Found In Tokyo

Fero… It has been nine years and I still remember her fondly. On the airport, before we parted ways, she said, “I’ll send you a letter once I’ve arrived at Tokyo.” We separated with a kiss, and that was the last one; I haven’t heard from her since.

The memories feel bittersweet.

“A Venti Americano please.”

“Etoo… Venti Americano… five-hundred yen,” the Starbucks cashier says as she gestures with her hand. I hand some coins to her.



“Ne-mu, ne-mu.”

“Name? Dous.”

My colleagues are there, in the corner, talking to our Japanese client. Today is the first day of our meeting, and I can already tell that it’s going to be boring. But, it pays t—

“Dous?!” someone exclaims. The voice sounds familiar. I look behind.