"We have a guest," Kousaki's mother announced.
"Who's there?" her husband asked from the living room, where he sat comfortably on the couch, watching television.
"Kousaki's friend. Rai."
He turned his head toward the entrance. When he saw the girl standing there, he immediately greeted her in English.
"I can speak Japanese, sir," Rai replied politely.
Kousaki's father scratched the back of his head, embarrassed by his mistake.
Meanwhile, Kousaki's mother was busy preparing dinner. She had instructed the household helpers to assist her, making sure there would be enough food for everyone.
She had been looking forward to this evening. It was not every day that her daughter brought a friend home, and she wanted to make Rai feel welcome.
Just as she was about to ask someone to call Rai to the dining room, however, Rai's phone rang.
Rai glanced at the screen..
Her expression changed ever so slightly.
She didn't answer..
Instead, she slipped the phone back into her pocket and approached Kousaki's father.
"Sir, I need to go now."
"Huh? But my wife has already finished preparing dinner."
"Sorry, but something came up."
"Oh…" He looked at her for a moment before nodding. "If it's important, I can't force you to stay."
Rai bowed slightly.
"Thank you, sir."
She then walked toward the kitchen, where Kousaki's mother was putting the finishing touches on dinner.
"Kousaki's mother, I'm going now. Something urgent came up."
"Eh?! You're leaving already?" The older
woman looked at her in disbelief.
"But I prepared all this food for you!"
She paused, noticing Rai's serious expression.
"Hmm… But if it's important, I can't force you to stay."
Rai lowered her head in a small bow.
"Thank you for understanding, Kousaki's mother."
The woman blinked.
"It's Aoyama-san."
Rai lifted her head slightly.
"Yes, Aoyama-san. If you don't mind, I'll come again next time."
The older woman's expression immediately brightened.
"Of course! You're always welcome, Rai-chan!"
Rai gave her one last polite bow before heading toward the entrance.
She sat down to put on her shoes just as
Kousaki came out of the bathroom.
"Eh? You're going home already?"
Rai didn't respond.
She finished putting on her shoes, stood up, and reached for the doorknob.
"Sorry," she said quietly.
Then she left.
The door closed.
Kousaki stared at it, confused.
"Sorry?"
"Come on, don't just stand there. Dinner's ready," her mother called.
"Oh…"
Kousaki walked toward the dining room and took her seat. A household helper followed, arranging the remaining dishes on the table.
Her mother glanced at the empty place she had prepared for Rai.
"Such a shame…"
She had even prepared an extra dish, hoping Rai would enjoy the meal.
Now, all that food sat untouched.
---
Rai walked home alone.
The evening breeze brushed against her face, but she barely noticed it. Her hands remained inside her pockets as she followed the familiar road.
Then her phone rang again.
The same number.
She ignored it.
The ringing stopped.
A few moments later, it started again.
Rai let out a quiet sigh, her patience wearing thin.
How persistent.
She finally answered.
"Where—"
"I'm on my way home."
Before the man could say another word, she ended the call.
No explanation. No goodbye.
She returned her phone to her pocket and continued walking.
Whatever the man wanted to say, she didn't seem interested in hearing it.
---
When Rai finally arrived home, the sky had darkened.
She opened the front door and stepped inside.
The first thing she saw was a framed photograph of her grandmother near the entrance.
She paused for a moment.
Then, as she always did, she greeted the photograph softly.
"I'm home, Grandma."
She bent down to remove her shoes.
"Wel-come-back!"
Before Rai could even straighten up, a pair of arms wrapped around her.
"Auntie, let go. It's so hot."
"Don't be like that! I just missed you!"
Her aunt released her only to pinch both her cheeks, then pulled her into another hug.
"Auntie…"
"Look at you! You're getting taller!"
Her aunt ruffled her short hair affectionately.
Rai's expression remained as unimpressed as ever, but she didn't push her away this time.
"Come on. Dinner's ready. Your uncle is already waiting inside."
"Yeah, yeah."
Rai stepped inside, placed her bag down, and entered the dining room.
Her uncle was already seated at the table.
The moment their eyes met, neither of them spoke.
One second.
Two seconds.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Finally, her uncle broke the silence.
"How's college life? I heard—"
"Auntie, what do you call this dish?"
Rai took her seat and pointed at the food in front of her.
Her uncle froze.
A long, imaginary sweat drop rolled down his face.
Her aunt, who had long since grown accustomed to Rai's behavior, simply chuckled.
"Rai-chan, that's not nice. Your uncle gets hurt, too."
Her uncle nodded solemnly, placing a hand over his chest.
"Exactly! Even I have feelings!"
Rai glanced at him.
"Stop acting like a geezer. It's creepy. I'm going to lose my appetite."
His mouth fell open.
His wife covered her mouth, trying not to laugh.
"Can I eat now?" Rai asked.
"Of course, dear."
Her aunt sat down, and the three of them began eating.
For a while, the only sounds were the soft clinks of utensils and their occasional comments about the food.
Then her uncle looked at Rai.
"Would you like to be my accompanist later?"
Rai didn't even look up.
"Yes, Auntie. If it's you."
Her aunt smiled.
"Oh, my. If that's what you want, Rai-chan."
"Listen here!" her uncle protested.
"I was the one who asked her! Why are you getting the answer instead of me?!"
"Then the two of us can play the violin together later, right, Rai-chan?"
Rai continued eating.
"If he doesn't mess up."
"HUH?! Do you even know who you're talking to? I'm the famous violinist people call for performances! And I'm the younger brother of—"
"Yeah, yeah."
Her uncle stared at her in disbelief.
His wife laughed, shaking her head.
For a moment, the dining room was filled with the kind of ordinary happiness that needed no explanation.
Rai ate.
Her aunt smiled.
Her uncle complained.
And neither of them seemed to realize how much Haru cherished moments like these.
Because there had been a time when he couldn't imagine having them.
A time when the person who once filled their home with music was no longer there beside him.
A time when a little girl had been carried away from her mother, too young to understand why.
But that was a memory he kept to himself.
For now, he only wanted to enjoy the evening.
Even if his niece was determined to ruin every attempt he made at a proper conversation.
---
After dinner, Rai stood and carried her dishes to the kitchen.
"Just leave them there, Rai-chan. I'll wash them," her aunt offered.
"It's fine. I'm already here."
She continued washing the dishes despite her aunt's protests.
When she finished, she dried her hands and turned toward her.
"Auntie, I'm going to the music room first."
"Oh, my! Yes, go ahead."
"Then I'm going, too!" her uncle announced, immediately getting up.
"Shut up, geezer."
"Rai!"
His wife pointed at the dining table.
"Hurry up and finish your food first!"
Her uncle reluctantly sat back down.
"Honestly… What kind of niece do I have?"
Rai was already walking away.
---
The music room was quiet.
Rai switched on the light, illuminating the instruments, music stands, and framed awards displayed along the walls.
There were awards for piano and violin, each one representing years of practice, performances, and competitions.
Her gaze moved across them.
Then she stopped in front of one particular award.
The name printed on it caught her attention.
She stared at it for a moment before moving on.
She wasn't sure why she had stopped.
Perhaps she was simply tired.
Perhaps she had been thinking about something else.
Or perhaps some things held a meaning she couldn't quite explain.
Rai turned toward the shelves filled with music books and sheets. She began looking through them, flipping through pages of familiar compositions.
One particular sheet caught her eye.
She pulled it out and opened it.
Rachmaninoff – Piano Concerto No. 2 in C Minor, Op. 18: II. Adagio sostenuto.
For a moment, she stood there, reading the notes.
Then she walked toward the piano.
She sat down, placed the sheet on the music stand, and adjusted it until it was straight.
Her fingers hovered over the keys.
A quiet breath escaped her.
Then she began to play.
The first notes drifted through the room.
Soft.
Gentle.
Almost painfully familiar.
---
Haru was walking toward the music room when he heard the melody.
He stopped in the hallway.
At first, he thought he had imagined it.
But then the next notes came.
And the next.
His eyes widened slightly.
He knew that piece.
Of course he did.
There were melodies that people learned, melodies that people performed, and melodies that eventually faded into the countless pieces they had heard throughout their lives.
But this one…
This one had never left him.
Slowly, Haru leaned against the wall opposite the doorway and lowered himself to the floor.
His lips parted.
"Sis…"
His voice was barely audible.
A tear slipped down his cheek.
He didn't bother wiping it away.
His wife, who had followed him, stopped when she noticed him sitting there.
"What's wrong?" she whispered.
Then she listened.
Her expression changed.
"Hmm? This melody…"
"Quiet," Haru murmured.
She fell silent and sat beside him.
"Oh… this piece."
Haru nodded faintly.
"Yeah."
He continued listening, his eyes fixed on the doorway.
"It was my sister's favorite piece."
He swallowed.
"If I remember correctly, it was one of Rai's favorites, too."
His wife glanced at him.
"Just like me, Sis was a musician," Haru continued. "She was a violinist. But she loved playing the piano, too."
A faint smile touched his face.
"When Rai was a baby, Sis used to play this
piece whenever she cried. Her husband would carry Rai in his arms while Sis played the piano, hoping the melody would calm her down."
He let out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh.
"And most of the time, it worked. The moment she heard it, Rai would slowly stop crying and just stare at the piano."
His smile lingered for another second.
Then it disappeared.
"But then Sis got sick."
He lowered his gaze.
"We moved to another country, her husband's country, because we thought it would be better for her health. We hoped that being there with him would help her."
He paused.
"After we left, many of Sis's fans were saddened by her sudden absence. People wanted to know why she had stopped performing. But we couldn't give them an answer that would make everything all right."
His fingers curled against his knees.
"I still remember how bad her condition had become by then. She was already getting tired easily, but she would still sit at the piano whenever she could."
He looked toward the room.
The afternoon had been quiet.
Haru sat beside his sister, watching as she played the piano.
Her movements were slower than they used to be. Every now and then, she would pause to rest her hands before continuing.
He had grown used to pretending not to notice.
But he noticed everything.
The way she sometimes closed her eyes when she was tired.
The way her breathing changed after even a short conversation.
The way she smiled at him whenever she caught him worrying.
And the way she continued playing, as though music were the one thing she refused to surrender.
"I asked her once, 'Aren't you tired of playing that piece over and over again?'"
His voice softened.
"She stopped playing and looked at the open doorway.
I followed her gaze, and that was when I saw Rai standing there."
He closed his eyes.
The child blinked at him.
She was almost three years old.
Haru immediately realized his mistake.
The door! I forgot to close it!
"Sis, I'll take her outside—"
"Come here, Rai-chan."
Haru stopped.
His sister had turned toward the little girl, a gentle smile on her face.
"Sis!"
"Don't worry, Haru. Rai is my child, after all."
She extended her arms.
"Come here, dear."
Rai hesitated.
Her tiny fingers curled around the edge of the doorway as she looked from her mother to her uncle.
Then, slowly, she began walking toward the piano.
One small step.
Then another.
Haru watched anxiously, unsure whether he should intervene.
When Rai finally reached her mother, his sister carefully lifted her into her arms and settled her on her lap.
"Sis, you shouldn't—"
Before he could finish, Rai turned toward him.
The little girl was startled by his sudden movement.
Her face crumpled.
Then she began to cry.
"Look what you've done, Haru," his sister scolded gently.
"But, Sis! I was only trying to—"
"Like I said, it's okay, right, dear?"
She brushed the tears from Rai's cheeks.
But Rai continued crying, her little hands clutching her mother's clothes.
Her mother didn't rush her.
She simply held her close.
Then, with Rai still resting on her lap, she turned back toward the piano.
And began playing.
The familiar melody filled the room.
Haru watched as his niece slowly quieted.
Her cries softened into little hiccups.
Her breathing gradually settled.
Then, at last, she fell silent.
Rai stared at the piano keys, fascinated by the sound.
Her mother smiled.
"I see… You really like this piece, dear."
Rai reached toward the keys with one small hand.
Her mother laughed softly and gently moved her daughter's hand away from them.
"Not yet, sweetheart. These are Mommy's keys."
Rai looked up at her.
And her mother looked back.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then her mother's eyes filled with tears.
"Sorry…"
Haru's smile faded.
"Sorry, dear," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
She held Rai a little closer.
"You might not remember this when you grow up, but…"
Her voice trembled.
"But Mommy has wanted to hold you like this for so long."
She rested her cheek against Rai's hair.
"I've wanted to carry you when you cry, hold you when you're sleepy, and watch you discover all the little things in this world."
Her eyes moved toward her daughter's tiny fingers.
"I want to hear your first stories about your day. I want to see what makes you laugh. I want to watch you grow taller and hear you tell me about the things you love."
A tear slipped down her cheek and landed on Rai's hair.
"There are so many things I still want to do with you, Rai-chan."
She tried to smile, but her lips trembled.
"Sometimes, Mommy gets tired. Sometimes, I can't play with you for as long as I want to. And sometimes, I have to rest even when all I want is to spend time with you."
She gently kissed the top of Rai's head.
"I'm sorry if you ever wonder why Mommy can't always come to you. I'm sorry if there are days when you want me to hold you, but I can't."
Her arms tightened around her daughter.
"I wish I could promise that every day will be easy. I wish I could promise that I'll always be right beside you whenever you need me."
She paused, trying to steady her breathing.
"But I can promise you this, dear."
She took Rai's little hand and pressed it gently against her chest.
"You are loved. So, so loved."
Her tears continued falling.
"You don't have to be good at anything to make Mommy love you. You don't have to win anything, play beautiful music, or become someone important."
She looked into Rai's innocent eyes.
"You only have to be my Rai-chan."
Haru lowered his head.
He couldn't bear to look at them for too long.
His sister continued, her voice barely above a whisper.
"If one day you grow up and forget this moment, that's okay. If you don't remember sitting on my lap or listening to this song, that's okay, too."
She brushed a strand of hair away from Rai's forehead.
"You don't have to remember every moment for it to have been precious."
Her voice broke.
"Even if you forget this song, even if you forget the sound of my voice, I hope you'll grow up knowing that someone loved you with all her heart from the very beginning."
She kissed Rai's forehead.
"And if you ever feel lonely, dear… I hope you'll find something that makes your heart feel at home."
Her gaze drifted toward the piano.
"Maybe it'll be music. Maybe it'll be something else entirely."
She smiled through her tears.
"Whatever it is, I hope you'll be happy."
Rai didn't understand all the words.
She was too young to understand the fear behind her mother's smile or the sorrow hidden in her voice.
All she knew was that she was warm.
That her mother's arms were around her.
And that the music was beautiful.
Rai lifted her little hand and touched her mother's cheek.
Her mother went still.
Then a small, broken laugh escaped her.
"Oh, Rai-chan…"
She leaned into the little girl's hand and closed her eyes.
"Thank you, dear."
She hugged her daughter close.
And for a little while, she allowed herself to forget the illness, the exhaustion, and all the things she couldn't control.
For a little while, she was simply a mother holding her child.
Haru stood quietly beside them, tears slipping down his face.
He wanted to remember everything.
The melody.
His sister's smile.
The way she held Rai as though the whole world had narrowed to the little girl in her arms.
He wanted to remember it all because he knew that, someday, these moments might be the only things he could return to.
And he was afraid.
Afraid of a future in which this room would be quiet.
Afraid of a future in which his sister's piano would sit untouched.
Afraid of a future in which a little girl would grow up without understanding why her mother wasn't always there.
But he couldn't say any of that.
So he stayed beside them.
And listened.
---
"The following year, Sis condition worsened," Haru continued.
His voice pulled his wife back to the present.
"Her illness began affecting Rai, too."
He stared at his hands.
"I still remember the hospital room."
His voice grew quieter.
"Sis was holding Rai while she slept in her arms. Even then, she looked at her as though she wanted to memorize every little detail of her face."
He swallowed hard.
"Then she looked at me."
His sister's voice returned to him, clear as if she were still sitting in front of him.
'Haru, take Rai back to Japan with Mother tomorrow.'
Haru had stared at her in disbelief.
'What? Sis, I—'
'Please.'
That single word had silenced him.
He remembered how tired she had looked.
How carefully she held the sleeping child.
How she kept stroking Rai's hair, even while speaking to him.
'I want her to go back to Japan with Mother. Please take care of her for me.'
He had wanted to argue.
He wanted to tell her that they could find another way, that they could stay together, that Rai was still so young and needed her mother.
But when he looked at his sister's face, he couldn't bring himself to say any of it.
He knew how much it hurt her to ask.
And he knew she wouldn't have asked if she hadn't thought it was necessary.
So he nodded.
His sister looked down at Rai.
Then she bent her head and kissed the child's forehead.
"I'll come back for you one day."
Her voice trembled.
"So grow up well, okay, Rai-chan? Be happy for me."
She held her daughter close for a little longer.
Then, with tears in her eyes, she let Haru take the sleeping child into his arms.
Haru remembered the way his sister's fingers lingered against Rai's back before finally letting go.
It was such a small movement.
But it stayed with him.
Because even as she released her daughter, she kept looking at her.
As though her eyes were trying to hold on to what her arms could no longer reach.
---
"The next morning, Mother and I took Rai back to Japan," Haru said.
He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand.
"Rai was four years old when we returned. We brought her to the house where our family had lived before moving abroad."
He paused.
"For the first few months, I watched her carefully. I wanted to see whether she would show any interest in music."
He gave a faint smile.
"But she didn't seem particularly interested. She wanted to try different things, play, and explore. She was just a little girl."
His smile grew softer.
"I thought perhaps she would grow up to love something completely different."
He lowered his head.
"Then, about a year later, Mother called me and told me Rai had become interested in the piano."
For the first time since he had begun speaking, genuine happiness flickered across his face.
"I was so happy. I wanted to tell Sis immediately."
He let out a small laugh.
"I didn't even think twice before calling her."
Then his expression changed.
"But she didn't answer."
His wife lowered her gaze.
"I tried again. Nothing."
Haru's voice became rougher.
"I asked Mother if she could contact Sis, but she couldn't reach her either. We couldn't get in touch with her husband, too."
He stared into the distance.
"I was worried. I kept wondering why they weren't answering. I thought maybe they were busy, or maybe something had happened."
His fingers tightened.
"So I found a piano teacher for Rai."
He paused, remembering the first time the teacher had heard the little girl play.
"The teacher was surprised by how talented she was. Rai learned so quickly. She seemed to understand the music in a way that was difficult to explain."
A small, proud smile appeared.
"She started joining competitions, and people began noticing her. Eventually, they called her a prodigy."
He looked toward the music room.
"But they didn't know who her mother was."
His voice softened.
"They didn't know that the little girl sitting at the piano was the daughter of a famous violinist."
He took a slow breath.
"Then, one day, Rai's father finally contacted us."
Haru's expression became distant.
"He told us that Sis was in a coma."
His wife quietly reached for his hand.
"He said he had wanted to contact us much earlier, but he didn't know how to reach us. By the time he managed to find a way to get in touch, so much time had already passed."
Haru lowered his eyes.
"I remember feeling relieved that we had finally heard from him."
He paused.
"But the news…"
He couldn't finish the sentence.
For a moment, he simply sat there, listening to the piano.
Then he continued.
"In the years that followed, Rai kept participating in competitions. People praised her talent, and everyone expected her to keep improving."
He shook his head faintly.
"But one day, she suddenly didn't want to participate anymore."
His voice became quieter.
"At first, I thought she was tired. I thought maybe she needed a break."
He looked toward the doorway.
"But she never returned to competitions."
He let out a slow breath.
"And she hasn't wanted to return since."
His wife listened without interrupting.
Haru stared at the floor.
"I never forced her. I couldn't bring myself to do it. I didn't want music to become something she hated."
He smiled sadly.
"But sometimes, I wonder…"
He paused, searching for the right words.
"Does she still remember Sis playing the piano? Does she remember being held in her mother's arms? Or was she too young to remember any of it?"
His voice broke slightly.
"I don't know."
He looked at Rai again.
"She was so little when they were separated. Maybe all she remembers is a melody. Maybe she doesn't even know why she likes this piece so much."
He closed his eyes.
"But every time I hear her play it, I remember Sis."
A tear slipped down his cheek.
"I remember how she held Rai. How she kissed her forehead. How she kept telling her she was loved."
His fingers trembled slightly.
"And I remember the promise she made."
I'll come back for you one day.
Haru swallowed hard.
"I don't know how long Sis will need. I don't know what the future holds."
He looked at his wife.
"But I hope that one day, they can sit together in front of a piano again."
His voice became barely audible.
"I hope Sis can hear Rai play this piece when she's older. I hope she can see how much her daughter has grown."
He paused, and his eyes filled once more.
"And I hope Rai gets to tell her everything she couldn't tell her when she was little."
He looked down.
"Because there are so many things a daughter should be able to tell her mother."
The melody continued.
Haru listened, his lips pressed tightly together.
"I just hope they get that chance."
---
His wife didn't know what to say.
She simply sat beside him, holding his hand as the music continued to drift through the hallway.
Then she turned toward the doorway.
Rai was sitting at the piano, her back straight, her expression calm. Her fingers moved across the keys with a quiet familiarity, as though the melody had always belonged to her.
She didn't know that, just a few steps away, her uncle was crying.
She didn't know that the song she was playing had once accompanied her mother's embrace.
She didn't know that, long before she had learned to read music, those same notes had soothed her cries.
Or that her mother had once held her close, whispering promises into her hair while tears fell silently onto her little head.
Rai continued playing.
Her face remained composed.
But for a moment, she tilted her head slightly, listening to the melody as though searching for something hidden between the notes.
Something familiar.
Something distant.
Something she couldn't quite name.
Her fingers moved on.
And the music continued.
Haru's wife watched her, her eyes growing moist.
The resemblance was unmistakable.
It wasn't only the shape of Rai's face or the way she lowered her head when concentrating.
It was the way she sat at the piano.
The quiet determination in her eyes.
The tenderness in her fingers whenever she reached a particularly delicate passage.
And the faint, almost imperceptible sadness that seemed to linger behind her calm expression.
For a moment, she could almost imagine her sister-in-law sitting there instead.
She pressed her lips together, trying to keep her voice steady.
Then she whispered,
"She really looks like her."
Haru didn't answer.
He couldn't.
He simply watched Rai play, his eyes fixed on the girl who had inherited so much of her mother's talent, even if she couldn't remember where it had begun.
And somewhere inside him, a quiet hope remained.
That one day, the melody would no longer be a reminder of the years they had lost.
That one day, it would become the song they could share again.
A mother and her daughter.
Sitting side by side.
With no hospital rooms between them.
No unanswered calls.
No distance.
Just the piano.
And all the words they had waited so long to say.
For now, however, Haru remained seated against the wall, listening as Rai played the final notes.
He closed his eyes.
And, for the first time that evening, he allowed himself to imagine his sister hearing them, too.