Blooming

Virality’s contagion effects were unfortunately too swift for Kaho and Shuhei to have time to process. Within a day of their photos being circulated, Kaho’s name became one of the most searched items on Japanese internet browsers used by women aged eighteen to twenty-nine. Photos of her leaving Club Eden with Shuhei were plastered into graphic backdrops for evening news anchors and podcasters, citing them as proof of the political elites being out of touch with regular citizens.

By the time Kaho set out to continue her ikebana gallery search, she was seeing herself trending on social media platforms. A billboard-sized screen projected the local news from the side of a building nearby, and she once again had to see video of herself walking down the stairs, eyes wide with confusion. One newscaster even felt it necessary to comment that at least he got to see video of her breasts bouncing as she went down the stairs.

This sort of spotlight was something she was always partially aware of, with her father being a lifelong politician. But it had often only been a background effect. She was never in the public in any capacity, and years of isolating indoors had made her almost forget that the threat was there. Now, she felt glances from the entire world. Every passerby talking on their phone may have been someone casting unwanted attention on her.

The Surface churned.

Her skin itched for the first time in months, but she pushed it away. The onsen’s breaking had made it so that she didn’t think she’d ever cut herself again.

Still, she felt herself being pulled deeper beneath the waves.

If Nikko was a calm reflection pond, Tokyo was the sea in a typhoon.

Every article and screenshot was a new whitecap on the waves that were building in fury. Nikko’s stillness and gently swaying trees threatened to be ripped up by their roots within her thoughts as she started to spiral.

Hints of a panic attack began to burn the edges of her teeth as breathing began to feel empty.

But a panic attack would only draw more focus on her.

Collapsing in a subway station would be a surefire way to get even more cameras on her.

What if people searched what she’d been doing recently? What if they found out about the treatment center? Her shirt was too tight around the neckline. Why did she pick it? That reporter laughed about her chest, but if he only knew it was a fucking battleground covering a thousand wounds. She fucking hated this city!

Except for its coffee shops. She appreciated that you could walk two blocks and find a new one to try. So she jumped into the one she was currently passing. Caffeine on an empty stomach would likely not help her anxiety, but at least she could sit for a moment. Even if she didn’t drink the coffee, she could stabilize herself with the feeling of its heat in her palms and the scents of dark roasts.

After ordering a small lavender latte, she sat at the booth furthest from the door and faced the wall. Rubbing her chest helped. Slow, unsteady breaths pumped oxygen into her system.

She missed the trees.

She wished she could just call him and hear his voice. Even just once. She wished she could hear her own voice. She wished it were different. In so many ways, she wished everything were different.

Shaking fingers typed on the screen. He was probably asleep. This might annoy him. She should stop. But she just wanted to read his words for a moment. He helped calm her.

Shuhei was, of course, awake, sitting in the driver’s seat of his car, not moving. The engine wasn’t even on. He just found himself more at peace there than inside his old family home sometimes. Most of the time. Remodeling was supposed to make it easier, but it didn’t. Today was the anniversary. Usually, he would dissociate the day away and try to think of anything else other than the phone call he’d gotten that morning seven years ago.

Today was different.

This year, his mind couldn’t quieten down enough to dissociate. Reiji’s words lingered in his mind as much as the feeling of her pressing against his stomach did. He was losing interest in all of this. There was so much he still needed and had wanted to make, but now that seemed irrelevant. He was losing his ambition, but not in a bad way.

Then his phone buzzed.

“Can I see you this week?” Kaho asked.

Shuhei wiped the stray tears from his cheeks and smiled.

“Please,” he replied.

Kaho smiled and closed her eyes to exhale. She didn’t want to be dependent on him, so she wasn’t going to mention the panic attack, just in case he offered to rush to her side. She needed to move through it herself. More importantly, she wanted to. She couldn’t merely replace cutting with the comfort of Shuhei’s presence; that wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

“I’m going to look at more ikebana galleries and schools later if you want to join. I’m running errands right now,” she partially lied.

An honest laugh of happiness slipped from Shuhei’s mouth, and he felt more tears coming. Reiji’s threat had planted seeds of despair in his mind, and for the briefest moments, he thought of severing himself from Kaho so that no harm could befall her. But in his heart, he wanted to stay with her. He wanted her to want to stay with him.

He’d given himself to thousands of women for their own indulgences and for his own financial gain, but none of that had ever mattered or even elicited a single neuron firing of emotional feedback. Yet the idea of looking at flowers with Kaho on today of all days was now filling his body with a warmth he thought was long gone.

“I’d love that. I can meet you whenever you’re ready. I’ll be free until 5.”

Warmth grazed along Kaho’s cheeks and lips as she blew into the coffee mug before taking a sip.

Two hours later, Kaho and Shuhei were together in Ota City, near the bay, walking hand in hand into a classroom. To their great joy, there was a class starting in eleven minutes, and there was still space. Tourists and elderly women were there, which Shuhei found to be the best outcome. It was highly likely that none of the other attendees had any clue who either of them was.

After so much had changed, the two of them were able to once more sit at a table together, black containers and kenzan before them, selecting what springtime flowers they would stage. Throughout nearly the entire class, his right hand and her left hand stayed against one another. Kaho noticed he was finally raising his left arm, even if it was still covered by a long sleeve.

Soon, they were done. A spire of delphinium made the main stem for the anchor piece. The second and third stems were made of winding branches of sakura, which bound together in a ring around the delphinium. Subtle accents of petals gathered in the center.

Even if Tokyo was chaotic and threatened to rob them of their stillness, it had brought them back into one another’s lives, and now they were together again, allowing whatever was between them the time to bloom.

For those few hours, they were at peace again. When they returned to Shinjuku, they feared cameras and screaming adoration mixed with potential hate awaited them. So they said goodbye in the Suica line and went their separate ways.

Shuhei set off for Club Eden, resolute to continue his plan for the moment. Kaho made her way to a pottery shop. It was time to pick out her first ikebana vase.