The morning light was dry. My eyes fell on the old book on my desk, the one Sakurai had left in my keeping the night before. I opened it, thinking I should read it soon and return it. A few pages, looking words up in the dictionary as I went. I closed the book.
I straightened the things on the desk, from upper left to lower right. My calculation notebook, the papers I had printed out, the pen stand, the mug, the desk lamp. I held my fountain pen up toward the window and checked how much ink was left against the light, then wrote the six-digit date at the right edge of the notebook.
I opened the top drawer. Inside a small paper bag was a single omamori charm pouch, white with a navy cord. I had bought it by myself at that shrine at the end of November.
I tied a navy ribbon. The knot came out crooked. I put it in the right inside pocket of my coat and pressed once on the outside to feel the cloth.
I took the dark navy scarf Sakurai had knitted for me. Five o'clock, the intersection in front of the station, I went over in my head.
The air outside was cold. Somewhere in the city, someone was singing. The voice blended faintly into the lights of the shopfronts.
—Soon, I'll see her.
While I was waiting for the light to change, the phone in my pocket vibrated, just once.