Chapter 1
The door doesn’t close properly.
Albert rams his shoulder into it—once, then again at a different angle. The sound it makes is hoarse, as if the building itself clears its throat before letting him through.
The roof. Water tanks. A plastic chair that no one knows who brought up here.
He lights a cigarette. Looks down at the street.
An old man on the neighboring balcony is shouting something unintelligible at a cat that isn’t there.
“Mr. Miyamoto is talking to himself again,”
a voice says behind him.
Albert doesn’t flinch. He knows this voice by now, even though he still hasn’t seen her face clearly in the dark. Rika climbs up with an empty cup in one hand and an unlit cigarette in the other.
“Talking to a cat?”
“Talking to a cat that died three years ago.” She lights her cigarette. “He told me that the first day I moved in. He said: ‘Don’t worry, I know she’s dead. But she was a better listener than any human I’ve ever met.’”
“That’s sad.”
“That’s the most sensible thing I’ve heard all week.” She exhales a long stream of smoke. “
Living people don’t listen. So why not talk to the dead?”
Albert had no answer. This happened to him often with her—she would say something that sounded like a joke, and only three seconds later would he realize she wasn’t really joking.
At the office, there was a new employee named Karim.
Karim was the type who began every sentence with “Honestly,” and never actually said anything honest afterward.
“Honestly, I think the team needs more positive energy.”
He said this while handing out small cakes he had bought with his own money. “Albert, take one.”
“I don’t want any, thanks.”
“Honestly, you should try it. Sweets change a nervous mood in a scientifically proven way.”
Yuko, without lifting her head from her screen, said in her usual flat voice:
“Number thirty-two on the list has stopped answering calls.”
Karim looked at her, didn’t understand the context, then went back to distributing the cakes.
“Honestly, maybe he’s on vacation.”
“Honestly, maybe he just doesn’t want to talk to someone trying to kick him out of his home,”
Yuko said, in the same flat tone she used for dates, coffee orders, or sentences that broke hearts.
Karim paused for a second, then smiled.
“Honestly, that’s an interesting perspective!”
He left.
Albert looked at Yuko.
“How do you put up with him?”
“I don’t. I ignore him. The difference is subtle but essential for staying sane.”
That evening, Rika told him that the editor-in-chief had called her.
“What did she say?”
“She said the last article was ‘sad in a way that doesn’t sell.’”
“What does that mean?”
“It means she wants sadness that can be marketed. Sadness with an attractive title and a good cover photo.” Rika took a long drag. “I told her that sadness that sells well isn’t really sadness—it’s décor.”
“And what did she say?”
“She said: ‘Then write décor. The rent doesn’t get paid with the truth.’”
Albert laughed—actually laughed, for the first time in weeks. Rika looked at him with mock surprise.
“Is that funny?”
“Yes. Because it’s painfully true.”
“I know.” She smiled tiredly. “That’s the only kind of humor I have left. The kind that makes you laugh and want to cry in the same second.”
Sayed asked Albert for an unexpected meeting.
“We need to think more strategically,” Sayed said, opening his hands as if offering a gift that wasn’t there. “We need to see the big picture.”
“The big picture is twenty-seven people about to be thrown out of their homes.”
“Albert, that’s negative language. We’re not throwing anyone out. We’re liberating opportunities.”
“Liberating opportunities.”
“Exactly!”
Sayed smiled with a terrifying sincerity—he wasn’t lying, he genuinely believed every word. “Now you understand me.”
Albert looked at him for a long time.
“No. I don’t understand you. But I understand that you’re not lying, and that’s worse.”
Sayed didn’t get the sentence. He laughed loudly, patted Albert on the shoulder, and left saying, “Keep that energy!”
On the roof, Albert told Rika about Sayed.
“Liberating opportunities,” Rika repeated, then let out a short, sharp laugh.
“That’s better than anything I’ve written this week.”
“You’re laughing at something tragic.”
“I know. It’s the only way I can stand it.”
She took a drag.
“My brother called today.”
Her voice changed instantly—from sarcasm to weight, with no warning.
“How is he?”
“He said: ‘I’m fine, just tired of always being fine.’” She looked out at the city. “I didn’t know what to say. I laughed. That was a mistake.”
“Why?”
“Because he wasn’t joking.”
Silence fell between them—not the usual philosophical silence, but an awkward one. The silence of people who don’t know what to do with a half-smiling, completely true sentence.
Albert didn’t offer anything profound. He simply said:
“Do you need to go to him?”
“I don’t know. I hate that question.”
“Why?”
“Because the answer is always yes, and I keep postponing it.”
The old neighbor, Miyamoto, appeared on the roof that night for the first time. He climbed slowly, carrying his own small chair, and placed it at a respectful distance from them.
“Don’t worry. I’m not eavesdropping,”
he said without being asked.
“It’s just that the cat likes the air up here.”
Rika glanced at Albert. Albert glanced at Rika.
“Where is the cat?” Rika asked gently.
Miyamoto pointed to an empty spot beside him.
“Right here.”
Silence. Then Rika, with complete seriousness:
“She seems calm tonight.”
Miyamoto smiled a small smile that told Rika she had answered correctly.
“She’s always calm. She was the only one in my life who never asked me for anything.” He drew on his pipe. “Humans always want something. Even love is a request.”
Albert felt something shift in his chest—a simple sentence, with no philosophy in it, yet it hit with embarrassing precision.
He said nothing. Neither did Rika.
The old pack on the wall. A butt. Another butt.
Miyamoto watched them watching the city in silence, then said quietly, as if commenting on the weather:
“Don’t wait too long to say things. I waited. And now I talk to a dead cat.”
He stood up, picked up his chair, and left.
Rika stubbed out her cigarette faster than usual.
“That was the worst and best advice I’ve heard at the same time.”
