Chapter 1
Scene 1 — When We Become Souls
“When I become a soul too, let’s hold hands for a while and fly all around the universe together.”
Somehow, that sounds fun.
“But after that, let’s let go of each other’s hands and go our separate ways.”
What?
“You’re thinking we’ll be reincarnated together again next time?”
No. Absolutely not.
“What? You still don’t understand?”
Honestly.
You really are a troublesome person.
For twenty years, we had found our way back to each other through emails.
Words sent across cities, oceans, years.
Until one day, I stopped writing them.
His mobile address had a name:
mail from the venusian
Long ago in LA, I bought an old English paperback:
Men Are from Mars. Women Are from Venus.
At the time, I devoured it like scripture.
I don’t know whether he — ordinary as he was — ever truly understood it.
But for a while, pretending to be a Venusian had saved me.
And somehow, I had come to think of him as belonging to Mars.
Even now, imagining him wandering somewhere near that distant red planet feels strangely comforting.
And yet —
if I return to the universe someday, I think I would still want to keep the distance between Mars and Venus intact.
I loved him.
That is exactly why.
And this is the story of how I came to feel that way.
Scene 2 — Two Seconds Before the Door Closes
I step alone into a silent elevator.
Within two meters around me, there is only stillness.
Somewhere behind me, there seems to be another person.
But my field of vision narrows.
And in that narrowing world, the only thing I can see —
no, the only thing I choose to see —
is him, standing by the doorway.
We stare at each other so intensely it feels as though holes could burn through us.
He does not step inside the elevator.
We both understand.
The doors are about to close.
We are looking at each other for the last time.
In only a few seconds, this moment will become the final time we ever see each other in this world.
The strength in his gaze tells me my own eyes must carry the same force.
Inside the silence between us — inside the complete absence of words —
I focus deeper and deeper into his eyes.
Fast.
Like a red Porsche racing through a tunnel.
And with it —
a prayer.
We’ll meet again.
We will.
The two of us.
Without speaking, we never once look away.
Not until the very last second.
And then, mercilessly,
the elevator doors close.
Scene 3 — The Elevator to the Ground Floor
The ward is on the eleventh floor.
The descent takes longer than the time we spent staring at one another.
The elevator feels like a metal cage sinking into a coal mine.
Only then do I become aware of the figure standing behind me.
I cannot even tell whether the person is a man or a woman.
But because that shadow exists, I somehow manage to remain standing.
If no one had been there, I might have collapsed onto the floor.
As the elevator sinks lower and lower, one thought takes over.
When I reach the ground floor, I’ll press the button for eleven again.
I’ll go back.
I’ll hold him.
I’ll sob against him with everything inside me.
That is what I want.
But what about him?
Would going back only deepen his pain?
The elevator stops.
The doors open.
The shadow behind me slips past and walks away.
At this rate, the doors will close again.
Press 11.
Don’t press it.
Two seconds.
I step forward.
I step out.
And somehow,
I think that must have been the right choice.
Scene 4 — The Corridor of Decisions
The hospital on a Saturday evening is dim and almost deserted.
Cold concrete.
Vast corridors.
A chill that feels almost inhuman.
I walk.
Then stop.
Then walk again.
If I turn back now, I can still make it.
I can still see him one more time.
The last time I will ever see him alive.
Surely that must be allowed.
Not by anyone else.
By myself.
But.
I want to run back.
I want to throw every emotion, every feeling, against him.
But what happens after that?
Two days ago, he was told about his own death.
Today, he told me.
He has been told he may have only one month left.
And I still cannot accept it.
It feels real.
And unreal.
For nearly ten minutes, I wander the corridor.
For you and me — which choice is the right one?
Maybe he wants me to come back too.
Maybe he is standing there, thinking the same thing.
Or maybe this miraculous timing — this one final meeting —
was already enough.
Am I trying to ask for more when we have already been given everything we were going to get?
I can’t think anymore.
First, leave the hospital.
There is a taxi outside.
Get in.
Just say,
“Yokohama Station.”
You can lose your way again afterward.
For now,
just keep moving.
