Along the River

"Misaki, thanks for coming," Takeshi says.

I don't know why Takeshi brought me here. It's spring. We should be in Kyoto admiring the cherry blossoms, not in Osaka walking amongst skyscrapers.

But I am happy enough to be with him, here and now, glad that he invited me. His hand almost brushed against mine as we got off the subway train. For a fleeting moment, I thought he would take my hand in his. Even under the pandemonium of hundreds of people getting on and off the train-dressed in casual wear instead of business suits for once-I could still hear myself take in a sharp breath. He didn't take my hand.

It was about a twenty-minute walk from the subway station to here. We walked along the path where the annual Illumination parade is held every Christmas Eve, a fantastic display of lights of all colors, forming different figures and designs. Dozens of cities across the nation compete for the top Illumination awards every year.

I've been told that I was once here, in Osaka, on Christmas Eve, walking this same path, enjoying the Illumination. But I don't remember. Ever since my accident, I've only been able to remember things up until the end of high school.

When my friend found out Takeshi was taking me here, she gave me a note and told me not to open it yet. I would know when to open it, she said.

"Isn't it beautiful here?" Takeshi asks.

Takeshi has a playful, boyish charm that is exuded through his eyes, his smile, and, most of all, his voice. Most women find him attractive for his good looks and, more importantly, his uninhibited spirit. It's refreshing to meet a man in Japan who has not fully conformed to societal standards. Takeshi is a foreigner, though, a gaijin. Even though his looks and speech don't give him away, his mannerisms do. Watching him interact with Japanese men is like watching a river stream across a valley, its direction dictated by the flow of its surroundings, ready to be free once again in the ocean.

"Yes, it's beautiful," I answer.

I should've known Takeshi wasn't interested in spending our vacation looking at buildings. Takeshi loves the countryside; he loves nature: lakes, waterfalls, rivers, mountains, snow. He studied in the Japanese countryside many years ago as an international student.

We are standing along the river that cuts across half of Osaka. Behind us is a great green field meant for festivals. On Christmas Eve, it's bustling with performances, food vendors, and hard-working people looking for a break from the world. In front of us, across the river, is the line of skyscrapers that Osaka is famous for. I think I can see the Umeda Sky Garden Building in the distance, the highest skyscraper in Osaka.

It is twilight. Even though it is spring, it's getting chilly. I feel a jacket being placed over my shoulders. I whisper thanks and hug Takeshi's jacket closer, feeling the nylon exterior, enjoying the warmth of the cotton interior.

"You want to sit down?" he asks.

I nod, and we gaze out into the peaceful evening sky in silence. Together.

So this is what it's like to spend time with a writer, an American writer living in Japan. I studied abroad in America once, in high school. Now, I'm a music producer for a small company that releases many English tracks. I suppose he and I aren't that far apart.

"I haven't been back here in years," he says.

"When were you last here?" I ask.

I can't help but notice that everyone else sitting alongside the river is a male-female pair.

"The first time I was in Japan. When I was in college, studying abroad here. Many years ago." His voice suddenly sounds wistful. "It was my last night in Japan, Christmas Eve, hours before my flight back to America."

"Shall I tell you a true story?" he asks me.

I smile and look over at him, all ears.

* * *

I was part of a group of 10 American college students who were studying in Japan at the time. We arrived in the summer. I fell in love with one of the Japanese girls there. Intelligent and beautiful, she was someone you would immediately find attractive, but you wouldn't quite know why.

It was Halloween (the Japanese don't celebrate it, but those who were friends with us Americans were more than interested in going to a Halloween party).

My costume was as a samurai, my longish hair tied in Meiji style. She dressed up in an American schoolgirl outfit.

The party itself, hosted by the tallest and most thoroughly Caucasian American in our group, was nothing spectacular. We were all crammed into his apartment, and everyone knows how small Japanese apartments are. We lived in the countryside, though, so the average apartment there was substantially larger than most places found in Tokyo. At any one time, there were at least fifteen people at the party.

Their costumes were the entertainment highlight of the night. One Japanese girl dressed up as Sadako from "The Ring" and crawled toward us, her long black hair covering her face, her rotten fingernails scratching the floor. One American guy dressed up as Densha Otoko (the most popular drama of the time) wearing my salmon dress shirt. The girls loved him. One other guy or girl (I actually can't remember) appeared as Orochimaru from "Naruto." The host himself was supposed to be James Bond. Everyone was having a wonderful time.

I was utterly miserable.

It was the night I had decided to tell her everything.

You might've already noticed, but studying abroad is a lot like going on a reality TV show. You take a group of strangers and put them together in an enclosed setting and see what happens. People get to know each other very well very fast. The irony of studying abroad is that it widens your greater world while it at the same time shrinks your immediate social world. You're in a foreign country, you probably don't speak the language, so once you make some friends, you're most likely going to stick with them.

Like on a reality TV show, things that happen while studying abroad might seem less than real.

Which is why I questioned myself when I first developed feelings for her. Especially since I had just gotten burned months ago before coming to Japan.

For months, I told myself I wasn't in Japan to be a stereotypical American guy looking for a Japanese girlfriend. Within weeks, there was drama among some Americans and the Japanese. Romantic drama. It was to be expected. We were all around the same age. Some of the American guys were looking for Japanese girlfriends, and many of the Japanese girls we knew were rather attractive. And as I mentioned before, there was the enclosed setting.

Two of the American guys were apparently fighting over one Japanese girl. There was some ambiguity between more than one male-female pair. I stopped bothering to keep track of how many girls one of the American guys had been with. I still remember fondly those nights of acting as someone's confidant over a dinner of curry rice, whispering outside on those warm yet breezy summer nights, listening while each of the boys was having a beer, making sure I didn't leak any information to the American girls-or girls in general for that matter.

I was willing to listen, but I was determined not to participate. I wanted no part in any of it.

That lasted about a few weeks. Until the moment I saw her. I knew-but I didn't want to know-that she would be the source of all my joy and sorrow in Japan.

For the first few months, I denied my feelings for her. She was an attractive girl, so naturally other guys were after her. I wished very badly that she would just get together with one of the guys so I could stop thinking about her.

Neither of those things ever happened. She was close to falling into a relationship with one of the guys, but there was some small squabble involving his drinking habits, which killed their interest in each other. Meanwhile, I did my best to convince myself that whatever I was feeling was admiration, lust, or just anything that wasn't love. I never tried hard enough.

Maybe things would've been different had we been able to maintain our distance from each other, but we had too many mutual friends and frequently saw each other at parties, outings, and festivals.

Our one-week trip to Kyoto broke me. Of those who went were me, her, and some friends. Whispering friends. When a guy starts acting as weird around a girl as I did around her, people start to notice.

We visited the numerous gardens, temples, museums, forests, and mountains that Kyoto is famous for. We stayed at a youth hostel, all of us sleeping in the same room. With her in the same room, I could shut my eyes but not my mind. I remember doing something very stupid when we were visiting Arashiyama to see the koya, something thoroughly elementary, something only a teenage boy would even think of doing: I hopped across the wooden poles that were planted from one bank of the river to the other to impress her.

It did more worrying than impressing. Now that I think about it, I should've at least been consoled that she had been worried about me. Then again, she was a kind and gentle person who cared about everyone.

* * *

"I would've been impressed," I chime in as Takeshi is telling the story.

His eyes are dreamy for a moment, then he asks me, "But you would've been worried too, right?"

After a few seconds of avoiding his eyes, I confess, "Yes, worried too."

He smiles-the meaning of which I do not know-closes his eyes, takes a breath of fresh air, and re-opens his eyes. He's still looking at me, the same smile on his face.

"Are you hungry or thirsty?" I ask.

He nods barely.

I hand him a piece of melon bread and a bottle of milk tea from our bag, and he murmurs thanks. I take the same mini-meal for myself.

"Shall I continue with the story?" he asks with his mouth half full.

His eyes a little wider than usual, his cheeks in a small bulge, he looks years younger, maybe the way he looked in his story.

Takeshi doesn't need my answer to go on.

* * *

On the night they all decided to go to the Gion district for dinner-I still think the all-American boys of the group just wanted to see some geisha-I could no longer stand to be in her company, especially since it was already obvious she didn't return my feelings, so I decided to visit the Philosopher's Walk-alone.

The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful, and when we got back to the countryside, things among the guys and girls, both American and Japanese, had gotten so complicated that I needed nightly sessions of individual updates to keep up.

Speaking of nightly sessions, one night, we were having sukiyaki at the apartment of one of the Japanese girls. Of course, she and I were both present, sitting next to each other no less. After a great meal of sukiyaki, a few bowls of rice, several opened cans of beer and chuhai, and blankets laid on the floor, she and I were in each other's arms, in full view of everyone. But it wasn't as if none of the others had coupled off.

Her hand in mine, her head lying on my shoulder, I wished the moment would last forever. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else existed. There were only she and I.

The next morning, I was more confused than ever.

We didn't talk about that night. Not until Halloween.

The party, hosted by our own James Bond, was fizzling down. We said our goodbyes and the customary congrats on a great party. At the doorway, I told her I wanted-needed-to talk to her. All the Americans lived in the same apartment complex, which made matters rather convenient after parties such as this. I walked her to my apartment as the others filed into their own rooms, some followed by Japanese who didn't want to go home yet.

I gave her one of my jackets to drape over her bare legs as we sat down on the wooden floor. She said she was cold, so I closed my window, which I usually left open for fresh air.

"Do you know what I wanted to talk to you about?" I asked her, my head down.

"Are those feelings still there?" She wasn't looking at me either. We both sat with our backs to the wall.

"Yes."

"But she's already with someone else."

I look up at her for the first time, perplexed why she was referring to herself in third person. "You are?"

"Me?" She pointed at herself with her right index finger.

"Yes."

"I thought you were talking about..."

Then it hit me.

She was referring to one of the other Japanese girls, perhaps the most popular one in our group, taller and thinner than she was, someone who was already with one of the American guys.

"No, silly, have more confidence in yourself," I said slowly, deliberately enunciating every syllable. I looked into her eyes for as long as I dared, and right when I thought she was going to turn away, I said, "It's you."

Then she turned away.

I had a thousand questions in my mind I wanted answered. I wanted to know the meaning and intent behind every little gesture over the past few months. But I couldn't speak, either from fear of making her feel pressured or fear of learning the answers. I still don't know which it was.

I diverted my eyes to my room. There were a small desk with my laptop and lamp, a square dining table, the drawers for my clothes and other items, my clothes hanger, and my futon. A 13" TV sat on a shelf that stood next to the window, through which I could see the stars.

Finally, she turned back to me. From the look in her eyes to the way her lips were forming the words, I already knew the answer. My heart sank. I've always found that to be an odd expression, but it's quite apt in this case. I know it's probably not physically possible, but I really could feel my heart sink, as if it had been engulfed by ocean waves.

"I'm sorry..." she said. "I don't feel the same way."

That was enough. I had no more questions.

But she did. Maybe it was for the sake of politeness, maybe it was to fill the silence, or maybe she didn't feel it was time to leave yet, but we had a muted discussion on why I had feelings for her. She was someone who found it thoroughly improbable for any boy to like her. I told her that being tall and thin wasn't everything. She was a natural leader who just needed more confidence in herself.

When she felt it was time to leave, she stood up, holding onto my jacket, which she handed back to me. I touched the fabric and thought that through the cotton and nylon, we were almost holding hands.

I offered to walk her home. She refused.

* * *

Right now, Takeshi is in two places at once. He's here with me now, sitting along the river. He's also back in his apartment, years ago, standing with her.

I've balled up my fists without noticing. I should be happy Takeshi is willing to have me as a confidant, but this is not what I want.

Takeshi has stopped for a gulp of water and to gather his thoughts. It is dusk, and the lights of the skyscrapers are emerging like nearby stars.

"The story's not over yet, is it?" I ask.

"No, it's not," he whispers.

He chose to tell the story here, at this river, for a reason. The story is not going to end at his old apartment; it's going to end here, at this river.

* * *

November was a cold month. The first snow arrived early that year. I stood outside that morning, accompanied by some of my American friends. The petals of snow fell softly to the ground. Most of the others either had come outside bearing umbrellas or wore hoodies. I let the snow drift to my hair, my face, the palm of my hand. I even did the thing that has probably been captured a thousand times by photographers the world over: I faced the sky, opened my mouth, and tasted the falling snow on my tongue.

My mood was divine.

My divine mood lasted until later that morning, when I saw her walking toward our apartments. I assumed she had come to spend some time with the girls. I was wrong.

I found out at the student festival later that month, when she was onstage pretending to be an American boy, giving dating advice in English. She had studied abroad in America in high school, so her English was pretty good, but someone must've revised her script. She was wearing a jacket that didn't belong to her. A boy's jacket. I recognized that jacket. I should've, since it had gone pretty well with my salmon dress shirt on Halloween. It belonged to the American-arguably the closest male friend I had in Japan-who had dressed up as Densha Otoko for Halloween.

The performance was outdoors. Everyone, including me, was cold enough already. Still, I felt as if knives of ice had pierced my stomach.

She had been going over to his apartment regularly for the past few weeks to have him check her script. I suspected more. I wasn't alone in my suspicions. The friends who sat with me, both American and Japanese, speculated amongst themselves, mercifully or unmercifully leaving me out of the discussion. Most of them were well aware of my feelings.

It was a heartbreaking time in November. For more than one reason. All of the Americans, including me, would leave Japan in a few weeks. Despite everything, I didn't want to leave. I didn't want our study abroad program to end. Some of the other Americans shared my sentiment. Some didn't.

I would be the last to go. After the farewell party, I was scheduled on a ten-day trip to Korea with one of the other Americans, who was Korean by ethnicity. One day during our stay in Korea, my friend was reading her e-mail at the guest house. The friend turned to me and said, "She asked about you specifically in the second sentence of an e-mail she sent me. In the first sentence, she asked whether we are having fun here in Korea."

Not willing to bring my hopes up, I didn't give that a second thought. At least not until I saw her again in Osaka.

After my return from Korea, I had reservations at a traditional guest house in Osaka, where I planned to stay a few days and spend Christmas Eve. By then, all the other Americans had already left Japan.

In late November, she began to come over to my apartment occasionally to read some stories I had written. I had no qualms about sharing my work. Anyone who was interested and willing to take the time was more than welcome to read it. At first, I thought it odd she would come over as often as she did after finding out how I felt. I discussed this with the American girls, and they found it strange too. I brushed it off with the excuse that she was an artistic person who simply had an objective interest in a fellow artist's endeavors. After all, she intended to enter a career in music production.

Most of my fiction was romance back then, which made it doubly uncomfortable having her in my room reading them. I usually liked to have my curtains open, but she liked them closed because she liked privacy. Whatever the reason, with the curtains closed, I was triply uncomfortable. I would be only a few feet away from her as she read my stories on my laptop at my desk while I lay on my futon studying. I never did ask her why I couldn't have just e-mailed her my stories and had her read them at her leisure. I never wanted to ask.

I never really got any studying done while she was over. I didn't let her see, but my hands were shaking, my heart racing, my throat dry. One night, she asked me to explain to her a passage in one of my stories. As I stood behind her and pointed to the screen to indicate which words I was elucidating, our faces were inches apart, closer than they had been since the sukiyaki night. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, tip her face toward mine, and kiss her. I wanted to let her know she was the main reason I didn't want to leave Japan.

I explained the passage to her and plopped back down on my futon, pretending to study more.

She's with Densha, I told myself. Or at least I thought she was.

That same night, I told her about my plans to visit Osaka around Christmas Eve. Her hometown was near Osaka, and by then winter break would've started already, so she suggested we meet up in Osaka on the 23^rd of December. Naturally, she was going to spend Christmas Eve with her family. I would've liked to spend Christmas Eve with her, but one college-age boy and one college-age girl spending Christmas Eve together, just the two of them, had more implications than I was willing to entertain. Still, I was elated.

As I was walking her home a few nights later, she told me she had spoken on the phone with her family and that it would be okay for her to spend Christmas Eve with me. I had no idea what to make of any of this. I offered to walk her to her door, but she said the front of the building was good enough.

On the day of the student festival, as we were all walking back, I had felt like a pathetically love-sick schoolboy again. Just being next to her was ripping my insides to shreds. I consciously ignored her and visibly displayed my anger and frustration in every subtle way I could: every step I took, every turn I made, every door I opened.

I preferred that feeling to the feeling I was suffering that night I walked her back. What did any of this mean? Was she leading me on?

Maybe she is, I thought, but I'm willing to be led on by her.

Or maybe she was just being a responsible Japanese host and wanted to see this American international student safe till the end of his journey.

In any case, there were loads to think about with exams looming around the corner, my trips to Korea and Osaka coming up, and everyone's inevitable return to America. I didn't need more on my plate. Plus, she had made herself very clear on Halloween. I was going to leave Japan whether I wanted to or not. I already felt attached enough as it was. I didn't need any more reasons to leave more pieces of my heart behind.

The storm of exams came and went. One of us turned in his economic research paper late. Some of us were not too happy after the language exams. Still, the biggest stress inducer that week was our group project: a booklet that would serve as a guide to all aspects of life in the Japanese countryside for the next group of American college students who would come here. All the Americans rushed to finish writing all the articles, captioning all the photos, designing the layout, compiling all the files, and printing multiple copies, some for the professors and some for us. I was one of the group members responsible for layout. That was not fun.

Naturally, afterwards was the farewell party, when we drank and laughed and tried to sing to our hearts' content. During our short time in Japan, the Americans had had countless drinking parties with the Japanese. This was to be our last.

Tears were shed, goodbyes were exchanged, and embraces were given.

The two of us stood in a corner of the room, but it felt as if we were in the center. I didn't question why she was standing there, motionless, maintaining eye contact with me. Everything else seemed to move in slow motion.

"Are you going to miss us?" I asked the obvious question.

"Yes..." I could barely hear her.

"But life goes on, right?" I needed to say it aloud for myself to believe it.

She didn't answer this time, merely nodded.

"You'll still have your Japanese friends here with you," I said.

"But it won't be the same."

Then she broke, and the tears streamed down her face. We fell into each other's long embrace.

It was eternity. Her arms were curled around my neck and shoulders, pulling me closer. My right arm held her waist while my left hand smoothed her hair. I breathed in, and her scent overwhelmed me. Our eyes closed, our breathing was in sync, chests rising and falling.

Eventually, one of us broke it off. I forget who it was.

After the farewell party was the after-party, with only the Americans.

As expected, we were discussing that dramatic hug.

"Maybe she's finally realizing what she missed out on now that you're about to leave," Densha said to me.

That was my cue for one of our "office talks."

Early on during our time in Japan, Densha and I had become confidants. Whenever we felt it necessary, he and I would have an "office talk" behind closed doors, either in his apartment or mine, to discuss everything that was going on. The secrets never left the room. It was our little way of keeping sane.

This was to be our first office talk since before the student festival. We went to his apartment.

As we closed the door and sat down, I was gritting my teeth and curling my hands into fists and uncurling them. My breathing was heavy. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear what I was about to hear, but if given a choice, I wouldn't rather be anywhere else.

"After the student festival, I asked her to be my girlfriend," he told me. "She said yes."

I shut my eyes and took three deep breaths. At one of our first office talks, Densha and I agreed that if we ever ended up liking the same girl, either one of us would be happy if the other got with her.

But boys will be boys.

I was not happy.

Lost for words, I waited for him to speak. I had questions, and I wanted answers, but I didn't think my voice was going to work.

"A few hours later, though," he said, quiet and uncharacteristic anger seeping through his eyes, "she e-mailed me to tell me she answered before she had thought it through. She said she didn't feel that way about me."

"That night," he continued, "I was thinking hard about how to make it work, how to let her know how much she means, how to deal with the distance." He hammered his fist onto the wooden floor. Just lightly. "So, officially, she was my girlfriend for two hours."

For the past few weeks, I hadn't paid attention to how the two of them had been acting around each other. I was too concerned with exams, my upcoming trips, and my own feelings. Maybe had I been paying attention, I would've noticed how distant the two had been since the student festival.

I wanted to ask whether she had said anything to him about how she felt about me, but I couldn't. "I'm sorry, man."

"I'm sorry, too." He was referring to Halloween.

"She's an indecisive person who lacks confidence in herself." I didn't know why I felt the need to say that.

"Guess...I never thought about it that way..."

We were mutually silent for a moment. The story between him and her was over, but the story between her and me had one final chapter.

* * *

"One final chapter?" I ask.

"One final chapter," Takeshi reiterates.

The stars above us are glittering like diamonds on a black nightgown. I'm more comfortable now. I like dark places.

Takeshi breathes out, and a mist of warm air escapes his mouth.

"Are you cold?" he asks me.

I shake my head, and, even though I'm getting increasingly jealous of this girl, I say, "I want to hear the end of the story."

Somehow, I feel as if I know all the people in Takeshi's story, as if they're old friends. I know I wish I were the girl of whom he's speaking.

The waters of the river are rippling along. Takeshi's eyes are following the motion.

"Actually," he says, "I don't know the entire final chapter."

"What do you mean?"

"I'll let you know at the end."

* * *

It was the 23^rd of December. I was standing on the roof of the Umeda Sky Garden Building, admiring the serene view of Osaka at night. It wasn't garish like the view of nighttime Tokyo from Tokyo Tower, but it was also more colorful than the view of Yokohama from the Landmark Tower.

I had returned from Korea less than a week ago. When I flew into Narita, it felt as if I was coming back home. I didn't get that same feeling when I went back to America.

I had arrived in Osaka on the 21^st. I was used to traveling alone, but being alone so close to Christmas Eve in a city like Osaka was almost more than I could bear. Loneliness struck me early. The snow didn't help either.

The night before, in my room at the traditional guest house, I received a phone call.

From her.

She had told me she would call, but I still didn't know what to say.

"Are you still on the night bus?" I asked her.

"Actually, I'm already at home."

"What?" The original plan was for her to take the night bus to Osaka so we could meet up in the morning.

"It started snowing again, so I was afraid the bus would be canceled. I took the bullet train to make sure I got here on time."

"Did you get your bus money back?"

"Half."

We arranged to meet at the train station closest to the guest house at nine the next morning. I had just gotten back from Kobe and Himeji. I wanted to sleep in a bit.

After I got off the phone with her, I didn't fall asleep for at least another hour. All the other Americans had gone home. Only I remained. It made me feel closer to her, knowing all our American friends were an ocean away and all our Japanese friends were a few prefectures' distance.

She took the bullet train just to come see me?

On top of the Umeda Sky Garden Building, she stood next to me. I was looking at a picture of us on my digital camera. It had been taken by an old couple whom we had to teach to use a digital camera. They had said nothing, but I saw in their eyes and smile an approving look of her and me together.

Dried tears were on her eyes.

"You miss everyone so much already, don't you?"

She nodded, and I held her briefly in my arms.

I had so many questions I wanted to ask her, and I knew there was something she wanted to tell me. All daylong, we had been avoiding the topic of us.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked. We both knew what "it" was.

"No," she answered. "If I talk about it now, I'll just cry again. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," I repeated.

It was the day before Christmas Eve. Everyone who was out was with a group of friends or, if it was only two people, one half of a couple. The winds were strong, and I inched closer to her. She didn't move away.

Without a doubt, all the couples around us presumed the kind of relationship she and I had, just as I assumed who they were to each other. I permitted myself to indulge in their presumptions.

When we were satisfied we had seen all there was to see in and on the building, I walked her back to the train station. We arranged a time and place to meet the next day.

As I waved goodbye to her at the turnstile, I thought for a moment she would take my hand. She didn't.

That night, I felt restless, with no interest in returning to the guest house yet, so I explored different districts of Osaka alone. Walking as slowly as I could, soaking in all the surroundings with my eyes, I was saying my own little goodbye with a country I loved. I walked into multiple temples that in the daytime charged admissions. It was an eerie experience, seeing the sacred grounds deserted of people, populated only by scraggly shadows of tree branches and the wind moaning through hallways, everything outlined by the soft moonlight.

Back at the guest house, right before going to sleep, I looked at my plane ticket for tomorrow, the 24^th of December, 11:30 pm at Kansai International Airport.

I wished it didn't exist.

The next morning, I found her sitting inside a McDonald's, writing away at something while waiting for me. She shoved the note into her bag as she saw me approach. I didn't inquire about it. I would see it soon enough, I knew.

"Where do you want to go today?" she asked. The way she asked it, "today" was equivalent to "your last day in Japan."

"Let's go to Spa World." I had seen it on my walk the night before. It claimed to be the largest spa in the world.

On the train, we said very little, occupied with our separate thoughts even though they weren't very separate anyway. Maybe she was thinking about how to finish the note.

I stayed in the men's spa longer than I should've, trying out all the different pools, to give her time to finish writing what she needed to write. The pools mostly varied only in size and temperature. I rather enjoyed the herbal baths, though.

Predictably, she chastised me for being late. And she had a smile on her face.

She really liked movies. But she liked movie theaters even more. She said she felt more comfortable in dark places, where people couldn't see her face. Where others couldn't see her cry.

We saw "Sayuri" afterwards, an oddly appropriate film for the two of us.

When the movie was over, we waited until everyone else had left.

"Takeshi..." she began.

I touched her hand, and she stopped.

"Not now. Tonight. At the Illumination."

I couldn't see her, but I knew she nodded.

Looking back now, I still do not know why I chose to wait to hear what she had to say. Maybe I was afraid to hear it, whatever it was she wanted to say. I was going to leave Japan in seven hours. What she wanted to tell me could devastate me. But leaving Japan not knowing would've been far worse.

The final hours crawled and flew by. A few more hours might've made a difference. I do not know.

That year, Osaka's Christmas Eve Illumination parade didn't win any awards, but it was still spellbinding. It was, after all, my first Christmas Eve in Japan. And my day in Japan.

The trees were laced with bright lights, major residences shimmering from roof to porch, grass fields dotted with figures of Santa Clauses and snowmen. People filed in thick crowds, proceeding through the parade, parents carrying their infants on their shoulders, couples holding hands, friends bumping into each other and laughing. It was all very beautiful.

I paid attention to none of it.

Finally, we arrived at the river and sat. The festival was behind us, and we had grabbed dinner at one of the food vendors. It was her first time having Thai food. We watched the glowing boats float by as we ate.

It was freezing, but I knew I was shivering for other reasons too.

"You want to talk about it now?"

I honestly don't remember who beat the other to the question, but the other answered meekly, "Yes."

She handed me the note.

Slowly and deliberately, with shaking hands and a dry throat, I opened it. Humans are paradoxes. This one note was probably the culmination of all my experiences in Japan. I desperately wanted, needed to read it, and I had to force myself to keep my eyes on it.

It read:

I know it might be too late to say this, but I wanted you to know I feel the same way about you too. After Halloween, I kept thinking about you. I lied to you on Halloween. I was too afraid to tell you the truth. But I was so happy to hear you say you felt that way about me. No one had ever said something like that to me before. And it was like you really knew me. You knew my weakness. I don't have confidence. I felt as if I didn't deserve you. I felt that way even more after what I did to Densha. The night we had sukiyaki, I wouldn't have done that with someone I didn't like. I performed at the student festival to show you that I had gained some confidence. I kept going to your apartment to read your stories because I wanted to be with you. I just want you to know how I really feel before you leave.

It was 8:17 pm.

I re-folded the note, swallowed the lump in my throat as I pressed my eyes closed, and handed it back to her. She wouldn't let me keep it.

"I didn't have enough time to finish it," she said.

I nodded, paralyzed. What was I supposed to do? In one hour, I was going to be on a train heading to the airport, to return to my life in America, to finish my studies and to live the rest of my life.

We rested in each other's arms and didn't want to let go.

"You don't want to let go, do you?" I whispered in her ear.

"I don't. What should I do?" Her breath floated on my neck.

I had no answer for her.

But she had an answer for me.

I was proud of her. For the first time since I had met her, she made an active decision. With confidence.

Our hands intertwined, she told me, "Maybe someday...somewhere...when we're both older and more mature..."

I agreed.

But to this day I still wonder what she would've written.

* * *

"It's like a movie," I say, the note my friend gave me suddenly in my hand.

"It is. Does any of it sound familiar?" he asks me.

"It sounds like a story I would've liked to live."

"I need your help in finishing the final chapter." His eyes are on the note in my hand.

"My help?" I point at myself with my right index finger.

He nods. I'm confused. I still want to know more about the story. I don't know even know the girl's name.

I hesitate before asking. Takeshi has already told me she's beautiful. Putting a name to a face might break my heart.

"What's her name?"

"Misaki."