Jun gently closes the door of the book café, flipping the small wooden sign to "Closed."
A faint breeze passes by. The sign trembles—and slowly turns back again, revealing "Open," as if the café isn't quite ready to end its day.
Behind her stands Mei, quietly tucked inside an oversized hoodie. Her dreamy eyes gaze into the distant void—a place without light, without form. But her ears are keen; she hears everything: the soft whistle of the wind, the faint click from the swinging sign.
"Jun, the sign turned around again," Mei says.
Jun pauses and turns to look.
"Oh. You're right. I really did pick the perfect person to run this café," she replies with a warm smile, walking over to Mei.
It's late. The street lies quiet, lit only by a few scattered street lamps. The two walk side by side, their steps slow and unhurried.
Mei usually finishes work late and is picked up by her best friend, Ririka. But tonight is different—Jun was the last customer to leave the café, and Ririka is out on some "date" of hers.
"She said she's hanging out with her boyfriend on Line," Mei says, tucking her hands into her hoodie pocket.
Jun raises a brow, choosing her next words carefully.
"Wait... how did you read that message?"
"I asked someone to read it aloud. Or I use the voice support tool on my phone. But honestly... I still find phones kind of useless." Mei sighs, her voice quiet. "It's only been two weeks. Ririka convinced me to try. I never used things like this before, and now it just feels overwhelming. If I can't even manage something this basic... how will I ever pass the entrance exam for Osaka University of the Arts?"
Jun doesn't respond immediately. Her eyes look ahead—calm on the surface, but deep in thought. She knows Mei has long carried the dream of becoming an artist—a dream still burning bright, despite delays caused by her condition. Mei is twenty-four now, facing a critical upcoming exam.
Then Jun speaks, her voice as gentle as the wind.
"Have you ever heard of Esref Armagan?"
"The Turkish painter? He's my inspiration."
"To draw by touch."
"You're quoting him, aren't you?"
They both laugh, their steps falling into rhythm.
"I think people like that must have superpowers, too."
"Really? What kind of powers?" Mei looks up, curious.
"Like Toph from Avatar. An earthbender—and later a metalbender. She could sense everything through the ground with her feet."
Mei giggles. "Hehe, I love her. I wish I had powers like that."
They continue chatting as they approach the railroad crossing.
The warning lights blink red. A train horn echoes in the distance—loud, long.
But Jun keeps walking, lost in thought.
"Jun—!"
Mei grabs her arm just as the gate begins to descend.
Startled, Jun freezes. The train roars past just in front of them—a massive steel beast, endlessly long, screaming like thunder into the night.
As the train thunders on, Jun turns toward Mei, scratching her head with an awkward smile.
"Sorry... I wasn't paying attention."
So they stand beside the tracks, waiting quietly as the train rumbles by—like waiting for an old traveler to pass. Mei grips Jun's hand tighter. She tilts her head slightly, listening to the wind-carried sounds—the grinding of wheels on rails, the scent of burning oil and metal.
To Mei, these sensations aren't new. She's heard and felt them since childhood, every time she passed this crossing with her parents. But in her world without shapes or colors, she imagines the train as a giant beast—charcoal-black, body long like a sea serpent, slithering across the earth with a deafening roar.
Jun, however, isn't watching the train. Her eyes linger on Mei's profile—soft, glowing with dreams and memories. Her faintly violet eyes seem to hold entire galaxies.
Suddenly, Jun stiffens.
A shadow passes behind one of the windows. Her heart clenches.
A man stands by the window, looking out. That familiar dark hair, that sculpted face—
Takahashi Ryusei?
His name whispers through her like a breeze in the night.
Why is he on that train? Why alone?
Where is that train heading?
"Jun? Jun!"
Mei's voice pulls her back. Jun blinks rapidly, her chest tightening.
"You've been totally spaced out tonight," Mei pouts.
"I... I don't know why. My mind's been drifting."
"You saw a ghost or something?"
"Huh?"
Mei's tone is playfully suspicious. She must've noticed Jun's odd moods lately—the brooding, the sudden silences.
"Tell me. Who was that?" Mei presses, her voice too clear and honest for Jun to resist.
"I-It was... just someone I used to know."
"Someone you really wanted to see?"
"N-No, not really..."
"Then let's go to the next station and catch him!"
Mei smiles, grabbing Jun's hand before she can protest.
They run into the night, breathless from the wind.
The station is nearly deserted. A row of worn benches lines the platform. No one's in sight—just yellow light washing over the stained pavement.
Jun collapses onto a bench, panting. Mei stands beside her, hands on her knees, catching her breath. A strange stillness lingers in the air.
Then another train rushes in.
As it slows and vanishes into the distance, passengers begin to disembark—
But on the opposite platform.
Jun jumps up, eyes scanning the crowd. And then, she sees him.
Takahashi Ryusei.
His name echoes again inside her.
He steps off the train, pulling a suitcase. He doesn't look back, doesn't glance around.
He walks forward, like something unseen is dragging him along—with no sign of regret.
Her heart pounds—but not with longing.
Where is he going? Why alone?
And the woman? Where is she?
How has he been living all this time?
A pair of arms wraps around her from behind. Gentle, warm, small—it's Mei.
"Are you okay?"
Jun nods softly, closing her eyes. "I'm okay."
....
"So that was him?" Mei asks quietly.
They sit again on the old bench, the empty platform stretching around them. A few solitary passengers pass by, footsteps echoing under the yellow light.
Jun doesn't answer right away. She stares into the void, still unsure of what she's just seen.
"Yes... it was him."
"Do you still remember his voice?"
"Of course." Jun chuckles, glancing up at the night sky. "But... it's not about that anymore. I was only watching him for a friend."
"You know a lot," Mei says softly, her eyes fixed ahead—filled with a longing she can't quite name. "People who can see must get to live so many full moments..."
Jun turns to her, heart aching gently—but wanting to lift her spirit.
"Have you ever ridden a train?"
Mei shakes her head. "Never. I've heard it pass, smelled the oil, the metal... but never stepped on one."
Jun smiles, voice low and bright.
"Then... come with me. I'm planning a long journey."
Mei blinks, surprised, turning her face toward Jun.
"Just the two of us?"
"I'll take you, but others will join us too," Jun says, her voice glowing with quiet conviction. "We'll discover everything together. Listen to the symphony of train stations, feel the ocean wind at the far end of the country... I want to travel to the southernmost point on the map of Japan."
A fragile silence blossoms between them.
Then Mei slowly nods.
The night wind brushes her hair, and for the first time that evening, Jun sees her smile—genuine, radiant.