
“…I see.”
Yura had meant to ask if he was living inside the mirror. She could occasionally hear Tomoko rummaging in the kitchen.
“…Are you always there?”
Still silent, the child gave a nod.
“Why are you crying?”
At that moment, the boy dropped his head.
Somehow, Yura got the feeling she understood why. Perhaps the reason he was crying was…
“Aw, don’t cry,” Yura said, trying to smile for him.
Large tears welled up in his eyes. Without much thought, Yura knocked on the mirror.
“See? Just look at this sad face in this lovely mirror.”
The boy finally spoke. He looked up and, in a strained voice, exclaimed, “Mirrors are meant to reflect lovely faces!”
Yura gasped at how loud his voice was.
As soon as he spoke, he dropped his head even lower than before.
While his voice wasn’t really that loud, his words were sharp and struck with the force of a whip. Yura shook her head vigorously.
“Th-that’s not true…”
Yura started to say that mirrors reflect all things equally but then stopped herself. She wasn’t sure who, but someone, somewhere, was tormenting this boy with such a fact. She couldn’t say something so brutal.
Unable to find the right words, she touched the mirror and fell silent. The boy stood tall, timidly stretching his tiny hand to meet hers, the mirror between them.
Oddly enough, the mirror carried not only his voice, but his body heat too. There was a slight spot of warmth where her hand touched his amidst the cold glass.
Yura closed her eyes.
At times like this, Yura could never figure out what to say. She frantically searched for the words that’d rightly convey what she wanted.
At that moment, the warmth of the hand Yura was touching began to spread. She wondered if he was spreading his fingers. But that faint warmth was beginning to grow rapidly. In no time at all, the hand on the other side of the mirror had gotten big enough to close around Yura’s hand. It hadn’t merely gotten bigger; it had actually grown. It was the size of an adult’s hand.
Yura opened her eyes.
On the other side of the mirror, looking down at Yura from a head taller than her, was an unfamiliar young man.
Tear stains remained on his cheeks. His familiar eyes told her without a doubt that this was the child from before.
And then, that pitiful, unsightly countenance disappeared, as if wiped away. It was like he’d cast off that hideous mask, and what remained was a breathtakingly handsome young man.
Yura stood frozen in surprise.
His emerald-green eyes blinked. She thought she could almost hear it. He too looked shocked, and tears began to trickle down his cheeks.