The kitchen smells like home. Steam from the miso soup curls into the air, mixing with the earthy scent of sautéed vegetables and warm rice. It's such a small space, yet it feels comforting—a tiny bubble of familiarity inside this strange, new house.
I sink into a chair at the dining table, letting the weight of the day pull at my shoulders. My arms and legs are sore from hauling box after box up the stairs. For a moment, the quiet hum of the refrigerator the only sound in the room.
Mom moves between the stove and the table with her usual ease, her smile soft but bright. Somehow, even after a full day of moving, she looks put together—calm, graceful, like she can carry the weight of two lives without letting it show.
She sets a plate of rice in front of me and sits across the table. "How you feeling? Everything done? Need some help?"
I clap my hands together. "Itadakimasu!"
The first spoonful of rice melts in my mouth. Warm, soft, perfect. I let out a satisfied hum. "Almost done. Just one box left," I say between bites. Another spoonful, and I can't help but hum again. "Mmm... oishii. I feel alive again."
Mom chuckles and starts on her salad. "Are you sure you don't want a bed frame? I can order one tomorrow if you want."
I shake my head, my mouth still full. "Nope. I like it this way. Feels like home."
She hesitates, her smile faltering just a little. "I forgot to ask you," she says carefully, pouring sauce over her salad. "You took the room on the left side, right?"
I pause, tilting my head. "No. The right one—the ensuite. Why?"
She bites her lip and sighs. "I'm so sorry. The window in the room is really close to the house next door. I heard two boys live there. I didn't know before I bought the house... it just happened that way. I'm really sorry, Sakura."
I swallow a lump in my throat and look down at my rice. "No, Mom. It's fine. Doesn't matter to me." I avoid her eyes, poking at the last grains in my bowl. "The other room wasn't ensuite, and I thought... Well, I already talked to one boy. He seemed nice. I think he goes to our university too."
Her brow furrows slightly. "Oh... is that so?"
I nod, but I notice her face in the warm kitchen light. The fine lines around her eyes weren't there two years ago. She used to look so radiant, so young. Now, she carries every worry I've ever given her, and I hate the changes I made to her.
I hate that I've made her age faster.
"I hope everything goes well," she says softly, her voice trailing into a sigh. "Yeah," I reply quietly. "Me too."
———
After dinner, I collect our dishes and move to the sink. Warm water fills the basin, and the scent of soap rises in tiny bubbles as I hum a random tune. Mom dries the plates beside me, our shoulders brushing lightly every now and then.
"So," she says, passing me a glance. "Excited for tomorrow? Or are you planning to bunk it?"
I gape at her. "Are you seriously asking me that? Aren't you the university president?"
She shrugs playfully. "Why not? If staying home is better for you, I'm okay with it."
I snort and hand her a soapy bowl. "No, I'll come. After all, it's your first speech there." I nudge her shoulder, then give her a playful bump, and she rolls her eyes.
"Also..." I pause, searching for the right words. "...I can't say I'm fully okay. But I'm better now."
I force a small smile, and she gives me one back.
"...And I want to try. It's been two years. I think it's time I let it go."
Mom's arm wraps around me in a gentle side hug, careful not to get her soapy hand on me. I rest my head on her head, and her warm smile reaches her eyes this time.
"I'm proud of you," she whispers.
For a moment, the house is quiet. Just the soft hum of the fridge, the clink of dishes, and the rhythm of our breathing.
——————————————————
I head upstairs after dinner, calling a soft "goodnight" to Mom.
The truth is, we weren't living together until two years ago. Dad and Mom had always been a little distant—it came with the challenges of a mixed marriage. Mom met Dad during a visit to Japan, and for a while, they tried living together. They loved each other deeply, so much that Mom sacrificed her own life for us, trying to adjust to a place that never felt fully hers.
But it was too hard on her. And Dad... he couldn't bear seeing her like that. So they decided to live apart—visiting each other whenever they could. Sometimes she would come to Japan; sometimes we would spend a few weeks with her in Chicago. It was complicated, but it was our version of family.
Then everything changed. That day took everything from me. There was no one left for me in Japan.
Mom asked me to come with her immediately, but I couldn't—not yet. Leaving everything behind felt like tearing myself apart. I tried staying with my grandparents for a while, clinging to the last pieces of the life I knew. But it didn't work. Eventually, I had to leave.
Mom is the only family I have now. The only person I can call home. My fingers brush on the scar on my wrist.
I stop by my bedside and glance at the family photo. We all look younger there—smiling, happy, frozen in a moment that feels like another life. I wish it would've stayed that way.
A sigh escapes me as I head to the window to close it. I'd left it open to air out the room. And then I blink.
Once. Twice.
Just to make sure my eyes aren't lying to me.
Wow. As if this day couldn't get any more eventful. My whole body goes rigid, goosebumps racing across my skin—and not the good kind.
The dinner I ate twists in my stomach, threatening to come up.
I shut my eyes, trying to erase what I just saw through the window. My chest tightens, and my breath turns uneven, panic crawling under my skin.
Breathe. Just breathe.
I try to do what my therapist taught me— inhale, exhale—but it's useless. My hands tremble. My thoughts spiral. Think about music. Think about the songs you want to sing. Think about anything but this...
But my body doesn't listen. My stomach lurches.
I bolt to the bathroom and barely make it before my dinner wins. The sound echoes in the small space, humiliating and raw. When it's over, I lean against the cold wall, half-slumped on the floor, my body feeling heavy with exhaustion.
The image from the window clings to my mind. I had just told Mom, "He seems nice." If she get to know this then I am for sure will be changing the room.
Maybe he is nice .Maybe it's just none of my business.
What if it's his girlfriend? What if I just saw a completely normal moment?
But normal or not, the sight made my chest ache in a way I can't name. At least one thing is clear: he's definitely not gay.
When I finally gather enough energy, I rinse my mouth, splash cold water on my face, and drag myself back toward my room. I force my gaze away from the window, refusing to look at the silhouette of two bodies scarfing each other in the dark.
I grip my hair tightly as I lay on the bed. I don't want to know if it's love or lust. I just want to forget it. Erase everything I have seen.