After leaving, we first made our way to the cemetery. We meandered through a disorganised mix of tombs before stopping finally at the Momoe family tomb, tucked away in a corner of the grounds.

This was where Nagisa's mother rested.

I peeked at Nagisa. She was dazedly watching a flock of birds pecking about on the ground further away.

Perhaps, I thought, she had already forgotten about her mother. Too many years had passed after all. In her heart, my presence had probably overshadowed all thought and notion of family. That was the natural consequence we had to bear for living so long in a closed-off world for two alone.

But I could not be so certain. I wondered if Nagisa had always missed her mother. I wondered if, then, I would ever be enough.

I had plucked Nagisa away from her family and planted her close by me, wishing all along that like a flower, she would grow only in my direction and blossom for me. Not content with failing my own family, I had to force myself into Nagisa's life. That such a person as oneself could have been allowed to show her face at the family tomb was ironic at best.

For a while, I imagined how lonely her mother's spirit must be, and I soon began to think I was not allowed there.

At first, I hung behind by another tombstone and thought of occupying myself with my phone, only to find I had left it behind.

Nagisa's grandmother, looking back, asked me what I was doing so far away.

She told me to come closer. I did so. With every footstep, my body seemed to turn leaden.

Once at the tomb, I turned behind to call Nagisa over. She had not moved the slightest from minutes ago. I called out to her. She did not hear me. I called out to her again, louder. And at last she turned to face me. She quickly turned into a smile when she met my eyes.

Then, she dashed over, arms spread out like an aeroplane, and hugged me playfully. Scruffing her hair, I warned her to watch the time and place. Nagisa's grandmother took a more lenient stance though, and I complained that she was spoiling her granddaughter. In response, she said, "It's unbecoming to be so jealous over such a small issue. No need to worry, you're also in my heart."

Having borrowed a broom from the undertaker's office, we swept the grounds and cleared the tomb of fallen leaves. A small bucket in hand, Nagisa's grandmother went to fetch water. I weeded the surrounding grounds together with Nagisa, singing bits of melodies that came to mind.

Nagisa's grandmother came back and, with a ladle, poured water onto the tombstone little by little. We wiped the tombstone down with a wet cloth afterwards and placed the chrysanthemums before it.

"It's been some time, hasn't it?" Nagisa's grandmother said. "We're still waiting for the sunflowers to bloom. Once they do, I'll bring some here for you to see."

That was all she had to tell her daughter.

She asked me next if I had anything to say. I shook my head.

We joined our hands in prayer and held a moment's silence.

Afterwards, we left, heading towards to the festival. I could not help but feel as though, for the rest of the day, our spirits never quite left the cemetery.

It was noontime when we reached the town centre, and from there we strolled over to the foot of the still unmanned yagura. Seeing how none of the foodstalls had yet been set up, we decided to rest at a small coffeehouse. Situated at an incline, we had a good vantage point over the whole town and could watch the whole daytime procession unfold.

I remember that first came a large ukiyo-e float from the nearby Shinto shrine, entranced by taiko drums. Fireworks shot up in the air, blooming into black. Following that, a parade of yosakoi commenced, with dancers ranging from children to the elderly. From where we were, I could not make out their precise movements, but their shouts and energetic music were loud enough to drown out the singing of the cicadas. Behind the dancers, a shishimai troupe was surging back and forth through the streets.

In her seat, Nagisa was fast getting restless. Craning her head forwards, she asked me repeatedly what was going on. After giving a few explanations, I decided it was best for us to simply see the procession up close.

I looked over to Nagisa's grandmother, only to find her close to dozing off. She had yet to touch her coffee.

After waking her up, we headed to the streets again, which by then were so packed and organised in chaos that they seemed no different from the crossings at Shibuya. Lost in the festivity and growing frenzy, I would occasionally sober and remember how alone I was.

The whole afternoon and on through the evening, we marvelled at the procession and, making our way around town, participated in many different group activities. I remember fondly how I failed miserably at glass-blowing and could only salvage myself by calling it an avant-garde work. Nagisa's grandmother, to this, turned up her nose and said, "Young people must have some advanced tastes right there. The world has changed a lot, it seems."

Apart from that, the three of us did our best in a jump-rope competition and won ourselves a deserving consolation prise. There was also rakugo performances along the way, an open-air shogi tournament – all amongst many other things that we saw and did throughout the day.

I enjoyed everything we did. But whenever each activity ended, a cold autumn wind seemed to blow through as if I were hollow. And, unable to come to terms with the emptiness inside, I would frenziedly seek out something more. I was having the time of my life, but all the fun and excitement only served to deepen my sense of deep loss and loneliness.

As we neared the night, Nagisa's grandmother brought us along to enjoy the company of her neighbours in a banquet. After flaunting us proudly, she seemed to take pity on us and let us free while she banqueted with the rest.

Soon, darkness set, and, holding tightly on to Nagisa's hand, I began to feel as though we lost in a maze from which we could never escape. The only saving grace was then, the shimmer in Nagisa's eyes and the heavy beating of my heart to show that I was still alive.

I wished the night would never end, even though I recognised that it was impossible.

While visiting the foodstalls, Nagisa began to limp slightly and lagged behind.

Stopping to check, I saw that her feet were chafed by the straw strap of her geta. The skin between her big toe were also reddened.

"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"Not really."
"So it hurts?"
"It doesn't."
"But then, why are you walking like that?"
"I'm dancing."
"Ah, I see. In that case, could you dance for me?"

Shaking off her hesitation, she gingerly took a step forward and tried to do a pirouette, looking unfortunately less like a swan than a drunkard struggling to find his balance.

"Wonderful, wasn't it?" she said.

Bending down, I jabbed the swollen area of her feet.

"Itta! – itatatattattattattaaa…"

She crouched in pain, tears welling up in her eyes.

"If it hurts, you should tell me."
"Hai."

Though she said so, I could only think that things would never change. It seemed she could never be honest with me in times of sadness and hurt. While she was always quick to come to my aid, she went to great lengths to hide any troubles she faced, dismissing my concerns whenever I came to learn about them. I, who had at most times contented myself with simply displaying my care, usually took her words at face value.

I wanted her to rely on me more. I wanted her to need me, as much as I needed her. This, however, I could only keep in my heart and leave unsaid. It would have been too selfish of me to ask her for more than her kindness. I did not wish to monopolise her heart more than I already did.

I smiled at her warmly then and turned my back on her.

"Here," I said, "I'll carry you. Just don't drop food on my hair."

She was initially embarrassed at the thought and feared the gaze of onlookers, but she eventually crumbled to the temptation of escaping pain.

Carrying her on my shoulders, we wandered through the ambient noise and bright festival lights. My mood lightened considerably, and I began to see the joy in everything around.

We passed by staples of game booths, mostly while our mouths were more preoccupied with eating than talking. It was a small luxury of summer festivals to be able to freely eat while walking.

At one point however, I stopped and let her down when we were at a goldfish scooping booth. She told me she wanted to try rearing one and pointed to a white, somewhat sickly-looking one.

I asked her if she did not want a healthier one. She insisted on her choice. Saying that it probably needed care, she asked me if she could try. I passed her some of the allowance Nagisa's grandmother had forced onto us early in the day.

After watching her fail a few times, I stepped in and told her instead that I would get it for her.

Thankfully, I was able to do it in my first try. I did not think much of the game at first, thinking of the prize goldfish instead as a hassle. Maintenance costs, medicine, and fish food were added expenses that our budget could have done well without. But seeing the bright smile on Nagisa's face made me think that none of my concerns could compare to her happiness.

For Nagisa, then, I murmured to myself. For Nagisa. It would be good if everything I did could simply have been for Nagisa. It would be good if I could simply abandon all of me entirely and devote myself to her. I pledged myself that I would do my best to make Nagisa happy. That was, all along, my most ardent wish – one that I could, unfortunately, never fulfil.

At last, hearing the yagura boom with the sound of the taiko, Nagisa's grandmother and the two of us met at the same coffeehouse. From there, we went home. Though Nagisa's grandmother was much less sober than she ought to have been, she still had her senses about her and was in artificially high spirits.

I asked her on the way back home if she did not want to take part in the bon odori.

"There is always tomorrow," she said. "I'm tired now."
"That's an optimistic way of looking at things."
"Well – ah. You, just said something very rude, didn't you?"

Before I could respond, she started laughing and talked about times past.

Along the way, she began to tell stories of Nagisa's mother and Nagisa as a child, when she was still too young to remember.

I listened attentively, stroking Nagisa's hand and gripping it tightly. Nagisa was silent throughout the walk back home.

I looked back the way we came from and watched the lights grow distant. In time, all we could hear was the sound of cicadas and silence.

When we returned home, we lit the mukaebi and hung chochin lanterns all about the eaves, before retiring for the night.

I walked over to the guest room and picked up my phone, intending to reply to Homura-chan.

What I found instead was an unrelenting stream of missed calls from Miki-san, beginning from the afternoon.

She had also left one last message for the day.


"Please call back as soon as possible."


I tried countless times to reach her but to no avail.

Tired, I set the phone down and lay on the tatami. Opening the fusuma to let the moonlight in, I stared at the clouds, drifting.

Then, I heard footsteps approaching.

"Mami?"

Nagisa was standing at the doorway, hugging her pillow in her sleepwear.

"Sleeping?"
"Nn."

I closed the fusuma and left with her.

That night, Nagisa crawled into my futon, wide awake. Cuddling her, patting her back, I sang her a simple lullaby from my childhood. And soon, we fell fast asleep.