Page 25 of The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop

THE BEGINNING OF EVERYTHING

The shop was tucked away in a place beyond anyone’s understanding.

In front of it stood a mysterious, weeping cherry tree.

The tree was bursting with blossoms in every imaginable shade of red and white.

When a gust of wind swept through the flowers in full bloom, they blended together then parted again, at times creating a swirl of colours.

As the colour spectrum moved from white to red, and red to white, the tree pulsated like life itself.

Perhaps this was how the tree created the flow of time in this place.

Or perhaps this was the work of the gods. But this place lay within a world beyond our understanding, where no one could know the truth.

Such were the words that filled the squares of his manuscript.

But that was where his right hand stopped, refusing to move any further.

The stiffness in his wrist was close to pain, and he was now aware of a similar tightness that had crept inside his chest as well as between his eyebrows. A deep sigh escaped his lips.

Resignedly, Kazuhiko Tonami rose from his chair and rolled his neck and shoulders to loosen them. He couldn’t, however, rid himself of the sense that something was clinging to him. Whatever it was, it had been there for a long time.

Kazuhiko looked down at the centre of his desk where his partially written manuscript lay spread out.

Behind it was a photo frame. Nestled inside the oak rectangle was an image of a woman dressed in a burgundy pinafore dress, smiling at the camera while cuddling a long-haired calico cat.

Once again, his eyes were drawn to the photo, unable to look away.

Nearly ten years had passed since this had become the only place he could see her.

And still, he found himself wishing that he could hear her voice just one more time.

A part of him wanted to believe that as long as he didn’t give up, hope would not fade.

Yet at the same time, he feared that unless he accepted reality, he would remain stuck, unable to move forward with his life.

The thought unsettled him, especially when he considered his only daughter.

He could hardly believe how long her limbs had grown.

She was certainly not a toddler anymore.

In fact, she was now old enough to help him with the housework – something even he had yet to master.

Eventually, he twisted around exaggeratedly, forcing himself to turn away from the desk.

Then, he began to circle the room, wearing an incomprehensible expression that hovered somewhere between uncertainty and irritation.

Kazuhiko had no idea how much time had passed when he eventually stopped by the wall on the west side of the room.

It was entirely occupied by a bookcase with two sliding glass doors which could be locked at the point they met.

Kazuhiko stood there deliberating until he finally pulled a set of keys from a drawer and unlocked it.

As soon as he slid the doors open, a musty smell escaped into the room.

Perhaps it was something that the passage of time had released – something that had been trapped inside until now.

Behind the glass doors was a collection of books that looked like they’d been there for ever.

Choosing a book, Kazuhiko drew it off the shelf.

It was Spring and Asura by Kenji Miyazawa.

More intensely than the wind-instrument of noon,

When traces of amber are poured,

The bitterness of anger, the blue of anger.

Kazuhiko traced the lines with his eyes. It was the poem she loved the most. He read the lines over and over again in silence, occasionally muttering the words under his breath. The light in his eyes gleamed desperately, as though he was searching for something.

Outside the window, the season was spring. Cherry?blossom petals fluttered one by one, quietly floating across the square of the scenery and vanishing entirely.