Chapter 5 - An Old Photo, A Silent Cry
It was a quiet morning, the kind where the dust in the pharmacy moved slower than time. Akio was in the back office, reorganizing paperwork and hunting for staples when his fingers brushed against something stiff wedged behind a file. He pulled it out.
A photo. Worn. Faded at the corners. A high school hallway. A smiling kid, standing beside him, peace sign raised.
He froze.
It wasn't a patient. It wasn't a customer. It was his daughter.
She couldn't have been more than eight when she died. Yet here, in this image, she looked older. Maybe twelve. Maybe it was photoshopped by a well-meaning friend trying to imagine a future that never came. Or maybe it was one Akio had once altered himself in some forgotten fit of grief.
His hands trembled. He hadn't remembered placing it there. Perhaps he hadn't. Perhaps she had simply found her way back to his mind more than ever.
He sat in the creaky desk chair, eyes locked on the photo as if afraid blinking would erase her all over again. The world softened into silence. The noises of the pharmacy—distant chatter, the hum of the refrigerator, the squeak of Misaki's sneakers on the tile—melted away.
His voice groaned through the quiet.
"I'm still here but without you."
But the silence gave no answer.
He stayed like that for over an hour. Until Rumane gently knocked, asking if he needed help with the invoices. He tucked the photo into his pocket.
"No," he said. "I'm fine."
He wasn't.
But he would be. Again soon enough.
Scene 2: The Fracture
The day started like any other—with herbal tea and a checklist.
Then the shipment didn't arrive.
"Did you sign off on this last week?" Misaki asked, arms folded.
"I did," Rumane replied, tired eyes narrowing. "Maybe you forgot to submit the confirmation."
Hikata tried to step in with a laugh. "Hey, let's all blame the delivery guy and go home early, huh?"
"No one's going home early," Yasahute muttered.
It spiraled from there.
Snaps turned to shouts. Tension wound tight around every word. Accusations flung like stray syringes. Old resentments bubbled up—who covered more shifts, who cleaned the floors, who always left the fridge open.
Then silence. A cold, mutual pulling away.
Misaki left first. Head high, but hands shaking. Rumane followed, her clipboard forgotten on the counter. Hikata gave a half-hearted shrug, then disappeared into the rain. Even Yasahute, steady and stalwart, walked out the side door without a word.
Akio stood alone.
He didn't go after them. He didn't shout. He just... stood frozen.
The next morning, the pharmacy felt too big.
The warmth was gone. No humming chatter. No sarcastic commentary. No one beside him to hand over cotton swabs or share an inside joke about a mislabeled ointment.
He unlocked the doors himself. Took out the trash himself. Greeted every customer with a cracked smile.
He was efficient. Accurate. Professional.
But every pill dispensed felt like a stone added to his back.
Scene 3: Almost Quitting
Three days passed.
He barely ate. Slept in hour-long snatches, if at all. He kept busy, like a machine refusing to shut down. The pharmacy looked untouched by the storm—but Akio did not.
Customers noticed. One elderly granny placed a candy on the counter.
"You alright, dear?"
He lied. "Just tired."
On the third evening, after locking up, Akio stood at the back door, staring into the alley beyond. The rain had returned. A gentle drizzle now. Soft. Almost inviting.
He opened the door.
Stepped outside.
The wet air kissed his skin. The city smelled of asphalt and silence.
Just keep walking, he thought. No one's here. No one's waiting.
But something stopped him. A rustle behind. A scent of peppermint. The creak of floorboards.
He turned.
Scene 4: We're Still Here
They were all there.
Misaki, eyes rimmed red, clutching a thermos. Rumane with a first-aid kit and hands that couldn't stop fidgeting. Hikata—dressed, inexplicably, like a clown, full makeup and polka dots. Yasahute, silent but solid.
Akio stepped back inside slowly.
Misaki was the first to speak. "We're sorry. For walking away. For making you carry all of it."
Rumane nodded. "We forgot you're human. Not just the person who always pulls us back together."
Akio's voice was sharper than he intended. "You didn't forget. You gave up. All of you."
The silence returned, heavy this time.
He stepped past them. Placed his hands on the counter. Closed his eyes. "I was alone."
Hikata wiped a streak of white paint from his nose. "We're idiots."
Yasahute stepped forward, his voice barely above a whisper. "We took you for granted. That ends now."
Akio's knees buckled.
Tears poured. Rage, sorrow, relief—everything broke free.
They rushed to him.
No more distance. No more missteps. Just warmth. Just presence.
Misaki pressed the thermos into his hand. "It's tea. You need warmth."
Rumane checked his pulse instinctively, then smiled. "Still here."
Hikata honked his clown nose. "This costume was supposed to cheer you up. Mission... halfway accomplished?"
Yasahute placed a steady hand on his shoulder.
The pharmacy didn't open on time that day.
But when it did—
It opened stronger.
Not because they had fixed everything. But because they had chosen to try. Again.
Together.
[Next: Chapter 6 — The Apprenticeship of Misaki]