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No Escape

MOMOI

I wasn’t looking for answers. I wasn’t looking for anyone. I was looking for a place to breathe.

This city, with all its lights and sounds, felt like a cage I couldn’t escape, no matter how far I ran. I thought if I wandered long enough, maybe I’d stumble upon some kind of escape—a door hidden somewhere that would lead me out of the mess my life had become, a portal to another realm far beyond this one. But there wasn’t.

Every day was reminiscent of a countdown. A countdown to what? I couldn’t tell you. Maybe a breakdown. Maybe something worse. I didn’t know.

I wandered deeper into the city, the streets thinning as I moved away from the hustle. That’s when I found it—an unassuming izakaya tucked away in a quiet corner. A narrow door, framed by the warm glow of paper lanterns, beckoned. The soft murmur of voices drifted out with the steam rising from the kitchen.

The moment I stepped inside, the smell of grilled fish, soy sauce, and sizzling tempura wrapped around me. The air was thick with a sense of comfort as if the whole place was made to forget the world outside. The walls were lined with faded wooden panels, the low murmur of patrons blending with the clink of ceramic cups. It was simple, humble, and familiar in a way that felt almost like home—except it wasn’t.

I slid onto a stool at the bar, giving a small nod to the bartender, an older man whose wrinkles seemed carved by years of serving the same tired faces. He didn’t ask what I wanted, just placed a small wooden cup in front of me. A shot of shochu, smooth and biting all at once. The kind of drink that didn’t need words.

I took a sip, letting the warmth spread through me, feeling the tension slip away, just a little. The flicker of lantern light caught the edges of the room, casting long shadows across the faces of the other customers. A pair of salarymen laughed too loudly at a joke, and a group of older women sat at the back, chatting softly over shared plates of sashimi. No one paid me any attention, and that was exactly what I needed.

The sounds of the place—the soft hum of conversation, the clink of glasses, the rhythmic tapping of chopsticks on plates—began to blend into the background. I leaned back, staring into my glass, watching the light dance in the clear liquid. It was familiar in the way that everything else in this city felt foreign. But for a moment, I didn’t care. Here, I could just be another anonymous face in the crowd, no past, no future. Just here. Just now.

The bartender nodded at me, sensing my thoughts, and refilled my cup without a word. The warmth in my chest spread further, quieting the storm inside, even for a little while.

I took another sip, the burn of the shochu cutting through the haze in my head. The warmth helped, but it was only temporary. The frustration was still there, lurking underneath—a constant hum that never quite stopped.

I stared at the small glass in my hand, feeling the weight of it, the weight of my thoughts. I couldn’t afford to keep drowning in this haze, wasting time in places such as this.

I had skills—skills I’d spent years sharpening in the underworld of my previous life. But what good were they? I could read people, move through a crowd unnoticed, and make quick decisions when the stakes were high. I knew how to handle myself in tight situations, in places most people wouldn’t dare step into. I was good at the underground—dealing with things in the shadows. That’s where I thrived. But it wasn’t the kind of life you built a future on. It wasn’t normal. And it sure as hell wasn’t sustainable.

I tried to picture myself in some office, sitting behind a desk, typing away at spreadsheets or answering calls. The idea was laughable. I was the type to take risks, to work the edges where most wouldn’t dare. I didn’t belong in a modest dress, in the kind of world where you punched in at nine and punched out at five.

I downed the last of my drink, feeling the familiar burn in my throat, but it didn’t clear the fog in my mind. I wasn’t stupid. I knew I needed to start somewhere. But where? Could I just walk into a normal job and pretend I didn’t know how to hustle, how to survive? Even I couldn’t elaborate on my non-existent resume that well, and I knew it.

The thought made me restless, made the tightness in my chest worse.

I set the empty cup back on the bar with a soft clink, the noise somehow sounding final, as if it was marking the end of something.

"Another?" the bartender asked, his voice low but expectant. I could feel his eyes on me, sizing me up. Was he judging me? The thought gnawed at me. A twenty-three-year-old woman, alone, drinking by herself—my thoughts were probably written all over my face.

Screw it. It didn’t matter what he thought. It didn’t matter what any of them thought.

I shook my head. “No. I’m done.”

I slid off the stool, my legs stiff from sitting too long. The familiar weight of uncertainty pressed against me, but I didn’t know where to go from here. No destination. No plan. Just the pull to move, to escape, to keep walking.

Exiting, the cold night air hit me like a slap. It didn’t feel any better out here than it had in the pub, but it was something. I stepped into the streets, blending back into the shadows, the flickering neon lights painting the path ahead.

Maybe I’d find something. Maybe not. But right now, I just needed to keep moving. I wasn’t used to silence, but that’s what I found in Japan. Silence in a world that was waiting for me to make my move, but no one was going to tell me what that move was. The noise I’d come from—the streets of California, the endless echo of sirens, the violence—I didn’t hear it here. I didn’t hear anything. It was worse than I thought.

I should’ve been grateful for the quiet. Should’ve taken it for what it was—a break from everything I knew. But all I felt was restless.

My feet carried me without direction, each step leading me deeper into streets I hadn’t seen before. The city blurred around me—neon signs, flickering streetlights, the low hum of the nightlife—but none of it reached me. I walked, my mind half-focused, my thoughts a tangled mess of what-ifs and could-bes.

Somehow, I found myself in front of something unexpected. A tall stone gate, ornate and weathered by time, stood in front of me. The air here felt different—quieter, almost reverent. I looked up, my gaze tracing the intricate designs of a structure that looked as if it had been pulled right out of a history book. It felt out of place in this city, like a forgotten relic from another time.

A temple, or maybe a shrine? The architecture was beautiful, with wooden beams curving high above, each corner adorned with carvings that told stories I couldn’t read. The atmosphere was thick with an ancient stillness, and yet, something about it called to me.

I stood there for a moment, caught in the mix of confusion and curiosity. What the hell am I doing here? Something inside of me—some pull, some whisper—nudged me forward, urging me to go closer, to see what lay beyond the gates. But the nagging voice at the back of my head reminded me that I didn’t belong here. I didn’t know what I was walking into. I wasn’t the type of person who wandered into sacred places, especially not in the middle of the night.

But still, my feet moved. They seemed to know something my brain didn’t.

I crossed the threshold, entering the quiet space. The air felt colder, charged with an energy I couldn’t quite place. The path was lined with stone lanterns, their light faint but steady. I paused, unsure, my heart thumping louder now, as if to tell me to turn back. But I didn’t. There was something here, something drawing me in despite my better judgment.

I continued down the path, each step feeling heavier as if the ground beneath me was alive with something I couldn't understand. I glanced around, half-expecting someone to stop me, to tell me to leave, but there was no one. No one but me and the quiet, ancient stones.

The quiet started to feel oppressive, as if the weight of every mistake I’d ever made was pressing down on me. The temple, this place—I couldn’t escape the feeling that it was watching me, judging me for my past, for the things I’d done to survive. Every step I took seemed to echo back at me louder than before. My chest tightened, and I felt a sudden wave of panic rise in my throat.

What am I doing here? I froze, the cold creeping into my bones. The temple was condemning me, wasn’t it? It knew what I had done, what kind of person I was. I wasn’t worthy of this peace, of whatever calm this place promised.

I turned, my feet moving faster now, my breath shallow as I walked back toward the gate. I needed to leave. I shouldn’t have come in the first place. I was a ghost, a shadow of what I should’ve been, not someone who belonged here, surrounded by this stillness.

And then I ran straight into a hard chest.

I stumbled back, catching my breath as I looked up into his calm, furrowed brow. His eyes met mine, wide with confusion, as if he hadn’t expected to find anyone in this sacred space at this hour.

The monk from the other night.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. I just stood there, heart racing, feeling exposed—similar to a kid caught stealing from the cookie jar. His gaze softened, but there was something steady in it, something that made me feel… shame. It didn’t make any sense, but it was there, blatantly. How many more times was this man going to be witness to my failings as a human?

“You seem lost,” he said softly, his voice like the rustling of leaves in the wind.

I swallowed hard, wanting to throw a snarky retort to cover my embarrassment, but the words stuck in my throat. “I... I shouldn’t be here.”

His expression didn’t change, but he tilted his head, his presence oddly calming. “Why do you think that?” His voice held no judgment, just a quiet curiosity.

“I don’t belong here.” My words came out more sharply than I intended, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt that clung to me. “I... I’ve done things. Things I’m not proud of. This place—it’s judging me.”

The monk studied me for a long moment, as if weighing my words before giving a small, knowing nod.

“The temple doesn’t judge,” he said softly. “It only invites. It is we who judge ourselves.”

I felt a knot tighten in my chest, unsure if I wanted to hear more. I took a step back from him, wanting to shake off his warmth. I didn’t deserve it. I was the daughter of a prostitute and a Yakuza with no ambitions, no dreams but the hope of some sort of escape. Heck, at this point, I wasn’t even sure what I was escaping anymore.

“I’m not someone who deserves peace,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve... any of this.”

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached into his robes and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper, offering it to me. “Everyone deserves peace, even if they don’t believe they do.”

I stared at the paper for a moment before taking it from his hand. My fingers brushed his for the briefest second, sending an unexpected jolt through me.

He gave me a small, serene smile and bowed, his movement graceful and deliberate. “Take it or leave it. But know that peace is always available if you choose to see it.”

I wanted to say something—apologize, explain, or ask how he could be so sure—but the words didn’t come. Instead, like a coward, I ran past him.