Chapter 29 – A Child at the Door

The house was too quiet.

Aiko Hoshizora lay on the futon, staring at the ceiling beams she had memorized as a child. Her shoulder throbbed dully, wrapped in fresh bandages. Every time she shifted, her mother appeared like a shadow, adjusting pillows, smoothing blankets, checking if she needed water.

“You really don’t know how to rest,” her mother said softly.

Aiko gave a small smile. “I learned from you.”

Her father sat near the window, pretending to read the newspaper. He had turned the same page three times. Every now and then, his eyes lifted toward Aiko, then quickly back down.

“You should stay here a few days,” he said. “Work can wait.”

Aiko didn’t argue. She didn’t have the strength to.

For the first time in years, she had come home not as a daughter with something to prove, but as someone who had fallen and needed help.

The doorbell rang.

The sound was sharp in the stillness.

Her mother paused mid-step. “Are you expecting someone?”

Aiko shook her head. Her heart skipped for reasons she didn’t understand.

“I’ll get it,” her father said, standing.

Aiko listened to his footsteps, the slide of the door, then a pause.

“…Yes?”

A small, clear voice answered. “Hello.”

Aiko sat up.

“I’m looking for Aiko-san.”

Her father blinked. “And you are?”

There was a brief silence, then, politely, “My name is Mai.”

Something inside Aiko cracked open.

Her mother hurried to the entrance. “A child?”

Aiko was already on her feet, ignoring the pain in her shoulder.

Mai stood at the doorway alone.

She wore a simple dress, her hair neatly tied. She held a small envelope clutched carefully in both hands. Her shoes were lined up perfectly at the step, as if she had practiced.

When she saw Aiko, her face lit up.

“Aiko!” she said, relief and happiness spilling into her voice. “I found your house.”

Aiko’s breath caught. “Mai… you came alone?”

Mai nodded. “Dad was working. I asked for the address. He said I could come if I was careful.”

Her mother gasped softly. “All by yourself?”

Mai bowed politely. “Yes, ma’am.”

Aiko crossed the distance in two steps and knelt in front of her. “That was dangerous,” she said gently, hands trembling as she checked Mai’s shoulders, her arms, her face. “You could have gotten lost.”

Mai smiled. “But I didn’t.”

Her father watched closely, something unreadable passing through his eyes.

“Well,” her mother said quickly, emotion rising in her voice, “you must come in. A child shouldn’t stand outside.”

Mai slipped inside easily, as if the house recognized her.

She handed Aiko the envelope. “This is for you.”

Aiko opened it. Inside was a folded paper with a simple drawing. Stick figures. One tall woman. One small girl. Holding hands. Above them, uneven letters read: Get well soon.

Aiko pressed the paper to her chest.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Her mother knelt beside Mai almost instantly. “You’re very polite. Where are your parents?”

“My dad is working,” Mai answered honestly.

Her father cleared his throat. “And your mother?”

Mai paused.

“She’s… in heaven,” she said calmly, as if repeating something she had learned long ago.

Aiko felt the words hit her like a quiet blade.

Her mother’s face softened instantly. She reached out and touched Mai’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

Mai nodded. “It’s okay.”

They sat together in the living room. Her mother brought snacks. Her father poured tea. Mai sat straight, answering questions carefully.

“What grade are you in?”

“First.”

“What do you like to eat?”

“Egg omelet. Dad makes it when he’s not tired.”

Aiko watched everything.

The way her mother smiled too easily at Mai.

The way her father nodded approvingly at her answers.

The way Mai leaned closer to Aiko without realizing it, as if drawn by instinct.

They adored her.

They didn’t know why it felt so natural.

After a while, her mother laughed softly. “She feels like she’s always been here.”

Aiko looked away, eyes burning.

As the sun lowered, Mai stood. “I should go before it gets dark.”

Aiko frowned. “I’ll walk you.”

Her parents didn’t argue.

Outside, the evening air was cool. The street was calm. Aiko walked slowly, her steps careful, Mai matching her pace without being told.

“Aiko,” Mai said quietly, holding her hand. “Your house is warm.”

Aiko squeezed back. “I’m glad.”

“They were kind to me,” Mai continued. “Like grandparents.”

Aiko stopped for half a second, then forced herself to keep walking. “Yes. They are kind people.”

Mai looked up. “I wish my mom was like you.”

Aiko’s vision blurred. “Mai…”

“You smell nice,” Mai added seriously. “And you listen when I talk.”

Aiko laughed through tears. “That’s a very high compliment.”

They reached the corner where Mai would head back.

“Will you come to the shoot tomorrow?” Mai asked.

“Yes,” Aiko said immediately. “I promise.”

Mai hugged her carefully, arms small but warm. “Don’t disappear.”

“I won’t,” Aiko whispered, holding her just a second longer than necessary.

Mai waved and walked off, turning back twice to wave again.

Aiko stood there long after she disappeared from sight.

Inside the house, her parents were waiting.

“She’s a good child,” her father said quietly.

Her mother nodded. “Very good. Lonely, but strong.”

Aiko sat down slowly.

“She reminds me of you,” her mother added without thinking. “When you were small.”

Aiko closed her eyes.

That night, alone in her childhood room, Aiko stared at the ceiling again.

Mai had come alone.

Not because she was told to.

But because she wanted to.

And for the first time, Aiko allowed herself to think the thought she had been afraid of.

If a child could cross a city just to see her…

Maybe the bond between them was already alive.

Even after everything.

Even after all the lies.