Tokyo HND Flight Layover
Two Months Ago, In October

Her mind floated in space as the shuttle rolled on the highway towards the capital. The clock inside the vehicle had just struck one o'clock in the morning and everyone was ready to call it a night. When they turned to a halt, Veronica dragged her red heels out of the bus.

As the chilly autumn air greeted her, a smile crossed her face. On every Japan layover she'd had, she'd usually wake up at dawn to walk to a nearby Shinto temple to contemplate in silence. After a morning of solitude, she'd have a hearty breakfast in a random restaurant before getting herself lost in the city. But this layover was different. So different that it gave her butterflies in her stomach for days. For the first time in years, she will be reuniting with her first love. As she lay in bed that night, she tossed and turned as memories flooded in her head. They met in university when she was only nineteen. She wondered how he looked now.

Ethan Finn was the man who made her heart leap and spring somersaults. He also made it feel restless, shattered and cold. They never had a simple relationship, especially in the last months leading to the breakup.

Years of childhood trauma plagued Ethan. He suffered from depression and fought to be a part of her. Veronica swallowed an enormous chunk of guilt, thinking of how she didn't understand him. She abandoned him when he needed her the most.

The next day, she left the hotel for her usual morning walk. In her trusty teal-colored coat, dark pants and boots, she stood beneath a ray of sunshine. He had agreed to meet her at the nearby shrine park, a twenty-minute walk from her hotel. When she'd told him of her flight layover in Tokyo, he didn't think twice. He got on the train to the central business district and checked into a capsule hotel last night.

And there he was, standing in front of the wall of decorative barrels called kazaridaru. He looked as if he was trying to read the kanji characters written all over them. He sported a black trench coat, his back turned. His vibrant dark brown hair was in the shortest she'd ever seen him. He wore a round-rimmed pair of spectacles.

God, he changed.

But even from afar, he took her breath away. She'd memorized every inch and spot on his body, his shadows and silhouettes, every gesture he did, every stance he projected, and every facial expression he made. It was impossible not to spot him in a crowd.

"Ethan," she whispered.

That was enough for him. Her soft whisper traveled so easily towards him. When their eyes met, he melted from that familiar set of blue-green eyes that gave him hope.

"Nikki," he smiled as he walked towards her. He missed how the name sounded.

When they hugged, he savored the sweet scent of her raven-black hair. The embrace dispelled the pain and hurt they've caused each other over the years.

All forgotten, all forgiven.

"You're more beautiful than ever. Not as sheltered, I hope," he joked with his signature cheeky smile.

"I've improved, I reckon. I never imagined you with short hair and glasses. You've changed so much," she said as she wrapped his curly locks around her index finger. He cherished those times when she played with the locks on his head.

"I haven't. Not one bit," he smiled.

He'd deliberately cut his hair short, hoping that getting rid of his locks might make her forget that not-so-good bit of their love story.

He wished time stopped for a second so he could just stare at her.

She's seen the world.

A pinch of sadness overcame him. By reading her eyes, he could tell she's having the time of her life. He was genuinely happy for her, but he couldn't fight this inexplicable grief.

"Still a mess?" she asked jokingly.

"Yeah, I still am," he chuckled. His dimples got more and more prominent as he blushed.

The autumn trees swayed as he led the way to the serene oriental gardens. It was a perfect setting for an overdue reconciliation.

They reached the chōzuya to wash their hands. The rippling water in the man-made water basin gave such a calming effect. No words could explain the tranquility at that moment. They both knew what to do.

Veronica picked up the bamboo ladle and started washing her left hand, then her right, and then her mouth. It was ironic that the person who had caused her grief stood right beside her. The fresh water purified the negative energy she'd kept all these years.

As he lay the wooden ladle, he turned to her. She was so peaceful. A soft radiance shone within her. Her presence lifted the weight on his shoulders and elevated him to a different level.

They walked to the shaden and climbed the steps to pay respects to the deities. In the Japanese norm, they believed that the gods were present in the temple early in the morning. They could be right as they absorbed the energy surrounding them. Although none of them were religious, it was proper to bow their heads in prayer. There wasn't a thing to say at the moment. She closed her eyes and thanked the heavens for clearing her from past heartaches.

Since moving here, he'd grown accustomed to visiting the shrine every so often. After their last meeting in New York five years ago, he didn't know what else to do. Devastated, he fell back in the addiction realm. He smoked, drank, and took more medication than what what was required for his mental state. He then overdosed himself, nearly killing himself. When he woke up from a coma, he saw her once again. She came to be with him. But he knew she was no longer his. He had to force himself to accept that reality.

Determined to start anew, he shifted his fate. When his mentor, Professor Cameron, granted him a post to direct an international film in Japan, he signed it without hesitation. But it came with the condition that he checked himself in rehab before flying to the East. And that's what he did. Before leaving, he visited his professor to thank him.

Living in Tokyo was a far cry from his life in Maryland. He learned so much that his outer layers peeled out. He grew a new outlook and discovered a person in him he never thought existed. Once he immersed himself more in his craft, he won praises in the international scene. When a local film company offered him a permanent directing job, he accepted it. He'd been here for two years now and is learning the language and the culture.

He recalled the day when he met a fellow East Coaster named Victor. They had a few drinks in a bar he frequented. Victor was younger. Hence, the kid was so attached to his phone. He'd asked why he kept looking at his mobile phone.

Victor laughed and said, "Trackster, man. Haven't you heard of it?"

He shook his head, laughing. Frankly, he loved technology to a fault. Cameras, technical equipment, tools, apps, and programs were things he enjoyed. But he found it preposterous to send electronic notes instead of opting to ring the person. He'd always been an old-fashioned soul and prefered to hear the sound of one's voice.

"I have, yes. But why are you wasting your time on it? Finish your beer and order another one. You're in a bloody pub, man," he laughed as the other guys next to them agreed.

"I'm not wasting my time. I'm sending a message to a chick from college I haven't seen in a long time. We met again through here and we're hooking up," he boasted.

He shrugged and gulped his drink, wanting to leave soon. But his friend kept pressing.

"I was always curious whatever happened to her. So when I searched on Tracks, I found her profile," he said with a proud smile.

"Good on you," he'd said, trying not to look bored. He asked the bartender for another drink.

"Don't you ever wonder how your ex looks now? How she is, where she is?" Victor asked as he continued to glare at his screen.

Suddenly, he felt the saké blaze straight to his heart as he gulped another shot. The image of her visage flashed in his mind.

Why can't it be Sarah from high school? Or the many ones he dated in college? Why not his most recent ex, Chloë? She was an English art teacher, and very much in love with him. And he was crazy for her. If she hadn't moved back to the UK, they'd still be dating.

That same night, he barely slept a wink. Daylight peeked from behind his blinds. He grabbed his phone on the floor. With the light flashing in his face, he signed up for an account on a website he swore he'd never visit. He typed her name: Veronica Ramos.

A few profile photos appeared as he scrolled through the page. Which one?

And then he froze. The profile image wasn't a picture of a girl. It was a stunning photograph of the Chesapeake Bay. When he clicked it, the caption read, Missing home.

He dropped his head back on his pillow and exhaled. His heart was pounding, and he tried to calm himself. He started typing again.

07:31 Hi, Nikki. It's me, Ethan. How are you?

karazidaru - decorative barrel of saké

saké - a sweet traditional alcoholic drink made from fermented rice.

chōzuya - wash basin

shaden - a shrine pavilion

[This chapter has been edited. New paragraphs were added, old comments displaced but could still be found below.]