The Death and the dinner

For some reason, I felt like I was watching a wildlife documentary on TV. The lion creeping slowly toward the gazelle.
My mind was probably wandering.


“Sayo, the food’s gonna get cold,” I said as I passed her, letting my hand rest on her shoulder for a second—just a small attempt to calm her down.

Aranara didn’t say anything else. She sat at the table, specifically in my spot, facing her. “This doesn’t look like it came out of a microwave,” she said, eyeing the plate of kurage.

“Because I made it,” I replied, serving her a portion.

“You don’t cook.”

“Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I can’t.”

Aranara rested her hands on either side of the plate, letting them linger. The steam from the soup hit her face, but she had an expression I hadn’t seen before—almost, almost smiling.“You made sure it wasn’t too hot again…”

“Yep,” I said, sitting between them. The placement of the plates formed an odd triangle. “How is it?”

“Strange… but unlike the cold I felt coming here, this is, uh… you know…”

“No, I actually don’t.”

She sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s… nice, I think… Is that how it’s supposed to feel? It’s warm.”

Sayo watched the whole exchange, her confusion painfully obvious. Her relationship with Aranara clearly wasn’t like mine.
Maybe she’d only known her a short time.
Maybe she only knew part of her.


She picked up her fork and took a piece of jellyfish to her mouth, chewing slowly. Her eyes darted back and forth, like she was mentally dissecting each ingredient and reassembling them over and over.
“Eiji… this is—”

“Eiji?” Aranara cut in, confused, stopping her. She glanced at Sayo for a second, then at me. “So that’s your name, huh?”

I nodded. Aranara squinted at me while slurping her soup, making an obnoxiously loud noise on purpose.

“What’s up?”

“How long have you known four-eyes?”

“Sayo.”

“Yeah, whatever her name is—how long have you known her?” she repeated. There was more color in her face, and it wasn’t just from the heat of the food.

“A couple of hours.”

“Three hours and twenty-seven minutes, if we subtract the time we spent cooking,” Sayo added, taking off her glasses. The steam from the soup fogged them up in seconds.

[Too analytical, even for my standards.]

“So… three hours, and you’re already inviting her to dinner? No, I mean, inviting her to cook with you—you, who’s never turned on the oven except to try sticking your head in it.”

“It just… happened in the moment. I couldn’t go home, so Eiji offered to let me stay until the rain stopped,” Sayo said, nearly finishing her plate. For someone her size and build, she ate fast.

“Yeah, sure…” Aranara muttered, stirring her soup. “This tastes awful, ‘Eiji.’ I’m gonna heat something up in the microwave.” She probably didn’t realize it, but she was an open book right now. She stood up quickly and headed straight for the fridge.

“You know it’s not awful,” I said, rolling my eyes and crossing my arms.

“Actually, Eiji, you cook really well for someone who doesn’t do it often,” Sayo said, sliding her plate toward me, hinting for a refill.

“It tastes awful,” Aranara insisted, still rummaging through the fridge.

“Since when do you have a sense of taste?”

“Since now,” she snapped, sharp and curt.

“So how do you know you’ll like microwave food?”

She didn’t answer. She froze for a moment and mumbled something I couldn’t catch. No doubt about it—she was pissed. The question was why?

“I guess… real food isn’t for everyone…” Sayo said, keeping her soft, subtle tone but clearly seizing the moment to take a personal jab at Aranara.

“What did you just say!?” Aranara slammed the fridge door, nearly making it wobble.

[This isn’t good.]

“I was thinking out loud, that’s all…” Sayo replied, sipping her soup. “I had no idea that ominous presence you carry falls apart in front of Eiji.”

[This is really not good.]

Aranara stormed to the table, practically stomping. She slapped both hands down and leaned toward Sayo, their faces inches apart.

To my surprise, I could see an odd calm in Sayo… and an odd irritability in Aranara.“Say it again,” she said, slamming her palms on the table once more. “I don’t think I heard you right.”

“I’ll admit, I was terrified yesterday. It’s not every day you talk to Death…” Sayo said, not breaking eye contact. “But seeing you now… honestly, you seem like a teenager who can’t control her emotions.”

“How about both of you, you know, cool it a bit?” I said, trying to step in.

“Shut up,” Aranara snapped, pointing at me before turning back to Sayo. “Looks like a conversation and a dinner flip your personality, huh? Or do suicidal people just click like that?” she asked, though it sounded more like an accusation. “Where’d all those tears and that cheap monologue go? Tossed them off the bridge? Maybe you should’ve tossed yourself—that was the plan, right?”

“Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” Sayo pushed her chair back and stood up. Her movements were light but deliberate. “You come to me looking for a ‘replacement’… you talk to me about living, and now, in a jealous teenage tantrum, you’re suggesting I should die? Isn’t that a bit contradictory?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Aranara said, her tone dripping with exaggerated sarcasm. “Maybe I should’ve brought up your trembling—would that have hurt more?”

[I need to stop this before it gets worse.]

“Eiji, if I told you I wanted to be a photographer, what would you say?” Sayo asked.

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Just answer…” she said, that soft tone never leaving her voice.

“I’d say it’s a lot better than being the CEO of a family company. That’s practically a cliché.”

“I knew you’d say that,” she said, letting out a few laughs while Aranara just watched us. “And if I told you my hands never stop shaking?”

“I’d say that’s why you eat so fast—to hide it,” I replied, scratching my neck. That tic wasn’t going away; it was getting worse.

“I’m a photographer who’ll never get a shot in focus.”

“Kind of like a…”

“Failure,” Aranara cut in, finally finding a gap to jump back in.

“David Lynch,” I finished. I’d heard Aranara but didn’t give her comment any weight.


Sayo put her glasses back on, and I caught it—a brief flicker of surprise in her eyes. She lowered her head slightly and walked toward the door.

“Thanks for the dinner, Eiji. For the talk too,” she said, grabbing her light blue raincoat.

I followed her and opened the door. The air was still cold and damp, but at least the rain had stopped.“This was all… weird…”

“Don’t worry… it was fun, up to a point, and it’s true you cook well.”

I patted my own back. “Thanks. Now I don’t need to self-validate.”

“By the way… I wanted to ask you…”

“The answer’s yes.”

“You don’t know the question.”

“Then ask it.”

“That’s what I was trying to do, dummy… Can I come back to visit? Doesn’t have to be tomorrow… or the day after… whenever you’re up for it.”

“Answer’s still yes,” I said, my gaze drifting upward. The clouds were starting to clear.

“In that case, maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, a hint of excitement in her voice as she turned to leave.

“Sure.”

That night, I realized something. The ground was wet, the air cold and damp, some trees still dripping.

What I’m trying to say is—the rain stops; life goes on.