Chapter 7 - Silent Snow, Sleepless Heart
The first snowfall came silently.
It drifted in without warning, a quiet hush that fell over Tokyo like a held breath. Flakes settled along rooftops and street signs, cloaking the usual noise in a delicate kind of silence. The city felt paused, like it had forgotten its hurry. Cars rolled more gently through slush-lined streets. Pedestrians huddled under umbrellas, slower, softer. Even the crosswalk chimes seemed muted.
Inside Hukitaske Pharmacy, winter had already taken root.
The heaters hummed steadily, chasing back the chill with a warmth that filled the corners. Cinnamon and eucalyptus floated through the air, a result of Raka's insistence on "winter clarity blend" oil in every diffuser. Shelves were lined with garlands, and a plastic snow statue smiled from atop the vitamin display.
At the front counter, Misaki was engaged in her daily battle with the blinking reindeer decoration. Its nose flashed erratically.
"It's trying to communicate with aliens," she muttered, tapping its antler with a capped pen.
Raka called from behind the herbal drawers, "No alien would want a reindeer with no strength! That thing's structurally unsound."
Akio stood nearby, barely listening. He offered a polite smile, but his thoughts were elsewhere.
He was surrounded by warmth—laughter, light, the scent of clove tea—but inside, something gnawed. A thread of unease had woven itself through him since the snow began to fall.
He pinned a holiday flyer to the bulletin board: neighborhood soup kitchen, collection boxes, handwritten calligraphy with a tiny doodle of a gift box. Everyone said it was charming.
But it didn't reach him.
In his former life, holidays had meant nothing more than longer shifts and tighter budgets. New Year's was for tracking end-of-quarter sales. Christmas was a blur of waiting rooms and blinking pagers. Even with his daughter, even with her laughter and paper stars taped to the ceiling, it had never felt real.
Now, in this second chance, surrounded by people who had become his family, he should have felt grateful. Joyful. Fulfilled.
But instead, he felt fragile.
Because the holidays brought people closer—and Akio had learned, again and again, that anything close could be lost.
He looked out the frosted window.
The snow blanketed the sidewalk like untouched paper, soft and bright. But all he saw was the echo of a voice—his daughter's voice, light and full of dreams.
"One day, I'll make fireworks for medicine."
He hadn't understood it then. Maybe he still didn't. But now, standing in a warm room with the cold just outside the glass, it felt like something real. Like her dream still waited somewhere, shimmering in the snow.
The pharmacy bustled around him. Yamataro was fixing a crooked sign. Akazuchi moved past with a box of gauze. Raka shouted something about hot water bottles. Misaki cursed the reindeer.
Akio let out a slow breath.
He didn't feel whole.
But he wasn't alone.
And maybe, for now, that was enough.
[Next: Chapter 8 — The Stranger at the Glass]