Crossroads of the Coast

Day 6

Stepping out into the worn-down station of the coastal area, the first thing Sayo noticed was the scent of salt and the sound of the waves. It had been awhile since she stepped onto solid ground, too many hours spent in trains until Sayo finally picked a station to stop at.

It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t briny. Just… warm. Like toasted onsen floors beneath bare feet. Like a thick blanket pulled over your shoulders in the dead of night. Maybe even like melting ice cream on the first day of summer break. She hadn’t even made it to the beach yet—still halfway down the staircase of the train station, near the curve of the main road that swept through the sleepy coastal town—but already, her lungs felt looser.

She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been breathing before.

Sayo adjusted the strap of her bag and lingered at the bottom step. The pavement here was cracked and sun-faded. A line of telephone poles cut across the street like lazy punctuation marks. Up above, the sky was wide and cloudless—like someone had scrubbed it clean just for her.

She tilted her head slightly, up at the unpolluted skies. This place was far. Far away from home. Far away from Rika.

The moon was visible. Faint, but undeniable. Not just a white smudge in the blue, but a little too large, a little too close. Like it was watching. Like it knew.

Still, it didn’t feel frightening.

Not yet.

A bird coasted overhead, wings outstretched and catching the sunlight. Sayo followed its path with her eyes, then turned to listen. Somewhere beyond the buildings, the waves whispered against the shore. Constant. Rhythmic. Comforting.

There was something about this town. She’d never been here before, not really—but somehow, it felt like she had. The faded signs. The rusted handrails. The crooked chalkboard in front of the corner café. It even had a little sun drawn in the corner, how nice. It all felt familiar in the way old dreams do.

“Rika,” she murmured, lips curving slightly, “this is everything we used to talk about, huh?”

She could already hear the response in her head—something dry and skeptical about climate change, beach erosion, maybe how early retirement was for people who didn’t have things to prove. But maybe, after all that, Rika would pause.

Maybe she’d smile.

Sayo started walking.

She passed a woman watering flowers outside a rental shop. Two kids chased each other with plastic swords near a vending machine. A cat dozed in the sun beside a convenience store entrance.

There was a sign for a guesthouse not far ahead—something cozy-looking, tucked behind a row of potted plants.

She slowed her steps and watched the building. It looked old, with the vines and green crawling up its cracked walls. But from those vines grew flowers of all kinds. The guesthouse sat just past a slope of stone steps, wedged between a shuttered seafood market and a laundromat that hummed like a distant lullaby. The sign out front was hand-painted, sun-bleached, and a little crooked. It read: Hoshikage Inn. Starshadow.

A bell chimed softly when she slid open the wooden and slightly jammed door.

Inside smelled faintly of tatami and citrus wood polish. There was no front desk, just an old lady dozing in a rattan chair with a book on her lap and the television playing quietly beside her. Sayo hesitated, unsure if she should knock, bow, or tiptoe out again, but the woman cracked open one eye with the smooth instinct of someone used to quiet guests.

"Room for one?" she asked, voice like worn sea glass.

Sayo nodded. "Just for a few nights, maybe."

“Pay after breakfast,” the woman said, waving a hand lazily while tapping the television table next to her. There was a key. “Room’s upstairs. Second door on the left.”

There wasn’t a single form to fill out. No ID check or safekeeping system, no questions asked. Just a pair of guest slippers waiting neatly by the stairs. Sayo picked up the key from the table quietly, watching the old lady doze off once more.

The room was simple. Sliding windows, a low table, and a futon already laid out. A thin curtain of dust clung to the corners, but sunlight poured in freely, casting the space in honey-warm light. She set her bag down, sat on the edge of the futon, and exhaled so deeply it felt like her ribs were deflating.

Outside the window, a row of wind chimes stirred in the sea breeze. A perfect view of the ocean waves. She didn't know it was so much closer than expected.

Sayo stayed like that for a while. Letting the stillness soak in.

It didn’t feel like survival anymore. Not like it did when she left the apartment. Not like running. Here, she wasn’t fighting anything. Not even time.

Eventually, she stood. Washed her face in the inn's bathroom. Changed into a light cardigan and picked up her bag. Sayo pocketed the key. Then wandered back out into town with no map, no plans—just the hum of cicadas and the glint of sun off distant waves guiding her steps.

She walked past a shop selling hand-dyed fabrics. A local grocer unloading crates of mikan. The smell of freshly made bread in the sea breeze. A narrow alley where someone had strung up glass bottles that tinkled like laughter when the wind blew.

Everywhere she looked, there was something small and beautiful waiting to be noticed. How did she never see all this? Was it the rush of the world? The bustling of the city? The—

Two girls ran by, laughing and giggling while dragging kites up in the sky behind them. One raven-haired, one brunette.

Just for a second, Sayo Morisaki’s breath caught in her throat.

Rika..