Page 30 of The Vanishing Cherry Blossom Bookshop

Her father briefly widened his eyes in surprise, then gazed at Kozue with a look of confusion. Eventually, he lifted his glance and murmured, ‘I see, you might be right.’

From that day on, Kozue’s father began to frequently call her into his study.

He wanted to hear more about the shop. Kozue told him everything she remembered in detail: the girl’s gestures, the cat’s impressive fur, the titles of the books she spotted.

What seemed to pique his curiosity the most, however, was the weeping cherry tree.

‘That’s right. The colours blended together, even when the air was still. It was absolutely beautiful. But the petals were – I guess you could call it single-coloured. Each petal that had fallen on the ground had a consistent colour.’

‘Right.’

‘This isn’t something the girl told me, but it made me think that the tree is somehow responsible for creating the flow of time in that place. It had an ethereal quality to it. The moment I saw it, it almost took my breath away.’

‘Hmm. That could work.’

Every so often, Kozue tried to mimic the way the girl spoke.

Each time she did so, a look of conflicting emotions flitted across her father’s face, probably because it reminded him of her mother.

As for Kozue, it made her realise that this was how, as the girl said, both Kozue and her mother came to shape the main character of his story.

Neither Kozue nor her father ever referred to the world that Kozue experienced as a ‘dream’. They didn’t know why.

Several months later, her father handed Kozue a stack of manuscript papers.

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.

Now, the quiet residents of the shop were a cat and a girl.

Almost always, the girl carried with her a book – a collection of poetry.

From time to time, she would open the book, and whenever a passage caught her eye, she quietly read it out loud to the cat.

‘“More intensely than the wind-instrument of noon,

When traces of amber are poured,

The bitterness of anger, the blue of anger…”’

The world in which the shop existed was ‘beneath the light of the atmosphere in April’.

There is only one way we can reach this shop.

We must read the same passage from the same book as the girl, at exactly the same time, on the same day, in the same season.

And it must also be a sunny day in spring, beneath the cherry blossoms in full bloom.

Following these opening lines were several stories, each featuring the protagonist, Sakura, and the strange events she offers to the guests of her shop.

Her father called the book A Shop Named Sakura .

It seemed to Kozue that this was his way of expressing the very wish he had for her mother: that she would spend her days in the shop bearing her own name, alongside her beloved cat, surrounded by all her favourite things.

When his editor read the completed manuscript, they suggested presenting the story with prominent illustrations, in a format that would resemble a picture book.

Her father was delighted. The project went ahead, and after some time, he received the news that they’d found an artist who was eager to work on the book.

By the change of seasons, a copy of the completed illustrations had arrived.

Her father seemed to be pleased with the soft, watercolour-like drawings.

As for Kozue, she was utterly stunned. The hues of the cherry blossoms, the pathway, the layout of the shop, and even the colour of the girl’s pinafore dress were exactly as she remembered.

What struck her the most, however, was the cat’s coat.

The story had only mentioned that it was a ‘calico’, and yet its colours and overall patterning were spot on: its right ear was mostly black, its left ear brown, and it had white fur from its right shoulder down to its chest.

A logical explanation would suggest that her father had provided the photo of her mother and the cat for reference, and there was a good chance that he had kept detailed notes of Kozue’s descriptions of the shop.

But Kozue never asked her father or his editor if this was the case.

She imagined that the girl would probably say, ‘See? People create miracles more easily than you think.’ And a part of her wanted to believe that such a miracle had happened to her.

A Shop Named Sakura was finalised with colour illustrations, printed and bound, and began to appear in bookshops, fittingly, in the spring.

Soon, praise for the book began to spread, with comments like ‘The tenderness and pathos resonated in my heart’ and ‘The illustrations perfectly capture the tone of the story and filled me with an unexpected sense of warmth.’ Such recognition made Kozue happy as well.

As the years went by, the book seemed to flourish alongside Kozue, almost as if it were keeping up with her as she continued to mature.

And now, offers of translated editions were starting to come in from all over the world.

As Kozue pictured the girl speaking in that same cheerful tone, but in the language of another country, a strange emotion welled up inside of her.

Kobako will surely make the same sound no matter where she is, she thought, which only made the situation seem all the more surreal to her.

But Kozue was convinced that the world in which her mother and the cat lived would grow more resilient as the story spread to more people.

That was something she could believe in.

Like the others, spring became a special season for Kozue and her father.

Every year, she felt grateful to be able to admire the cherry blossoms in full bloom with him.

But the knowledge that she would never be able to share such moments with her mother lingered inside of her, along with an emotion that was like regret and longing, yet not quite either.

This would likely never change for the rest of her life.

Unfortunately for Kozue, that one time turned out to be the only occasion she ever got to visit the girl, the cat and the shop.

No matter how many times she opened Spring and Asura , it didn’t happen.

Especially hopeful when the cherry trees were at their peak, she tried over and over again, but her wish was never granted.

What if there’s a rule that you need to choose another book the second time round?

Kozue considered this possibility one day as she stood alone in her father’s study and unlocked the bookcase.

Although, as desperate as she was, she never doubted that the girl and the cat were still ‘peddling miracles’ somewhere.

After trying and failing for the umpteenth time, she closed the book, returned it to the shelf and locked the door.

We will meet again , she told herself before walking away from the bookcase.

Just then, on impulse, she decided to sit at her father’s writing desk.

Outside the window, she saw a single cherry-blossom petal drift by.

That was when she heard the sound of a book closing with a soft flop.

Thank you.

It was the same voice that whispered, ‘Take care of your father for me.’ At least, that was how it felt. Or maybe it was the sound of a cat.

* * *

‘Are you okay, Mummy? Did you not sleep well last night?’

A pair of round eyes peered at her as she opened her eyelids.

Huh? Kozue thought before quickly remembering.

They’d planned on going out as a family, and since they were due to leave before noon, she’d been getting ready since the morning.

Her husband had gone to collect her father, who lived nearby.

In the meantime, as usual, her daughter, Sakura, had begged her to read A Shop Named Sakura to her.

Kozue’s daughter loved this book. Not only did it feature a girl with the same name as her, but it was also a source of pride for her.

This was understandable, given that it was her grandfather’s work.

Although, since it had not been written for children, Kozue honestly didn’t know how much of it she actually understood.

Still, while the author might not be so pleased, Kozue had to admit that it was incredibly effective in putting her daughter to sleep.

On this day, however, it was Kozue who seemed to have fallen asleep while reading to her.

She hurriedly checked the clock, only to find that less than ten minutes had passed since her husband left the house.

Yet it felt like she’d been having a long, endless dream. Her shoulders had stiffened a bit, too.

Seemingly relieved to see her mother awake, Kozue’s daughter now claimed that she was hungry and darted towards the fridge.

‘Hey, don’t get anything on your nice clothes!

’ Kozue chided as she chased after her. Just as Kozue feared, her daughter carelessly flung the fridge door open, and a bottle of dressing landed on the floor.

Someone must not have put it away properly.

Was her husband the culprit? Or maybe it was herself.

In any case, she sighed in relief as she realised that the lid on the bottle had stayed intact.

But now, her daughter, not tall enough to reach the shelves, was calling out, ‘ Purin , purin! ’ as she jumped up and down in front of the fridge. Kozue quickly crouched down to pick up the dressing.