Hey everyone! I'm sorry this chapter took a while to upload, I've been very busy at the moment! But to make up for it, this chapter has turned out to be pretty much twice as long as the others haha! The songs mentioned in this chapter are: White Winter Hymnal by Fleet Foxes and Katie Cruel by Agnes Obel. Thank you for following/favouriting my story so soon- and if you would like to leave a review that would be awesome :)

I do not own no.6 or any of its characters, but all the writing is my own, and I alone take credit for it. I hope you enjoy!


Sunday morning. The air is crisp- the square is starting to grow crowded with people, and the smell of freshly baked bread spreads through the house. Everything is how it should be.

Young girls skip past outside, shops take down their 'closed' signs, and pigeons gather around the old man that sits at the bench to feed them bread crumbs. Everything is perfect.

Sundays have always been my favourite day, and I love nothing more than to spend them sitting in the window of the bakery and watch the morning unfold, the same as every Sunday. I watch everyone and tick everything off in my head, as if it won't be right until I see the pigeon man, or the girls on their way to the sweet shop.

Sundays aren't my mother's favourite day- because this is the day that everyone comes to buy their bread for the week, or a piece of cake for a Sunday treat. I stay in the café all day on Sundays, but even though mum hates the business, I love it. The bustle; the company; the sheer number of people that want to buy my mother's baking. I love watching the different people that come in, and try to make them leave with a smile on their face.

This particular Sunday has the warm august sun heating the square, and through the gap in the buildings I can see the light pinks and yellows staining the blue sky. I inhale the familiar scent of flour and smile. As my mother always said, a beautiful morning makes for a beautiful day. And boy was she right on this occasion.

Like clockwork, at 9.15 our first customer arrives, Hachiro-san the post man, and mother has his loaf of bread and cinnamon doughnut ready for him before he even steps through the door. Being a little village on the outskirts of Tokyo means everybody knows everybody, and our customers are as regular and systematic as the hours on a clock. As predicted, Hachiro greets me at the doorway and walks around the counter to give my mother a hug. Hachiro's cologne brought a different scent into the warm aroma of the bakery, and it was one that reminded me of summers at the lakehouse and family reunions at Christmas.

Hachiro was my mother's cousin, and being the eighth child of the family meant I had a lot of second cousins that lived near us in Shiroku, but Hachiro and my mother were so close I saw him as though he were my uncle.

"Ah, my Sunday cinnamon doughnut; the best way to start the day." He sits down at one of the deserted tables and my mother comes around with a pot of tea. I get up to join them, but a busker setting up just outside our window grabs my attention.

"Oh, we've got J-san outside today mum, I like him." J-san was a middle aged Japanese man who had forgotten his name, so everyone called him J-san after the J like scar he has on his cheek. We got a fair few buskers that would play near the bakery, as it was in the busy square, and we didn't make them leave. I enjoyed listening to them as I worked, and J-san was my favourite.

"Ah no Shion, old Yagami-san is better, he does real Japanese music." Hachiro sprays crumbs over the table as he mumbles through his doughnut- clearly too good to put down. I smile,

"Just because J-san does modern music doesn't make it any less Japanese." I sigh and take a seat opposite my mother, who passes me a cup of steaming hot green tea. Hachiro laughs heartily, and the sound echoes through the room.

"Such a cheeky little remark for a twelve year old." He ruffles my hair playfully, and I laugh with him.

"That's always been Shion's way" now it is my mother who strokes my hair, but she does it to try and tame my huge mane back to normal. "How are the twins?"

"They are doing well, their mother took them shopping yesterday for new school uniforms- they're so messy they completely ruined them at the end of the school year! I suppose Shion hasn't had that problem?" I shake my head in response to his question.

"I thought so." He leans back and rubs his slightly protruding belly. "Karan, you should try and teach my girls a thing or two, or better yet, swap them! If Shion was my kid I think my stress levels would go down completely."

Mum looks happy but does not agree out of politeness.

"Oh no, Shion can have his faults too. Over the summer I've hardly got him out of his room he's been studying so much. That week we spent at the lake house all together is the longest I've seen him these past months without a book in his hand!"

"Ah yes, the lake house, I wish we were still there, it's so lovely around this time of year… Still, for me the problem is that my girls don't want to study at all! I don't think the family trait of industriousness really runs through our family. Shion, keep an eye on them on Monday, ok? I know it's the first day of the semester but they need to be focussing now; I've had enough of their antics."

Before I can reply that Maiko and Haruka are the tied second cleverest in my class after me, the bell rings above the door, and I jump up to serve the customer that walks in- our neighbour Mrs Yamamoto. As expected, she orders a fruit loaf and a slice of our famous cherry cake.

Like cogs in a clock, everyone moves around the village as they should, time following close behind them. At 10 o clock, Hachiro takes his bread and heads home, promising to have us round for dinner soon. At 10.15 my homeroom teacher comes in to get a French croissant on the way home from the temple on the hill. Today she gets the bacon, ham and tomato one- the recipe of which was taught to my mother many years ago when she studied catering in France.

And at 10.30, after a long time setting up, J-san begins to play. His fingers are old and weak so he only plays soft songs with a slow tempo, which is extremely fitting for the slow Sunday morning. He usually plays American folk songs, which makes him a town favourite- the foreign words that seem to slip off his tongue are intriguing and mysterious. I don't know much English so I don't really understand the words he sings, but they sound beautiful nevertheless. Mother listens to almost nothing but classical music, so I relish in hearing something different every weekend when I'm not at school.

I open the window next to the counter to hear him better, and welcome the fresh air on my face. Immediately the soft but precise chords float in on the breeze, and I recognise the lovely dulcet tones as the folk song J-san always plays first- one that is so old the lyrics are forgotten to time.

By 11 o clock we have had five more customers, two of whom now sit drinking coffees in the café section of the bakery, tucked in by the window. That's where I sometimes have my breakfast- when I want to watch the morning unfold. The window behind me is still open and J-san's songs have picked up considerably. I always feel you can sense his mood through how much money he has collected in the day- the more money, the more upbeat his songs.

He starts to play a song that he rarely plays anymore- but is one of my favourites. He told me once it was called White Winter Hymnal, but the band I cannot remember anymore, it had a funny English name, something to do with foxes? His rough voice strains to hit the high notes, but the huskiness gives it a raw feeling. I like it, and start to hum along as I help serve the lady in front of me.

It is at half eleven when J-san gets my full attention. I am handing over a bag of cookies to my mother for a mother and daughter, when a different note tumbles through the window and hits me. My mother takes the bag from my paralysed fingers but is in too much of a rush to see me continue to stand there, motionless. I can still hear J-san's rough vocals singing an undertone, but this new note, as smooth as velvet compared to J-sans, floats above it in perfect harmony.

The note is unlike anything I have ever heard before, and it takes a few seconds for me to place the sound- it is a voice. A voice whose tone and pitch are so perfect and flawless that I run to the window, following the sound in an attempt to see its source. They must have been singing for some time but I just hadn't noticed it, because what I am greeted with, is a swarm of people gathering around where J-san had been stood- clearly wanting to get closer to this voice as I do.

Frustrated, I walk around to another window, only to see the same thing. An old woman sitting with her friend calls to me and asks what the racket is outside, but I ignore her. I try and place the song in my head to give me a clue who the singer is. J-san likes folk songs, Yagami-san likes traditional Japanese songs, and Susumu plays Japanese pop music. The song is beautifully sung but I can't understand many of the lyrics, as they are in English. I try and pick some up, but the song is unfamiliar to me.

"when I first came down, they brought me drinks of plenty…"

My mother calls out to me, and I try and tear myself away from the window, knowing I must look like a little kid looking in at a sweet shop. A queue is forming fast and my mother needs my help so I hurry back to the counter, hoping that whoever is singing will not stop until I am done.

"now they've changed their tune, every bottle's empty…"

I push the cakes into the boxes a little too quickly, and squish the bread into bags a little too harshly, but I don't care- I need to hear that voice- I need to see that voice. I steal a glance out of the window again and see that the crowd is growing ever bigger. My heart starts to speed up. Finally the queue has gone, and without a word I run out of the bakery into the square.

But when I see the voice- see her- I stop dead in my tracks. Her long brown hair is flung loosely over one shoulder, and her white dress stops a little above the ground. She looks young- young enough to be my age- but her voice has so much feeling in it she seems wise beyond her years.

"straightway down the ro-" Then the sound is shattered as I stand there in amazement, by a rough hand grabbing onto the girl, stopping the sound cruelly. I don't even know the girl, yet my feet propel me forwards until I am stood but a metre in front of her- pushing past people as I go. The captor is the towns most hated policeman, Katashi-san, who is demanding to see her busking licence in a voice so harsh it sounds like nails on a blackboard compared to the sweet song just before.

"What? No- I-I don't have-"

"You'll have to pay a fine then! It's against the law to busk without a licence, ignorant girl!"

The crowd begins to disperse, but some hang back, concerned over what to do. Before I can even think about what I am doing, I step forward before anyone else can.

"Hey, get your hands off her Katashi!" He looks up at me angrily, and I try and swallow the fear that is building up inside of me. He once threatened to arrest me when I was ten because I dropped my ice cream in the park.

"She…she's my…er…she's my foreign exchange student!" The girl looks at me in disbelief.

"Yeah, she's from, er…France! And, and…they don't have busking laws there so she didn't know! I'm very sorry Katashi-san, I'll make sure she doesn't do it again. I promise."

"W-well…. Please ensure that she doesn't." With that, the grip on her arm loosens, and I take this opportunity to take her hand and walk her back into the bakery, making sure to say very loudly how my mother was wondering where she had got to.

Once we are in the bakery I shut the door firmly and turn to face her. I open my mouth, but she beats me to it.

"Why…why did you do that?" Her voice sounds a lot deeper and darker now that she is not singing.

"Sorry! I'm sorry, I…I just know how bad tempered Katashi-san gets and your song was so lovely I didn't want you to get in trouble…I suppose you will have lost a bit of money from me taking you away." I put a hand through my hair when I realise I must have messed things up for her.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you were busking weren't you?" She looks at me with a confused expression, although I can barely see her eyes through her long hanging fringe. Before she can say anything else, my mother walks over to us from behind the counter. It is only now that I realise we are the only three people in the bakery. I guess the old lady and her friend must have left.

"Shion, why did you run outside like that?" As if she only just realises the girl is with me, she bends down and smiles at her.

"Oh, are you one of Shion's friends from school? I'm Karan, Shion's mum. What's your name?" She smiles and puts out her hand. The girl flinches back as if my mother had just hit her. I feel protective of her, for some unknown reason, and take her hand.

"Yes, yes she is. Can we have some cake mum? Cherry cake please?"

"Oh, sure." She straightens up, confused but somewhat understanding, and walks towards the back of the bakery.

I sit her down at my table at the window, and for a long, long time she stares at her hands. I can't think of what to say. Mum leaves the cherry cake in front of us and says she'll leave us in peace. I can just imagine all of the questions she's going to ask once the girl leaves.

After another long minute of staring, I coax her into eating a bit of the cake.

"So, what's your name? I'm Shion, by the way." Silence answers me. Then a faint mumble escapes her lips. I ask her to repeat what she said.

"This is good cake."

After a shaky start, I realise the girl will talk to me, just not about anything personal. I move the topic onto music, one I'm sure she'll appreciate.

"You have a really nice voice- so much better than J-san's. What is the song you sung? It was in English wasn't it? I didn't understand much…do you speak English?" The girl laughs under her breath.

"You sure ask a lot of questions Shion. But yes, I can speak English…not a lot, but I know the basics."

"Oh, I see. Are your parents English then?" She looks up at me then, finally looks straight into my eyes and my breath stops for a second. I don't know what I was expecting, but what I see are shockingly grey eyes- flecked with white, so her stare is so piercing I feel as though I am looking into the moon.

"I don't know." As quick as her answer, her eyes drop down again, to the plate that she is scraping clean with her fork. She clearly liked the cake.

"So, uh," I try to regain my composure. Her answer baffles me, what does she mean she doesn't know? Those eyes are so intimidating though, I daren't ask any further. "What was that song you were singing?"

"Katie Cruel. It's an old American song. My neighbour used to play it so loud out of his stereo player, I could hear it in the garden, and I eventually just learnt the lyrics. Did you like it?"

"Yes- God… yes -it was beautiful! I…I've never heard anything like it." She smiles, and I spend the next hour trying to think of things to say that will make her lips curl upwards and her head tilt up so I can see those eyes. But alas, she keeps her eyes hidden till the very end.

It's 12.30 when she looks up at the clock, and startles. I look up too, and am somewhat surprised that time has been moving at all. I could have sworn I had only spent but a moment with her, yet here I am two hours later. I don't understand why she needs to hurry off, but then again I don't understand a lot about this girl. We get up, and she mumbles a thank you under her breath.

I walk her to the door, and she is like a caged wild animal anxious to get out. I almost think that she will run as soon as I open the door, so I am reluctant to pull down the handle. When I do, she steps out into the square, but falters. I simply stare dumfounded at her, waiting for her figure to get smaller and smaller in the distance, but instead she turns around.

"It's Eve, by the way."

"What?" I look at the mystery girl with the mystery eyes, which have me transfixed. "What's Eve?"

"My name."

And with that, she is gone- like the seconds on a clock.