by Sarah Kuhn
“And with this, I can still help him,” Akira says. “Whenever I am on break from school.”
“So you’re definitely going to school?” I say, smiling.
“Yes.” He returns my smile. “I am going to start my journey to be a doctor. And whenever I feel discouraged, I will look at the amazing garment you constructed for me and remember when someone believed in me more than I did. I will remember you giving me that hope.”
A lump is slowly but surely forming in my throat. I swallow hard, tears pricking my eyes. I clutch the slip of paper in my hand, holding it close to my heart.
“Akira …” I say, my voice full of way too many emotions.
“Too much—how do you say it? Heaviness?” He gives me a gentle smile and reaches over and squeezes my hand. “I know, I know: It is just another day.”
“Just another day,” I murmur.
But as we walk away from the wall of ema, I hold his hand extra tightly, unwilling to let go.
Night begins to fall as we continue our journey, the sunlight sparkling through the cracks between the torii gates giving way to soft dusk. The climb gets steeper as we go, and my legs start to ache, but I’m determined to soldier on to the top, to get the full scope of this experience.
We stop for an early dinner at a little restaurant on the trail and eat inarizushi and kitsune udon—named for the fox-guides because the mouthwatering fried tofu that sits on top of hearty udon noodles is supposed to be their favorite food.
“My dad called this ‘pocket sushi’ when I was a kid,” I say, holding up a piece of inarizushi. “I guess because he thought that concept would make it extra fun or something? Of course he meant because it’s a little tofu ‘pocket’ stuffed with rice. But I thought he was saying, like, you could put it in your pocket.”
“How many did you stuff in your pocket before he realized?” Akira says, a smile playing over his lips.
“I think six?”
We laugh and I feel a surge of warmth as the vibe between us resets to something lighter again.
“This is beautiful,” I say, gesturing out the window. We’re in that moment where it’s not quite day, not quite night. The sky softens into something gray and magical and all the mountain greenery blurs into shadows. “But is it okay for us to keep hiking in the dark?”
Akira nods as he slurps his udon. “The shrine is open twenty-four hours—the crowds will thin out considerably the darker it gets, but you’ll still see people climbing. You might even see an evening runner or two jogging up the steps.” He sets down his bowl and studies me. “The feeling of the torii tunnel is different—I wanted you to have both experiences. And …” He hesitates, his gaze going to the window. “There is something I wanted you to see right about now. Let’s go find out if I timed it correctly.”
We pay for our meals and head back outside.
“This way,” Akira says, leading me off the path to a spot slightly away from the steps and the torii gates. “Right … here.”
“Ohhhh,” I breathe out, taking in the scene around me. We’re still surrounded by the wilderness of the mountain—even in the dark of early night, I can see the shadowy shapes of trees. But just beyond that is a stunning cityscape of about a million sparkling lights set against the clear sky that’s slowly fading from brilliant blue to velvety black. And the stars are just beginning to wink into sight. “This is incredible,” I say.
“This is Yotsu-tsuji—the crossroads,” he says. “Possibly the best view on this hike. And even better at night.”
We stand there for a few moments in silence, taking it in. We’re the only two people in this spot right now and it feels like we’re locked away in our own world.
“Would you like to sit for a moment?” Akira says.
I nod and even though there are a few benches scattered around, we sit on the ground, huddled together. We’re almost fully plunged into night now and it’s getting cool. Akira takes his jacket off and wraps it around both of us, pulling me closer. (I do have my own jacket tucked away in my bag, but I don’t object.)
We sit there in silence for so long, I lose track of time. The city looks so vast and the sky is endless. I lean my head against his shoulder and try to commit every detail to memory once again: the solid warmth of his arm around me, the fresh laundry scent of his jacket. The way we don’t have to say anything and it still feels like we’re saying everything.
After a while, he whispers: “Do you want another piece of mochi?”
“What? I mean … yes!” I giggle way too loudly, puncturing the serenity of our surroundings, and clap my hand over my mouth. “This is such an amazing view, I actually forgot about the mochi.”
I manage to stay under the jacket with him as I reach over, pull the box from my bag, and open it.
“This one,” he says, pointing to the upper right corner.
I take it out and pop it in my mouth—mmm, chocolate. The perfect sweet treat after our savory meal.
“Wow,” I say. “That is good.”
He smiles and hands me the slip of paper that was underneath the chocolate mochi. I flip it over, but it’s so dark out, I can’t actually see what’s on it.
“Oops!” He laughs and fishes his phone out of his pocket, turning on the flashlight app and shining it over the paper. “I should have realized reading up here at night might present a problem.” He points to the kanji, which I can now see more clearly. “This means … well, there are a few meanings. Unlimited. Endless. Boundless.”
“Ah, so this view,” I say, gesturing to the incredible landscape before us, that combination of nature and city that seems to go on forever. “Once again, a perfect match of kanji and location—I guess I’m glad you made me wait before inhaling the entire box.”
I give him a teasing look, but he’s not laughing—he’s regarding me seriously, his eyes searching my face. “It is not just about the view,” he says. He turns off the flashlight app, tucks his phone back in his pocket, and meets my gaze. “It is also about you.”
My breath catches. “What?”
“When you go home, I want you to remember that you are boundless,” he says. “That your dreams are not limited by anything—not uncertainty. Not what someone else thinks or says. Not what you think you should be doing versus what makes your heart light up.” He cups my face with one of his hands, his thumb stroking down my cheek. “Watching you embrace your passion is beautiful. And I hope you keep doing that, no matter what else might get in the way. You are so creative, so talented—the way your imagination overflows when you’re inspired …” He shakes his head, smiling slightly. “You have this endless well of passion and when you love something, you love it so fiercely. I am in awe of that. I am in awe of you.”
The lump in my throat will one hundred percent not go away this time. Ditto the tears that fill my eyes and start to trickle down my cheeks. No one has ever made me feel so seen.
“Oh, Kimi, no. Don’t cry.” His brow crinkles in concern and he brushes my tears away with his thumb. “I am sorry. I … I ruined it again, didn’t I? The ‘just another day’ thing. I didn’t mean—”
I cut him off with a kiss.
I’m feeling so many things I can’t express in words and that seems like the only real way to show him. My palms press against his chest and his fingers tangle in my hair, pulling me close. We’re still wrapped up in the cocoon of his jacket, and the dark cover of night really does make it feel like we’re the only two people in the world, locked away from anything that’s not this moment. I revel in every sensation: his lips on mine, his hands stroking down my back, all the places where our skin touches. I could live in this kiss forever.
When we finally pause for a moment, we’re both breathless. He brushes away the last of my tears, his gaze exploring every inch of my face.
“Kimi …” he manages.
“It’s not just another day,” I interrupt. “It is my last day, my last night, my last everything—in Japan. And …” That lump rises in my thr
oat again. I swallow, determined to continue. “I am sad. But I’m also so … so happy that I’ve had such an amazing time here.”
I think about what I said to my obaasan the other day—about how even though making things real opens me up to hurting and heartbreak, I wouldn’t trade all the experiences I’ve had here in Japan for anything in the world. All those experiences have led me to this place, right now—and I suddenly realize that I want to embrace that, not ignore it. It is my last day. And I’m with the sweetest, most passionate, and yes, hottest guy I’ve ever known.
“So much of that amazing time has been because of you, Akira,” I say, reaching up to touch his face. “Thank you for wanting to make my last day special.” My fingertips skate down his cheek and I feel him smile, his dimple appearing under the soft touch of my thumb. “Back at the inner shrine,” I continue hesitantly, “I wished that we could have another day like this. That’s what I wrote on my ema. Just one more day, in one of the most beautiful places in the world, where we don’t have to worry about anything but each other.”
“Only one more day?” he says, pulling a mock indignant face. “Oh, Kimi from America, what did I tell you: Don’t forget that your imagination is boundless.” His expression softens. “I wished that this would not be the end for us. That we would have many days like this.”
“But how?” I whisper, the tears creeping into my eyes again. “How would that even happen?”
“I do not know yet—it is a wish,” he says. “But who knows? Airplanes exist. You have family here. I have always wanted to visit the States.” He grins at me and cocks a teasing eyebrow. “I could meet all the big movie stars, maybe one of those guys from an American detective show, ne? What do you say we keep talking and see where this takes us?”
I study his earnest, hopeful face. I have no idea where we’ll end up—and there’s definitely potential for heartbreak. But isn’t it the same with my big decision to pursue what I actually want, to apply to fashion school? I keep saying there’s no certain outcome there, either. And yet I can’t imagine doing anything else.
If I stopped talking to Akira after today, it wouldn’t make the wanting go away.
“Okay,” I say. “Yes. Please. Let’s keep talking. Keep wishing. For many more days like this.”
He smiles and pulls me close again. We kiss for what seems like hours in one of the most beautiful places in the world and it’s definitely not just another day.
It’s one of the best days I’ve ever had.
When we finally manage to stop kissing, we hike the rest of the way up to the top of the mountain, where there’s another shrine. Akira uses his phone flashlight to show me some of the tiny fox statues peppered throughout, we take in more incredible views, and then finally, reluctantly decide we should start our descent.
“Wow,” I say as he leads me back to the torii gates. “You were right, this has such a different feel at night.” The scarlet tunnel is lit by lanterns placed in various corners and there’s no one walking through but us. The darkness and the sporadic illumination and the lack of tourists bustling about give it an eerie, secluded cast. The quiet is occasionally punctuated by sounds from the forest, the soft chitterings of bugs and the gentle rustle of leaves. It still feels magical, but in a whole different way.
My heart is full and I’m suddenly so glad I finally let myself celebrate this as my last day. Because our walk back feels weighted with meaning—in a good way. I’m still sad to be leaving, but I’m also excited to go home and share all the memories I’ve made with my friends. And to face my future.
I think of my application piece: the garment I started with Grandma, the garment that gives me so much joy whenever I think about it. I can’t wait to finish it and to show it off. I can’t wait to show it to Mom.
That last thought trickles in unbidden and I frown a little—I mean, I need to really explain everything to Mom before I show her. But I do want to show her, I realize. I want her to finally see the passion I’ve been so afraid to show her in the past.
“What are you thinking about?” Akira says, jiggling my hand. He hasn’t let go of my hand since Yotsu-tsuji. “You have the look you get when you are thinking very hard about something.”
“Everything and nothing,” I say. “Going home. Applying to fashion school. Dealing with my mom. And how glad I am to be here with you—whoa!” Something skitters across the path and I jump out of the way.
What in the world …
“Ah, I should have warned you,” Akira says, laughing a little. He lets go of my hand and crouches down, motioning for me to do the same. I kneel next to him and he gestures to the side, where the torii touch the forest. “Look,” he says softly.
I do. A small, inquisitive face with huge eyes and pointy little ears stares back at me.
“Is that a cat?” I exclaim.
“There are a bunch of them in this forest,” Akira says. “Lurking around. But more bold at night, for some reason.”
“I guess cats and foxes are sort of related, right?” I say, giggling as I stand back up. “Maybe the cats get the nighttime shift when it comes to watching over this place.”
“Maybe,” he says, grinning at me. “Shall we see how many we spot before we get to the bottom of the mountain?”
We continue our walk through the tunnel of torii, counting cats as we go, making up elaborate personalities and backstories for them. It feels easy and light and Akira keeps making me laugh with his increasingly ridiculous explanations of the various kitty characters. It keeps me from dwelling on the fact that even the best days have to come to an end.
As we reach the last section of torii gates, my heart drops a little. Yes, I’m totally celebrating my last day and yes, I know we’re going to keep talking—but I still don’t want to say good-bye to Akira.
“Here we are,” he says as we reach the final torii gate. “At the end. Do you want your last mochi?”
I almost say no because the last mochi definitely means the day is over. But I make myself nod. He reaches into my bag, pulls the box out, and hands it to me. I pluck the last piece free and take a bite. I want to savor this one rather than cramming it all in my mouth in one go. It tastes sweet and fruity.
“Strawberry,” Akira says. “Like the mochi I gave you on your first day here. Of course it is not a real strawberry because I did not think that would keep all day during our hike, so it is not exactly like the mochi I gave you your first day, but I thought this would be close enough.”
“It’s wonderful,” I say, meaning it. Why is he acting so nervous all of a sudden? I scrutinize his face and realize that his eyes are shiny, that he’s looking at me like he’s trying to memorize every single thing.
He doesn’t want to say good-bye, either.
I pop the last bite in my mouth, take the final slip of paper from the box, and turn it over. And my heart does a somersault. Because I know this kanji. This kanji is one of the few I learned from my mother. She showed it to me when I got that little watercolor set, holding my hand in hers to trace the gentle brush marks on scrap paper.
Akira runs a fingertip over the kanji. His voice is low and hesitant. “This one means—”
“—love.” I meet his gaze. “It means love.”
He laces his fingers through mine. The slip of paper is still nestled in my hand and I swear I can feel my heartbeat right at the point where our palms touch, pressing that last kanji between us.
He’s looking at me with that tenderness that makes me melt. And he’s not telling me not to cry now—because he’s already crying.
I rest my head against his chest and pull him close. His arms go around me and we stand there in the beautiful, eerie light of the scarlet torii gates, holding each other one last time.
“Kimi,” he says softly.
“I know,” I whisper. “Me too.”
That night, I send my mother one more email. It’s much shorter than anything I’ve written to her while I’ve been here.
Dear Mom,<
br />
Is that spot in the Voices of Asian America exhibit still available? Because I have something I’d like to show.
Love,
Kimi
She hasn’t answered any of my other emails and it’s very early morning back in the States, so I’m not expecting a response. But one comes just a few minutes later.
Yes, it is. I will let them know to hold it for you.
I smile, a bright spark of hope threading through me, and cuddle Meiko to my chest. I think about my grandparents holding on to things all these years—Meiko, the yukata on the dress form, Ojiichan’s letters—hoping for Mom’s return. And how it seems that maybe Mom held on to something for me, too.
“Kimiko-chan!” My grandmother is calling me from the living room. “You need to catch your train!”
“Coming, Grandma!” I yell, hauling my suitcase and my carry-on out of my bedroom. “Oh, hold on just one more sec …”
I leave the suitcase in the hall and dash into the sewing room to grab some scraps of fabric I forgot to pack the night before. I come to a screeching stop and look around for my fabric … and then I see something out of the corner of my eye and do a double take.
“Kimiko-chan.” My grandmother bustles into the sewing room. “We do not want you to be late.” Her gaze follows mine and she sees what I’m staring at.
“The yukata,” I say. “You put it back on the dress form. And …” I move in closer to make sure I’m seeing things correctly. “You finished one of the sleeves.”
“I have decided I am going to, eto … to finish it—the whole thing,” she says. “I think …” She studies the yukata for a moment, like the last twenty years are flashing before her eyes. “I think it is time for me to give it to your mother.”
I reach over and squeeze her hand. “I can’t wait to see it when it’s done. It’s going to be so beautiful.”
“Ah, there you two are,” my grandfather says, coming into the sewing room. “We should go, Kimi-chan, you need to catch your train.”
