Breakfast across borders: The taste of love

When Sakuya woke up the following morning, she had one thing and one thing only on her mind.

Jumo.

He was here.

In Japan.

With her.

Unable to contain her excitement, she got out of bed and immediately winced in pain before sitting back down. Her left foot, now covered in bandages, was still healing. There was a little swelling around the ankle. After the fight with the inugami at the marketplace the day before, Kanna had helped massage her foot afterward. The elderly woman had been unforgiving and merciless in her task. Sakuya had kept screaming in agony, which did nothing to quell the older woman from grabbing, pulling, squeezing, and rotating her foot until something clicked back into place.

Now, she was officially off spirit combat duty for a few days—which was a good thing because, again, Jumo was here.

EEEEEE.

Her heart couldn't take it.

Gradually getting out of bed, Sakuya limped over to the bathroom, careful to keep most of her weight off her left leg. Standing in front of the mirror, she tied most of her hair back in a bun, then gazed intently at her reflection. Her emerald-green eyes had that subtle glow to them. It was an indication that her body was rapidly trying to heal her injury by tapping into her spirit guardian abilities, but there was no way someone like Jumo wouldn't notice that kind of unnatural detail.

What would he think?

...

In the kitchen, Sakuya was preparing an array of African breakfasts.

Pumpuka.

Akamu.

Akara.

Ampesi.

It was certainly not easy learning to prepare them all on her own. Whatever she needed, she looked up on the internet, and Jumo's mother secretly helped her with instructions over the phone.

Wash.

Soak.

Dry.

Blend.

Grind.

Mix.

Ferment.

Fry.

The akamu and akara in particular were Jumo's favorites.

Golden-brown, fluffy bean cakes—crispy on the outside, soft on the inside—a dish most popular in West Africa. Sakuya had gone through non-stop trial and error before finally reaching a stage where her Japanese version of the food was edible. She would drive out on her scooter to the local internet café, where she regularly had language practice with Jumo. Once there, she would go online and order the ingredients she needed from a supermarket in the city. As soon as she got back home, she would place a call to Jumo's mother before putting on her earpiece.

...

On her first try, the food tasted a little off. She lined up her sisters to confirm.

Shiun, the youngest—the purple-haired motormouth with no filter—immediately spat the food out, shouting,

"YUCK! Are you trying to kill me, sis!? Do I look like an inugami?!"

Sakuya scrunched up her face in annoyance, but before she could pull the little girl's ear… she bolted.

Ayane, the middle sister, who was only a few years younger than Sakuya herself, was a little more sensible in her feedback.

But only a little.

"Mmm, I mean, it's a little soggy. And bland. And does taste like something you might use to poison one of your spirits. What are you making, anyway?"

Sakuya patiently moved on to the next person.

Ash simply said one word in response.

"Salt."

"More or less?" Sakuya asked the white-haired girl in desperation.

Ash chewed.

"More," she replied.

But those were her past experiences.

Today, Sakuya was confident.

…

The girls were lined up in the living room again, and Sakuya, wearing an apron, held out a steaming tray of Jumo's favorites.

Akara.

Golden-brown, fluffy bean cakes.

"Not this again. Aw!" Shiun complained, only for Ayane to quickly slap the girl in the back of the head.

"Shut up, shorty," Ayane muttered.

All three girls reached in for a cake.

They chewed.

"Mmm, Sakuya…" Ayane said, swallowing before she continued speaking. "This is really good. You've improved. Seriously. Bravo."

Beaming with joy, Sakuya turned to gaze at Ash's reaction. The girl simply responded with a thumbs-up, a smile, and a nod. Then Sakuya looked down.

Most of the bean cakes were missing from the tray. Someone had snuck them into their lunchbox when she wasn't looking.

"Hey!" Sakuya turned and yelled at Shiun, who was busy trying to sneak off to school with her backpack.

The girl bolted.

"Don't run off, idiot! I made more!"

***

I was confused.

I reread Sakuya's message just to confirm.

"Good morning, I hope you slept well. Make sure you don't eat anything until I get there. I have a surprise for your belly."

What did she mean?

Was she making me breakfast?

I spent the morning getting ready for our eventual meeting. I brushed my teeth, showered, then picked out a few clothes from my luggage. A black long-sleeve t-shirt and a pair of blue jeans. The shirt was intentional. Most of the clothes I brought were like that. I needed whatever I wore to help cover my tattoos at all times. Although Sakuya didn’t have a problem with them, the woman that saw the tattoos on my hands while on the plane was a reminder. Not everyone might be comfortable with me walking around like that, even if they didn’t come out and say it. So I needed to keep them hidden.

"Hello, my son, how are you?"

Ten minutes later, and I was still up in the hotel, going through my stuff when my mother called.

"I'm fine, Mama. How is home?"

I was just making sure everything I had brought out of the bag was back inside. I didn’t want to forget anything in the hotel.

"My international traveler," my mother teased. "So how now? How is the place? The country? Hope they are treating you well?"

I flipped the lid of my box and began zipping it closed.

"Mama," I replied. "Everything is alright."

I knew exactly what she was talking about when she asked that question—whether I was being discriminated against for my tattoos. But the less she knew, the less she had to worry about. So I didn’t mention it.

…

Twenty minutes later, and I finally got a message from Sakuya on Discord.

"I'm outside," she typed. "I'm not sure, but will the front staff let me in if I ask to come in?"

"No need," I replied. "Already on my way out."

I got up from the waiting area and began heading outside with my luggage. The anticipation of finally seeing her physically was making my chest tighten a little.

What if I wasn’t who she was expecting?

What if meeting her physically made her change her mind?

What if things didn't work out when we try to spend some time together, and we quickly realized we have no chemistry in the real world—no connection, no nothing?

What then?

Reaching the revolving doors, I hesitated.

What if it didn't work out?

Were online relationships even real relationships?

Or just fantasy?

Taking in a deep breath, I exhaled.

There was only one way I was going to find out.

I stepped out of the building.

There were people moving up and down the sidewalk.

Cars and motorbikes moving up and down the road.

But sitting on her pink scooter parked in front of the hotel, was a girl wearing an equally colored pink helmet.

I recognized her almost instantly.

Emerald-green eyes.

Jet-black hair.

She was waving at me.

And smiling.