It was the very last car of the last train.
Ritsuko Tanaka sat with a convenience store bag hugged on her lap, her head resting against the window. Inside the bag was a single rice ball, half squashed. Tonight's dinner, and probably tomorrow's breakfast.
Twenty-eight years old. Accounting and general affairs at a mid-sized trading company.
Every morning, she balanced the numbers before anyone else. Every night, she closed the books after everyone else had gone. Even so, she suspected the last time anyone had called her by her full name was the roll call at the company entrance ceremony. Ever since, it had been "the one from accounting," "that girl," "you."
When she got home, the lights wouldn't be on. She would be the one to turn them on, too.
Even so, out of the darkness, one thing always came to greet her.
Silver fur, slipping up to brush against her ankles. When it lifted its face, its eyes were a deep, deep blue. A cat as proud as a queen, who purred only for Ritsuko.
"I'm home, Rosie."
She alone had never called Ritsuko "the one from accounting" or "you." She had waited, all that time, in the room without Ritsuko in it.
That night, Ritsuko collapsed onto the edge of her bed without even getting her shoes all the way off. Rosie climbed onto her chest as though it were the most natural thing in the world and curled up into a ball.
"...Just for a minute."
She had only meant to lie down. Holding that warm weight in both arms.
When she came to, it was warm.
An unfamiliar, spacious room. A high ceiling. Beyond the large window, snow was falling, quiet as music. A fire in the hearth. On the desk, steaming tea and a plate of baked sweets.
She didn't know this room. She didn't know this kind of peace.
A woman stood by the window.
Silver hair that fell to her waist. When she turned, her eyes were the blue of the deep sea.
Ritsuko took a step back without meaning to. I don't belong here, was her first thought. Someone like her, fresh off the last train, standing before someone so beautiful, so serene.
But the woman looked straight at Ritsuko.
Without looking away. Truly meeting her eyes.
No one had ever looked at her like this, Ritsuko thought.
"...Who are you?"
Her voice trembled.
The woman smiled, just a little.
"Who can say. —Someone from a long way down your road, perhaps."
Ritsuko found the question she kept deepest inside slipping out of her, so easily it surprised even her.
Maybe because it was a dream.
"I... hey, do you think someday, someone will ever..."
Her throat caught.
"...find me?"
The moment it was out, she felt embarrassed and looked down.
She had never once said anything like that aloud in real life. Because even when she spoke, no one was listening.
The woman came slowly closer. Then she wrapped Ritsuko's cold hand in both of hers.
They were warm.
"It's all right."
A quiet voice, yet an unwavering one.
"Someone will find you. Truly."
Heat stung behind Ritsuko's eyes.
"...Really? I've never... I've never been called by my name. 'The one from accounting,' 'you,' 'that girl'... I thought I'd just go on being called that, and then fade away."
"I know."
The woman squeezed Ritsuko's hand a little tighter.
"I know all of it. —Listen, Ritsuko."
Someone had called her by name.
"Someday there will be someone who truly finds you. Someone who understands your worth and your effort, all of it, from the very beginning. Someone who sees you not as a tool, but as yourself."
"..."
"All the things no one ever reached out to touch. All the things you had no choice but to carry alone."
The woman's voice grew damp, just slightly.
"—It's all right. It will come true."
And the woman gently drew Ritsuko into her arms.
Ritsuko couldn't hold it in any longer.
In those arms, she cried like a child.
For so long, she had wanted someone to tell her that. That was all it had ever been.
When she woke, the room was cold.
The familiar stain on the ceiling. The light she'd forgotten to turn on. The convenience store bag, fallen from her lap.
A dream, she realized.
Even so—on her chest, Rosie was breathing softly in her sleep. The warmth from the dream, and the warm weight on her chest now: Ritsuko could no longer tell which was which.
Inside her palm, too, an echo of that warmth still lingered.
For a while, Ritsuko simply stared at that hand.
Then the corners of her mouth lifted, just slightly. She wasn't quite sure why herself.
"...I'm off."
Saying it softly to the empty room, Ritsuko got up.
On her commute that morning, the sky seemed just a little higher than usual.
—Someone will find me.
Ritsuko walked like someone who already knew she would be found.