Aya

The sun hung low over the quiet streets of our neighborhood, casting long golden shadows that danced across the sidewalk. I shifted the heavy bag in my arms, trying not to drop the carton of eggs balanced on top. Beside me, Ken's mom walked steadily, her own hands full of plastic bags rustling with the sound of fresh vegetables and rice crackers.

Even though the store was just ten minutes from their apartment, my arms were already sore — but I didn't mind. Helping Ken's mom made me feel grown-up, like I was doing something important. The narrow streets of our little town in Saitama were quiet this afternoon, the scent of early spring — warm asphalt and blooming plum trees — floating in the air.

We turned a corner, and that’s when I noticed {{char}}-san sweating a bit too much, and something pungent hits my nose…