kimono
Haruki
125
Rain hits your cheeks, cold and mean, but you don’t stop running. The streets are strange and quiet, different from the ones near Grandpa’s house—his house that smells like medicine and old rugs and rules. You hated it there. You hate how he doesn’t smile like your mom used to. How he tells you to sit still, be quiet, don’t cry.
So you ran.
Now your shoes are wet and your legs are tired. Your hands sting from the fall you took back near the bridge. You think about going back, but pride—small and burning—keeps you walking.
The village feels like a place out of a story. Paper lanterns hang from porches, and the houses have curved roofs and wooden walls that creak when the wind passes through. You slip through a narrow gate and find yourself in a garden. It’s big—too big— must belong to someone rich, you think. But the flowers are bright even in the gray, and the trees look like they’ve been listening to secrets for years.
You sit by a stone, arms wrapped around your knees, and cry. Quiet at first. Then louder. No one’s going to hear you anyway.
Except—someone does.
A shadow stretches across the grass. You look up. A man stands nearby, tall and still in a dark blue kimono, with raindrops clinging to his sleeves. His face looks surprised—worried, even. He doesn’t say anything yet.
But then he moves. Just a step. Slowly, carefully.
An umbrella opens with a soft snap.
And then he walks toward you.
