The mid-week holiday arrived like a small blessing dropped into Ken's life. His office was closed for the local celebration of Tenjinmatsuri in Osaka, and most of the city drifted into a slower, more festive rhythm. Ken woke up without an alarm for once, stretched until his back cracked, and let himself breathe in the rare, quiet morning. The heat settled over Osaka like a warm blanket, humming with cicadas and the footsteps of people preparing for the riverfront festival in the evening. Ken stepped out of his apartment with a rare sense of lightness, relieved he didn't have to drag himself to the office. Today was a public holiday, and his company had actually respected it for once. No tie, no deadlines, no morning rush. Just a day where he felt like a person instead of a worker.
As he walked through the streets in late afternoon, the city was already alive with festival energy. Stalls lined the walkway, paper lanterns hung overhead, and the smell of takoyaki, grilled squid, and sweet syrup drifted through the air. Children chased each other wearing fox masks, vendors shouted over the crowd, and the distant thump of taiko drums carried like a heartbeat. Ken bought a melon soda and let himself blend into the flow of people, drifting without purpose. He browsed trinkets, watched ring toss games, and paused to admire fans painted with gold leaf. He wasn't doing anything special, but for the first time in a while, simply existing felt enough.
As he approached the river, he noticed two familiar figures near a food stall. Sachiko sat on a wooden bench, slowly fanning herself, while Haruo stood beside her, waiting patiently for their order. They looked different outside the eatery–lighter, more at ease. Ken blinked and walked over, raising a hand in greeting. Haruo gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
Sachiko's face brightened softly when she saw him. "You're here too," she said.
Ken smiled. "Didn't expect to run into you both."
"Better than staying in the shop all the time," Haruo replied with a faint, amused grumble. "Even old people need fresh air."
They ended up wandering the festival together. They walked slowly, with Sachiko stopping to admire small items while Haruo commented quietly on which stalls had been around since his younger days. Ken found himself genuinely enjoying their company, the three of them blending into the crowd as fireworks preparation buzzed behind the scenes.
When they finally settled by the riverbank, lanterns reflecting on the water and the sky shifting into evening, Sachiko lowered herself onto another bench with a quiet exhale. Haruo stayed close, hands resting on his knees. Ken sat nearby, taking in the peaceful moment. The festival noise softened around them, replaced by the murmuring river and the warm glow of lantern light.
Sachiko broke the silence gently. "Ken, may I ask you something?" Her tone wasn't heavy, but it carried something deliberate. She exchanged a quick look with Haruo, and he gave a small, steady nod. Sachiko folded her hands. "We think it's fair to be honest with you. You've been visiting us more often, and you're kind enough to listen." Ken waited quietly. Sachiko's voice was soft but clear. "I've been in and out of the hospital. They found something in my stomach months ago. A cancer. It's slow… but it makes mornings harder." Haruo spoke after her, his tone matter-of-fact. "And my heart isn't doing great. Doctors talked about treatments, but I'm too old to chase machines and surgeries." He offered a faint smile, not bitter, just accepting. Ken felt their words settle over him like a warm, heavy cloth. They weren't asking for anything. They weren't seeking pity. They were simply sharing the truth with someone they trusted.
The first fireworks burst across the sky in bright red, scattering reflections on the river. More followed, filling the evening with color and soft echoes. Sachiko and Haruo watched the display with calm admiration, their hands brushing together on the bench. Ken sat with them in silence, fireworks painting light across their faces. He didn't feel sadness. Not yet. Just an understanding of how fragile and gentle their world was.
Ken lingered with the crowd as the last firework cracked open above the river, scattering gold across the night sky. The applause rose and fell around him, a warm, collective breath before everyone began to drift away from the riverbank. He turned to the couple beside him. Sachiko squeezed Haruo's arm as they looked up at the fading trails of light, both smiling with a softness that almost hid the weight of their earlier confession. Ken thanked them again for spending the festival together, bowing lightly before stepping back into the slow-moving sea of people. The lanterns swayed overhead as he walked, their glow brushing gently across his face. Even with all the laughter, music and festival noise fading behind him, the couple's words stayed in his chest like a quiet ache.
The streets thinned as he moved farther from the heart of the celebration. His legs were tired from all the walking, but there was a pleasant heaviness in his body, the aftertaste of good food, good company and a strange mix of joy and worry that didn't quite settle. By the time he reached the train station, the night air felt cooler, brushing against the back of his neck. He rode home in silence, leaning against the window, watching the reflection of fireworks still flickering faintly on other people's phones, as if the festival refused to end.
When he finally stepped inside his apartment, he let out a long sigh and dropped his bag on the floor. The room felt quiet in a comforting way. He headed straight to the bathroom, twisting the shower knob until steam began to fill the small space. Warm water rolled over his shoulders as he stood under the flow, letting it wash away the sweat and smoke of the festival. His mind drifted back to Sachiko's calm voice, her tiny smile when she explained her illness, and Haruo pretending he wasn't struggling even though Ken could see it in his posture. He wondered why it bothered him so much. Maybe it was because they reminded him of something he couldn't name–kindness that didn't ask for anything back, or maybe just people who deserved better luck than what they were given.
He closed his eyes and let the water run longer than usual, trying to shake off the heaviness in his chest. But their faces stayed with him, the way they joked lightly even while speaking about something so serious. It made him feel small for a moment, like he had been taking his own days for granted without realizing it.
After finishing his bath, he dried himself off and moved to the bedroom. The sheets were cool, and the room still smelled faintly of laundry detergent. He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts slowly untangled themselves. The festival chants, the glow of lanterns, the sound of Sachiko's laugh, Haruo's tired smile–they all blurred into one gentle memory. His eyes grew heavy, and before he realized it, his breathing slowed. The last thing he felt was a strange mixture of warmth and worry settling quietly inside him as he finally drifted into sleep.