After a while, footsteps came pattering down from upstairs.
"Oh, something smells good!"
It was Yume. Mahiru and Rui followed.
"Simmered tofu? Lucky. I want some too."
"Is there any dashi omelet for me?"
"I'll have the clam soup, please. I drank a bit too much earlier."
"Rui, did you drink before a deadline again?"
The four of them filed in and took their seats at the table. I got up and started setting out dishes for everyone.
An ordinary late-night snack on a rainy night. Gathered around the steaming table, the four of them were laughing.
Even when sparks flew, even when possessiveness showed its face, it was all just part of the usual liveliness of this table now.
"My piece of omelet is bigger."
"No fair, split it with me."
"No way."
"Amane, make another one!"
"Okay, okay."
Laughing, I went back to the kitchen. At my feet, Komugi followed along, wagging his tail.
I cracked eggs into a bowl and added dashi. The oiled omelet pan sizzled. The poured-in egg began to set from the edges, bubbling. With my cooking chopsticks, I rolled it toward me. Oiled the pan again, poured in more egg, rolled. Over and over again. The layers built up, and a plump, golden dashi omelet took shape.
Turning the chopsticks round and round, a thought came to me.
Ah.
This is it.
The thing I'd wanted all along. I don't need a title or a résumé. Just someone coming home and saying "I'm home," waiting for a steaming meal. And being able to say "Welcome home" to them.
That was all I'd ever needed.
The night grew late. At some point, the rain had stopped.
The four of them went upstairs with contented faces.
"Thank you for dinner."
"Good night, Amane."
"Good night."
I carried the empty dishes to the sink. Only the sound of running water echoed softly through the quiet night.
At my feet, Komugi gave a big yawn with a little "wuff."
"Good night to you, too."
I stroked his golden head.
When I'd finished tidying up and was about to head back to the manager's room, the old bulletin board by the front door caught my eye. A small bulletin board in a wooden frame that had been there ever since Tomi's day.
An envelope was pinned to it with a thumbtack. A white envelope I didn't recognize. On it was written:
To the house manager of Nightlight
I took it down gently. When I opened it, there was a single sheet of letter paper. In careful handwriting that seemed to tremble a little, it said:
How do you do.
I heard about this house from someone.
That there's a place here with food that tastes like you don't have to try so hard.
That there's a place where you can say "I'm home."
I'm a little tired right now.
If it wouldn't be too much trouble—might I stay once, on a trial basis?
I read the letter for a while. Then I smiled.
Someone else had found this light, it seemed. Someone tired, who'd found the light of this house, shining alone in the night.
And surely, from here on too, this light will guide someone here.
I gently propped the letter up on the kitchen shelf. Tomorrow, I'll write back. "Please, do come." "I'll have a meal ready, and I'll be waiting."
From the window of the manager's room, I looked up at the sky. Thin clouds drifted across the rain-washed night sky, and through the gaps, a few stars peeked out.
Tomi.
I called out to her once more in my heart.
It looks like one more person is coming. Guided by this light you left behind.
It'll be all right. I'll have a warm meal ready. I'll tell them, "Welcome home."
At my feet, Komugi set his chin softly on my knee. I slowly stroked his head.
The black shape of the landline stood quietly in the moonlight. Ready for a call from anyone, at any time. So that someone can always come home and say "I'm home."
This is a place where you can say "Welcome home." A secret light for women, with food that tastes like you don't have to try so hard.
Tonight, too, Nightlight is quietly shining.