Kazuki turned the key, the familiar click echoing in the quiet hallway like a heartbeat in the stillness. He pushed the door open, its hinges creaking softly, and stepped inside, his heart buoyant with anticipation, a balloon ready to soar. "Tadaima," he called, his voice bright as the October sun, expecting Emiko's cheerful "Okaeri" to greet him like a warm embrace.
But there was only silence, heavy as a stone dropped into a still pond.
The apartment was still, the air cool and undisturbed, as if holding its breath. Kazuki's smile faltered, a crack in a fragile vase, as he closed the door behind him, the latch snapping shut with a definitive thud. He slipped off his shoes in the genkan, placing them neatly beside the empty space where Emiko's sneakers should have been. Odd, he thought; her sneakers, usually askew like a child's forgotten toys, were missing.
"Emiko?" he called again, his voice tinged with uncertainty, a note off-key in a familiar melody. He stepped into the living room, the wooden floorboards creaking under his weight, each step a protest from his sore ankle. The room was tidy, as always, with the low table centered on the tatami mat, a vase of wilted chrysanthemums sitting forlornly in the middle, their petals curling like parchment. The curtains were drawn, casting a soft, diffused light across the space, painting it in shades of autumn dusk.
He set the bag of macarons on the table, the paper rustling like dry leaves, and looked around. The kitchenette was pristine, no trace of the miso soup he'd imagined her stirring, no lingering scent of dashi. The bedroom door was ajar, and he peeked inside: the futon was neatly folded, the room empty as a forgotten promise.
A flicker of worry ignited in his chest, a spark that fed on the dull ache already there. Maybe she stepped out for a moment, he reasoned, trying to douse the flame. Perhaps to the Lawson down the street or to chat with Mrs. Tanaka next door. He pulled out his phone and dialed her number. It rang once, twice, then went to voicemail. "Hey, it's Emiko. Leave a message!" her voice chirped, bright and oblivious, a stark contrast to the knot tightening in his gut.
Kazuki hung up without leaving a message, his brow furrowing like the creases in his translation drafts. It wasn't like her to be out without telling him, especially since she knew he was at work, buried in medical jargon and deadlines. He paced the small living room, his ankle throbbing with each step, but the pain was overshadowed by the tightness in his chest, a vice grip that pulsed rhythmically, like a metronome counting down to something he didn't want to name.
Trying to anchor himself, he sat at his desk, opening his laptop to the translation draft. The words swam before his eyes: angina pectoris, myocardial infarction, clinical terms that now seemed to leer at him, mocking his dismissal of the pain. He rubbed his chest absentmindedly, recalling the pamphlet's description: "Chest pain or discomfort, often described as pressure, squeezing, or fullness." That sounded too familiar, a mirror held up to his own body. But it was probably just the bruise from catching Mina's binders, he told himself, a flimsy shield against the growing fear.
The worry gnawed at him, a rat chewing through his resolve. What if it was something more? What if he was ignoring a warning as clear as the neon signs in Shibuya? He stood abruptly, needing to move, to outrun the thoughts. He went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water, the tap gurgling like a restless stream. He drank it in one go, the cool liquid doing little to ease the heat of his anxiety, a fire smoldering beneath his ribs.
Looking out the window, he saw the courtyard cherry tree, its leaves a riot of red and gold, swaying gently in the breeze like dancers in a quiet performance. The sight usually calmed him, a reminder of their walks in Hibiya Park, but today it only heightened his unease, each falling leaf a whisper of something slipping away. Down the street, children laughed in a small park, their voices carrying on the wind, and he remembered taking Emiko's little cousin there, pushing her on the swings while Emiko snapped photos, her laughter brighter than the sun. Where was she now? Why hadn't she left a note or sent a message?
His mind raced with possibilities, each more alarming than the last, a storm brewing in his thoughts. Was she okay? Had she been in an accident? He tried calling again, but still no answer. This time, he left a message: "Emiko, it's me. I'm home early. Where are you? Call me back, please." His voice trembled, a leaf caught in the wind.
He hung up and stared at the phone, willing it to ring, but it remained silent, a stubborn sentinel. The ache in his chest intensified, and he winced, pressing his hand against his sternum, the pain a drumbeat echoing his fear. Maybe he should lie down, rest for a bit, let the storm pass.
He went to the bedroom and unfolded the futon, the fabric swishing as it settled, and lay down with a sigh. The softness enveloped him, but the pain persisted, a constant reminder of his fragility, a crack in the foundation of his life. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, to breathe deeply. Inhale, exhale. But each breath seemed to catch, as if his lungs were tangled in a net.
Memories flooded his mind, unbidden but vivid: the day he met Emiko at a friend's party, her laughter like the chime of temple bells; their first date at Hibiya Park, walking hand in hand under cherry blossoms, petals drifting like snow; the quiet evenings spent reading together, her head on his shoulder, her warmth a steady anchor. He couldn't imagine life without her, the thought a cold wind cutting through him. He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling, its plain white surface offering no answers.
Perhaps he was overreacting. She was probably fine, just caught up in something mundane. But the uncertainty was a weight, pressing down on him like the heavy air before a typhoon. He got up and returned to the living room, picking up the bag of macarons. He opened it, the sweet scent of matcha wafting out, a reminder of their first date at a Harajuku café, but his appetite had fled, chased away by worry.
Instead, he sat at his desk, trying to focus on the translation. "Symptoms of angina include chest pain that may radiate to the arms, neck, jaw, or back," the text read. He paused, his hand trembling slightly. That was exactly what he had felt earlier, the pain shooting down his left arm like a warning flare. He continued: "Angina is often triggered by physical exertion or emotional stress and is relieved by rest or nitroglycerin." Well, he had been exerting himself when he helped Mina, and the pain had eased somewhat after resting. Maybe it was angina. But he didn't have nitroglycerin, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.
The pamphlet described heart attacks next: "A heart attack occurs when blood flow to a part of the heart is blocked, usually by a blood clot. Symptoms include prolonged chest pain, shortness of breath, nausea, and sweating." Thankfully, he wasn't experiencing those, at least not yet. But the fear lingered, a shadow at the edge of his vision. What if his condition worsened? What if he collapsed here, alone?
He shook his head, trying to dispel the thoughts, but they clung like damp leaves. To distract himself, he opened his laptop again and typed "chest pain causes" into the search bar. The results were overwhelming: heart attack, angina, acid reflux, anxiety. He clicked on a reputable medical website, likely similar to Mayo Clinic, and read about angina. The description matched his experience: pain triggered by exertion, relieved by rest, often felt as pressure or tightness in the chest. But then he read about heart attacks: prolonged pain, shortness of breath, nausea. He didn't have those symptoms, but the fear lingered. What if it progressed? He closed the laptop, his heart racing. Maybe it was better not to know, to wait for the doctor's diagnosis. But the uncertainty was torture.
Just then, his phone buzzed, and he grabbed it eagerly. A text from Emiko: "Sorry, had to go help my mom with something. Be back soon. Love you."
Relief washed over him, a wave breaking over a parched shore, and he let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. She was okay. He texted back: "Okay, see you soon. Love you too."
The tightness in his chest eased slightly, though the ache remained, a quiet drumbeat. He decided to make tea, the ritual a lifeline to normalcy. The kettle whistled as it boiled, a shrill cry that cut through the silence. He poured the hot water over the tea bag, watching the color bloom like hope in the darkness. Sitting at the table, he sipped the tea, its slightly bitter warmth spreading through him, chasing away some of the chill in his bones.
Glancing around, his eyes fell on Emiko's laptop, left open on the desk. Curiosity tugged at him, and he walked over, noticing she had been browsing medical websites—pages about heart conditions, specifically. Headlines like "Warning Signs of Heart Disease" and "How to Recognize a Heart Attack" stared back at him, each one a punch to the gut. Had she noticed his discomfort? Was she worried too?
A mix of guilt and love surged through him—guilt for not taking better care of himself, love for her quiet vigilance. He bookmarked the pages and closed the laptop, not wanting her to know he'd seen her concern. The discovery made his own fears more real, a mirror reflecting his vulnerability.
To keep busy, he tidied the apartment, straightening cushions, dusting shelves, and watering the plants by the window, their leaves drooping slightly, as if sharing his unease. On a shelf, he found their wedding album, its cover worn from years of handling. He sat down and flipped through it, smiling at the memories: Emiko in her white kimono, radiant as a spring dawn; himself looking nervous but happy, a boy stepping into a new life; their families beaming, their joy a chorus of celebration.
One photo stopped him: the two of them under the cherry blossom tree at Hibiya Park, petals falling around them like confetti, her smile brighter than the sun. He remembered the scent of the flowers, the warmth of her hand, the promise of forever. The ache in his chest sharpened suddenly, a thump that stole his breath, and he gasped, dropping the album with a soft thud.
He clutched at his shirt, trying to breathe through the pain, now a vice grip around his heart. Panic surged, a tidal wave threatening to drown him. Was this it? A heart attack? He stumbled to the kitchen, fumbling for his phone. Should he call 119? But what if it was nothing, just anxiety amplified by his fears?
The pain subsided slightly, and he leaned against the counter, sweat beading on his forehead, his breath coming in shallow huffs. Maybe it was a panic attack, triggered by his worry. He forced himself to breathe deeply, in and out, until the pain dulled to a manageable throb. Shaken, he sat down, the album forgotten on the floor.
He remembered a few months ago, during a hike in the mountains near Kamakura, he had felt a similar pain but attributed it to indigestion from the bento they had eaten. Emiko had been concerned then too, but he had laughed it off, saying it was nothing. Now, he regretted not taking it seriously, the guilt a heavy stone in his stomach.
When Emiko finally returned, her arms laden with groceries, the door creaking as she entered, he greeted her with a weak smile. "Tadaima," she called, her voice a balm.
"Okaeri," he replied, his voice softer than he intended.
She immediately sensed something was wrong. "Kazuki, are you okay? You look pale." She set down the bags, her eyes searching his face.
He nodded, not trusting his voice, but the concern in her gaze unraveled him. She came to him, placing a hand on his forehead. "You're clammy. What's going on?"
He looked down at his hands. "I've been having chest pain," he confessed. "It started this morning, and it's been coming and going."
Her eyes widened, a storm of worry gathering. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I didn't want to worry you," he said, his voice cracking like thin ice. "But it's getting worse. I think I need to see a doctor."
She nodded firmly, her resolve a lighthouse in his fog. "First thing tomorrow, we're going to the clinic. No excuses."
He agreed, relief flooding through him like a river finding its course. "Thank you," he whispered.
She hugged him tightly, and he felt her tremble slightly. "I've been worried about you," she said softly. "You've been rubbing your chest a lot lately, and I didn't know what to do."
He pulled back, looking into her eyes. "I saw the websites on your laptop. You were researching heart conditions."
She blushed, a soft pink like cherry blossoms. "Yes, I was scared. I didn't want to alarm you, but I thought I should learn more."
He smiled, touched by her care. "I'm sorry for not taking it seriously. I promise I'll go to the doctor."
They spent the evening quietly, Emiko preparing a simple dinner of rice and grilled fish, the sizzle of the pan a comforting rhythm. As they ate, she told him about her day. "Mom needed help organizing the storage room. You know how she is, always wanting everything in its place."
Kazuki smiled. "Yeah, she's meticulous. Did you find anything interesting?"
"Oh, just old photo albums and some of my childhood toys. It was nostalgic."
"That sounds nice," he said, though his mind was elsewhere.
She noticed his distraction. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe we should go to the hospital tonight."
He shook his head. "No, I'll be fine until tomorrow. Let's not worry about it now."
But she insisted on keeping a close watch on him, making sure he rested and didn't exert himself. As they ate, the first drops of rain began to patter against the window, a soft rhythm that matched the beating of his heart. The room felt cozy, insulated from the world outside, a sanctuary where they could face their fears together.
After dinner, they shared the macarons, the matcha sweetness melting on their tongues, a small joy in the midst of uncertainty. As they prepared for bed, Kazuki felt a renewed gratitude for Emiko, her love a beacon in the dark.
Lying beside her, he listened to her steady breathing, the hiss and sigh of it soothing him. The ache in his chest lingered, a quiet reminder, but with Emiko by his side, he felt stronger, ready to confront the unknown. As he lay there, the events of the day replayed in his mind like a film on loop. The fall in the stairwell, the pain in his chest, the empty apartment, the fear that gripped him. He realized how quickly life could change, how fragile it all was. He thought about all the things he still wanted to do with Emiko—travel to Kyoto, maybe start a family, grow old together. The possibility that those dreams might be cut short terrified him. But then he felt her hand find his under the covers, her fingers intertwining with his, and he knew that whatever happened, they would face it together.
In the darkness, he whispered, "I love you."
She murmured back, "I love you too," her voice a soft echo, and they drifted off, hands entwined.
The next morning, they would face the clinic, the tests, the questions. But for now, in this fragile moment, they had each other, and that was enough. The day had offered no answers, only the certainty of their bond, a light to guide them through the shadows.