The Dead and the jellyfish

Inviting a stranger into your home is a mistake.
Inviting a suicidal person into your home is a mistake.
I did both.

The walk home felt impossibly quick, even though we were on foot. Despite the rain, neither of us seemed interested in avoiding getting wetter.For my part, dying from some illness caused by being soaked didn’t sound that bad, and if I’d been out in the rain on purpose, it’d technically count as suicide.
As for her, I’d say the same, but I didn’t know her, so I’d rather not assume.

Actually, scratch that.
The first part’s a lie.
I don’t want to die. Not as much as before, at least.


“So… this is where you live,” she said as we stepped from the garden to the entrance, eyeing the walls, their paint long faded. The wooden edges of the roof, half-eaten by dampness. It felt like she was mentally drafting a blueprint. “I’d say you’re into the rustic vibe.”

“Not particularly.”

“Then you’re just poor?”

“That’s a terrible way to put it. The house is a family inheritance.”

“Uhm…”

“What?” I asked, before opening the door. I wasn’t annoyed—just something about her personality grated on me. Probably the similarities, though I’d say she was worse than me in some ways.

“It’s one of the few houses in town that keeps the traditional architecture. So, either you don’t have money for repairs, you’re planning to move, or…”

“Or…?”

“Or you don’t plan on sticking around long,” she concluded, tilting her head.

“That’s basically the same as moving.”

“No. I meant not sticking around in this world, not the town,” she said, adjusting her glasses as she looked at me. Looked at me like I was an idiot for not getting it.

“Let me say it again—you’re irritating. Like, way too irritating.” I sighed and opened the door. “I’m gonna grab a couple of towels. I don’t want this place turning into an aquarium,” I said, heading to the bathroom to the right of the stairs. “By the way, as irritating as you are, you’re right—I don’t plan on staying long.”

“I’ve got a good eye,” she said, smiling. Then she started inspecting the ceiling beams, the worn-out wooden floor, the lights. I could see her fingers twitching behind her back—probably found it fun to analyze things like that.

“Here, you’re about to turn into a kurage.” I tossed the towel over her head.

“I’m still moving,” her voice came muffled through the towel before she shook out her hair and started drying it.

“Jellyfish move too, and that doesn’t mean they’re alive.”

“So you’re comparing me to seafood?”

“Considering how we met, I’d say it’s a fitting comparison.”

“Nothing to argue there,” she said, laughing. “Where do I put this?” She pointed to her blue raincoat and the towel. She was wearing a T-shirt from some band I couldn’t name—for reasons that’d probably involve a lawsuit.

“In the basket behind the stairs,” I said, showing her the spot before heading to the kitchen.

“It’s been a while since I cooked anything. I basically live off microwave food, but I feel like making an exception.”

“Am I a test subject?”

“I’m actually a decent cook. I just stopped doing it a while ago.”

Though I spoke, she seemed lost in her own world. I wasn’t sure if she’d heard me—her eyes darted from the ceiling to the furniture, from the furniture to the smallest cup.

“I’d bet you spend a lot of time here, huh? Probably the only part of the house that’s taken care of.”

“Are you an architect or something?”

“Serial observer.”

“We should’ve gone to your place then. Here, the roof might cave in on you,” I shot back, practically dripping sarcasm.

“No chance of that. My parents think I’m at a friend’s.”

“If you’d told me that earlier, I would’ve walked you to their place.”

“Impossible.”

“Why?” I asked, honestly getting a bit tired.

“I don’t have friends, but I’m good at pretending I do. So if you’d walked me, we’d probably have ended up wandering nowhere.”

“Wouldn’t have minded much, to be honest.” I set a couple of bowls on the kitchen counter, a cutting board, and a small knife set. For a moment, I felt her weight leaning over my shoulder, peering at what I was doing.

“Need help, chef?” she asked, laughing like, for a second, nothing existed but this moment.

“Nah, thanks. It’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a couple of days…”

“I see… so you’re doing this for the occasion, not for me.”

“Anything wrong with that? Just seizing the moment.”

“Not at all,” she said, perching lightly on the chair, her chin resting on her palm as she watched my movements. “Who were you planning to cook for?”

I pretended not to hear and kept sorting ingredients—chopped the garlic first, then the cucumbers, and separated them into bowls.

“No answer, so it must not be important, I guess. By the way, what’s your name, chef?” she asked, standing up. She came over and started inspecting the small bottle of sesame oil. “So you actually made the joke a reality.”

“Just had the ingredients on hand.”

“And your name got lost among them or what?”

“I don’t see the point of my name. What’s the difference between knowing it or not?” I asked, soaking the seaweed and starting on the dressing.

“If we don’t know each other’s names, we’d still be strangers, even if we talked all night,” she said, handing me the soy sauce and some ginger. “Plus, don’t you think I should know the name of the guy who stopped me from jumping off the bridge?”

“I already told you, you wouldn’t have jumped even if you wanted to,” I replied, mixing the rice vinegar with the soy.

“Don’t dodge my question.”


I don’t think I’d ever cared much about names, but what she said made sense.
I remembered when Aranara asked me to give her a name. Was it the same thing? A way to break the barrier of strangers.
But after nearly a month, living side by side every day—didn’t that make us more than strangers?

Maybe my way of seeing things was the first problem.


“Eiji.”

“Sayo. Kanzai Sayo,” she replied.

“Kanzai… like the supermarket chain?”

“Correct. My dad’s actually the owner.”

“So I’m talking to the future heiress of a company. This feels like a soap opera.”

She didn’t respond, but it was clear she didn’t like being seen that way. She went back to the chair and kept watching me cook.
Two plates, two portions.
One for me, the other for someone more than a stranger.Before we could even pick up our utensils, the front door slammed shut with a jolt, startling both Sayo and me.
Completely soaked, trembling, hair plastered to her face, bags under her eyes—Aranara walked in like she’d never left. I’ll admit, even though she’d only been gone a day, it felt like so much longer.


“Aran—”

“Shut up,” she cut me off, not even looking at me as she headed straight for the stairs.

“Don’t you think we should at least… you know, clear things up a bit?” It was instinct—I didn’t think it through. I just stood up from the chair and blocked her path to the stairs.

“Move.” Her flat voice tightened the air, made worse by the fact that she wouldn’t even look me in the face.

“No.”


She didn’t even reply—just shoved me aside like I was disposable. I felt her hand, cold, unbelievably cold, against my chest before I stumbled back a step.
But in that moment, I noticed something—the tips of her fingers were pink.
For a second, I forgot about dinner, Sayo, everything. I ran up the stairs after her, but like that other time, she locked herself in her room.


“Come on, are you doing this again?” I said, uselessly turning the doorknob. It wasn’t locked—she was leaning against the door from the other side.

“What do you want to talk about? Wasn’t the other day enough?”

“You soaked the floor. You should’ve taken off the parka.”

“What the hell does that have to do with what I asked!?” I felt her fist hit the door.

I went quiet, just for a moment. Sometimes there aren’t the right words. “Aranara…”

“What?”

“How does it feel?”

“How does it feel what?” she asked, her voice thick with obvious irritation and a raspy edge.

“The cold.”

“Idiot…” she said, softer this time. “Way worse than you made it sound…”


I felt the door lighten, nearly tripping when it swung open suddenly. I hadn’t realized I was still turning the knob.
I saw her clearly—shivering from the cold, the heavy parka dripping like it was raining on the floor. The tips of her fingers, her nose, were pink.


“You’re gonna need a wardrobe change,” I said, chuckling. “Come down to eat. We can leave the other day for later if you want—just… come eat, okay?”

She nodded and shoved me out of the room. I felt her weight against the door again, but this time, there was no need to go in.

“The other day…”

“I needed it,” I cut her off. “I really needed it.”

“Even if you say that…”

I knocked on the door twice with my knuckles. “Come on, drop it. Just change and come eat. We’ll talk about it later—doesn’t need to be now.”


I went back down to the kitchen. Sayo was strangely tense, hadn’t touched her food. Her eyes were fixed on her plate, but I could tell her mind was somewhere else.

“No poison, don’t worry,” I said, trying to pull her back to reality.

She didn’t answer—didn’t seem to hear me.Not knowing what was going on annoyed me.

“Hey, Sayo! Slippery crybaby, I’ve been looking for you since last night,” Aranara said, coming down the stairs. “No hello, or what?”

Sayo’s face drained of color. She was pale, staring at Aranara, trying to speak but only stammering.
The sound of her hands gripping the edges of the chair made me realize that whatever had happened between them last night hadn’t been anything good.