Page 6

6

The Smell of Desperation

MOMOI

I walked the streets with a purpose, my feet hitting the cracked pavement harder than necessary. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn’t eaten anything since yesterday, but I ignored it. I had more important things to focus on than hunger. I needed to find work.

The city was alive with the hum of busy people, all moving with purpose, their footsteps a constant rhythm that seemed to mock my own aimless wandering. I was an outsider—just another face in a sea of strangers, but one that nobody wanted to deal with. Each step I took only seemed to remind me how invisible I was, how I didn't belong. Every shop I entered, every business I walked into, was the same—blank stares, polite refusals, and a slow, tightening knot in my chest.

“No experience?” Their voices were polite, but the subtle condescension there was undeniable. They didn’t even bother to look at my face. They were just checking a box, making sure I didn’t fit their criteria, as if it was something they could measure by looking at my resume, something I didn’t have.

“Yeah, that’s right,” I answered, my voice tight. “But I’m willing to learn.”

Another pause, then a glance at their clipboard or phone screen, a quick evaluation of whether I was worth their time. It didn’t help that my clothes weren’t the kind usually seen in the city, more reflective of Western culture, much to my detriment.

“Well, we’re looking for someone with more experience. Sorry.” The statement sounded almost rehearsed. Their eyes would shift over my shoulder as if the next person waiting in line was the one they were really interested in. I wasn’t even a blip on their radar.

The frustration bubbled up in me, but I forced myself to nod, a practiced smile on my face.

“Right. Thanks,” I muttered before turning on my heel, making my way out of the shop as quickly as I could without looking close to physically running away from rejection.

But it didn’t stop. It was the same everywhere I went. The same polite dismissal, the same underlying judgment that I didn’t have the right credentials, the right look, the right... whatever it was they needed to see to trust me.

By the time I walked into the third shop—a small cafe with a couple of tables inside, the scent of freshly baked goods wafting through the door—I was on the edge of breaking. My stomach was growling louder than my thoughts, and I hadn’t even noticed how badly I needed food until now. Maybe if I could just grab something simple, I could sit down for a minute and clear my head.

I walked up to the counter, doing my best to keep the exhaustion from showing.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I said, trying to keep my tone light, trying to not sound desperate, even though I felt it deep in my bones. “But are you hiring?”

The woman behind the counter glanced at me briefly before picking up a glass to wash it. “No, sorry. We’re all set for now.”

I frowned, resisting the urge to ask, Do you not anticipate having a lot of customers? What are you going to do during rush hour?

“Right. Thanks,” I muttered again, turning to leave. I caught a glimpse of myself in the reflection of the glass door, and I hated what I saw. My hair was messy from the wind, my clothes probably more revealing than they should be, and I couldn’t tell if my face looked tired or just... lost.

As the door shut behind me, I leaned against the wall outside, trying to steady my breathing. I should’ve known it would be like this. I’d been through this routine before—over and over again, in a different city, in a different life. The same rejection. The same feeling of being invisible. The same gnawing emptiness that followed me wherever I went. It was all too familiar, how people looked past me, not worth a second glance. That was what led me down the path of shady deals under the cover of night. Back then, I didn’t care. I was just trying to survive, to fill the void in whatever way I could. The money, the thrill, the chaos—it all felt as if it could drown out the hollowness, even if just for a moment.

But now, it was different. I didn’t want to go back to that. I didn’t want to crawl back into the shadows of that life. I wanted to stand in the light, to be seen as more than just the girl who made desperate choices. I wanted to have a real life. A normal life. One where I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder, where I didn’t have to hide who I was or what I did. I wanted to try, to finally live the same as everyone else, without the weight of my past holding me down.

I felt as if the city was laughing at me, mocking me for thinking I could ever be a part of something normal. Each rejection was a reminder of how far I’d strayed from that dream. But I couldn’t give up—not this time. I had come too far, across an entire ocean, to start again. I had to keep pushing forward, even if it felt like every step I took was just another nail in the coffin.

I’m not going back to that. Not again. Not ever.

But the doubt crept in again, as it always did, gnawing at my resolve. Was it even possible to start over? To erase all of the things I had done, all of the choices I had made? I wanted to believe it was. I needed to.

I gritted my teeth, muttering to myself. “You’re fine. You’re fine. Just keep going.”

But I wasn’t fine. And I knew it.

I tried to calm my racing thoughts. Okay, just one more. One more shop. You can do it.

I looked down the street, where a small gift shop stood, its window filled with trinkets and hand-crafted knick-knacks. Maybe they would need someone. Maybe it wasn’t so hopeless. I was already dressed in the nature of a typical foreigner, wouldn’t that make visitors feel more welcome?

I wasn’t sure if I was lying to myself, but I pushed myself forward anyway, dragging my feet, trying to fight the frustration clawing at me.

The bell above the door jingled as I entered, and I was greeted by a middle-aged woman who looked at me with a polite but reserved expression.

“Hello,” she said, barely glancing up from her counter as she arranged some small ceramic statues. “Can I help you?”

“I was wondering if you’re hiring,” I asked again, trying not to let the desperation in my voice show. “I can do anything, really. I’m willing to start with whatever you need. I don’t have much experience, but I’m a fast learner.”

Her eyes skimmed over me, blatantly evaluating whether I was worth her time. Her hands stopped moving for a moment, and there was a pause.

“No, sorry,” she said, her voice flat and disinterested. “We’re fully staffed.”

I stared at her for a moment, feeling like I’d been punched in the gut. It wasn’t that I expected her to drop everything and hire me on the spot, but the quickness with which she turned me away, without even offering me a second thought was another blow I wasn’t ready for.

“Right,” I said, trying to force a smile, but it felt too tight. “Thanks for your time.”

I turned and walked out, this time not even bothering to hide the frustration in my steps. My mind was buzzing with anger, self-doubt, and a gnawing sense of rejection that was starting to swallow me whole. I could feel the tears threatening to rise in my throat, but I refused to let them show.

I didn’t care.

I can do this. I’ll just keep going. I’ll find something. I will. I have to. You don’t have to go back to the darkness.

With my head down and fists clenched, I stormed onto the street, running right into someone.

Someone who smelled familiar.

I barely registered his figure until I had already knocked into him, my body jerking back as I tried to steady myself. I glanced up, expecting the usual serene, calm expression. But there was a hint of surprise in his eyes as he steadied me with his hands.

The monk.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t see you there.”

I didn’t have time for him, not now. Not with everything boiling inside me.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should start paying attention,” I snapped, the words flying out before I could stop them.

His calm expression didn’t falter, but his eyes softened just a little. “Are you okay?”

I scoffed, my frustration spilling out in a way I couldn't control. “Yeah, I’m just great. Perfect, actually. Another rejection. Another dead-end job search. You know, the usual.”

He didn’t pull away, didn’t step back, just stood there, quiet and patient, his expression unreadable. But there was something in his eyes—an understanding, a patience—that made me want to scream even more.

Why would someone as untainted as him need to worry about anything I was going through? The temple likely provided everything he needed—food, shelter, support—through offerings. He had no reason to understand, no reason to care about the mess that was my life.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said, his voice calm, almost too calm, akin to speaking to a child throwing a tantrum.

“Well, maybe you should stop asking dumb questions, then!” I shot back, my words sharp and biting. It wasn’t even about him anymore; I was pissed at everything, at the world, at myself. And he was standing there as if he could just fix it all with a couple of kind words. How naive.

His expression didn’t change, not even a little. He just kept looking at me with that steady gaze, and something about it made my skin crawl. He didn't react to me. Unfazed by my anger, making me feel even worse. Like I was the one out of control, the one who was too much.

“I’m not trying to upset you,” he said, softer this time, but still firm. “I’m just trying to understand.”

I felt my temper flare even higher. Understand? “You don’t need to understand anything about me!” I nearly spat the words at him. “I don’t need your help or your sympathy, alright? Just leave me the hell alone.”

His eyes softened, as if he didn’t take it personally. Like I wasn’t ripping into him with everything I had. It only pissed me off more. I didn’t want his pity, and I certainly didn’t want his concern.

“I’m not pitying you,” he said, his voice still steady, that damn calmness not wavering an inch. “But you don’t have to do this alone, you know.”

“You don’t know me,” I snapped, louder this time, taking a step toward him. My voice was on the edge of breaking, but I was too furious to care. “You don’t know anything about me, about what I’ve been through. So don’t act like you do.”

His gaze didn’t change, and that was the problem. Why was he so calm? Why wasn’t he getting angry back?

“I’m not pretending to know,” he said quietly. “But I know what it feels like to carry something heavy. To be weighed down by things you can’t change. You don’t have to carry that burden by yourself.”

The words hit me harder than I wanted them to. For a moment, everything inside me froze. My anger started to dissolve, but I wasn’t ready to let it go. I couldn’t. No one gets to make me feel like this. No one gets to get through to me.

“I don’t need this, alright?” The words came out in a rush, desperate to push him away, but there was no conviction in them. “I don’t need anyone. I’m fine.”

But he didn’t seem to be buying it. He took a step closer, and I wanted to scream, to tell him to stay the hell away from me. But his voice, calm and gentle, still cut through the noise in my head.

“You don’t have to pretend to be fine,” he said, his tone soft but firm, as if he wasn’t going to back down. “You’re allowed to ask for help. You’re allowed to let someone in. It doesn’t make you weak.”

I stood there, my chest tight, suffocating under the weight of his words. His presence, calm and steady, was suffocating me in a different way. But I couldn’t escape it. I couldn’t escape him.

“I’m Tatsuya Ikeda,” he said, breaking the silence between us. He gave a small bow, akin to some kind of ritual. “If you ever need anything, even if it’s just someone to talk to, I’ll be around or at the temple.”

The words hung in the air, and I felt something in me twist. I hated it. I hated that he was being so… kind . I didn’t need kindness. I didn’t need him .

I wanted to argue, wanted to snap at him, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t find the words, and even if I could, I wasn’t sure I wanted to say them anymore.

Without another word, I turned and walked away, my heart pounding in my chest, the remnants of my anger still smoldering under the surface. But his words, his presence, lingered in the back of my mind. You’re allowed to let someone in.

And it made my stomach churn with something I couldn’t quite name. Something that made me afraid of myself.