What I could not feel.

Her finger gradually traced along the seam of the red velvet armchair. Akimi Ashiya chewed on her lip as her eyes wandered through the dim-lit room, struggling to find a place to rest.

It had been quite a while since she last visited a cinema. She remembered the previous time quite well: It was during spring break, together with Raku and some other folks from middle school. The appointment was arranged so that Akimi could spend some innocuous time around one of her crushes back then. After that she tended to avoid cinemas.

But it probably would have been impolite to decline Kanōya’s invitation. Maybe she should have suggested another day—when Raku would have been able to attend as well. She was much better at socializing … and at remembering her how to be a decent person.

Now she sat there alone, her arms crossed in front of her chest and without a clue what she was trying to prove to herself with all this.

The small cinema was not much bigger than an average living room. Four rows with five seats each were lined in front of a closed, red curtain. Big, dusty speaker boxes stood at the side. It was a miracle how a business like this was even sustainable. Only three older men sat in the row in front of her, chatting about old people stuff.

She was just about to pull out her phone to look for the time when the lights faded. The red curtain at the front glided open.

Kanōya quickly came down the stairs. In his arms he carried two small bags with popcorn and drinks. He handed Akimi a set. “Cola and a small popcorn, ‘ight,” he said with a wide smile.

“Thanks,” she whispered and attempted to smile back.

Then the movie began—surprisingly without any advertisements. A few logos came to the screen. They showed production companies and studios Akimi had never heard of, nor seen before.

A long sigh escaped her throat. She began slowly shoving popcorn into her mouth. It was a taste she had already forgotten, but something about the sweetness felt familiar.

The opening credits came up. A tinny and ancient sounding orchestra chimed through the speakers. The image looked like someone had cut off parts on both sides, no colors—only greyscale. Kanōya told her that it was a classics movie he had already seen a while ago. So, this was what they called arthouse movies?

The first image showed a ship passing a small, rural harbor. It was framed nicely—at least—but held much longer than would have been necessary. The first scene took quite a while to show up and it didn’t get much better from there. The dialog, the camera pans: Everything was just so slow.

The story revolved around an aged couple, who visited their grown children living in the city. People talked: About mundane things; about the past. People walked from right to left, left to right. People sat.

Akimi had been leaning on her arm. The story meandered along, and her gaze drifted more and more off to the side. Outside was just the most beautiful weather. She could have bought bubble tea, or maybe ice cream. Iyogi was probably waiting for her—killing time until her arrival.

She sighed again. Raku would have scolded her for even considering leaving right now, but what else was she supposed to do? Movies were just not her thing. She rather spent her time alone, making her own still pictures.

Alone. It was more pleasant than facing people’s insincerity, but somehow this also wasn’t what she wanted. Akimi turned her head towards Kanōya, and a slight gasp escaped her mouth.

His eyes were fixed on the screen like he was even scared of blinking. Illuminated through the pale light reflected from the silver screen, there was joy written all over his face. He looked like a child who just saw an amazing magic trick and couldn’t believe his eyes.

Akimi blinked. Was this what true excitement looked like? A bitter wisp tugged at her heart. In a conversation she would have made a sarcastic comment and have hurt someone else’s feelings.

Maybe it was her own bitterness that held her back from ever truly falling in love. With something as simple as a movie or an artwork or even with whoever she liked more than would be good for her.

If she could just drop her guards … maybe she would recognize. Maybe she would see the world like Kanōya did and experience what he could. Maybe she just had to unravel his secret—see the world through his eyes. This must have been what Raku was always talking about.

Upon detaching her gaze from Kanōya, Akimi slumped back in her seat. She breathed through and looked back at the screen. A nervous fluttery filled her chest. She had to not force it and just let herself be swept away by the adventure.

The images in black and white still had the same appeal to them. There was no immediate change, but somehow, she began to reminisce. She though back at rummaging through the old photo album of her grandfather, saw pictures of people she never met or who looked much younger than she knew them.

Snapshots frozen in time, revoking memories of an age long ago. Sincere acts of humanity, subtle gestures and lives of children who reached the end of adolescence, having spent most of their time with the ones who raised them, only to depart into a new life on their own.

The grandmother went outside with her small grandchild. They walked across a dam. A sentimental string peace set in, as she squatted down next to him and observed him picking grass stalks. She asked what he was wanting to be once he was old, but he was still a child, too occupied to answer.

A doctor like his father, maybe? But by the time he would become one, she would probably not be anymore. Goosebumps went across Akimi’s skin. It was a subtle moment, but her hand slightly closed at the words. She remembered someone once saying something much similar to her.

The summer break had just begun today but was also as soon to end again. The entrance exams for university were not far away. Life had its ups and downs. Sometimes, doing the right things still resulted in the wrong outcomes. Sometimes, life was sad and ugly, but something about it would always remain beautiful.

Much sooner than she wanted to, the credits rolled. Akimi did not notice how her hands jittered, or how shaky her breath had gotten. Her head remained still, occupied by the strange, incomprehensible experience she had just witnessed. Her eyes were focused on the screen when she heard a voice right beside her. “And? Did ya like it?”

She flinched to look at Kanōya. His expression seemed doubtful, maybe even a little scared about what she would have to say. Only now Akimi noticed how much she had been crying.

Her cheeks were overflown by tears, sparkling in the dim light of the credits. She looked at the young man in front of her. He blinked. Her throat became hoarse from a big lump. “I …” Her eyes scanned his face. She tried saying something. Instead, she jumped up. “Sorry!”

With no more words she ran out of the cinema. Takurō reached after her. “Ashiya-san!” He didn’t grasp her hand, even though he could have. She neither listened, nor returned and left him with a twisted sensation inside his stomach.