Chapter 1 - One Way to Tokyo

“Ladies and gentlemen, please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We will shortly begin our descent into Tokyo Narita International Airport.”

Nina Wolska opened her eyes.

For a few seconds, she had absolutely no idea where she was.

There was a dull ache in her neck, one of her legs had gone numb beneath the thin airline blanket, and the half-empty plastic cup of water on her tray table trembled gently with the movement of the plane.

Then she looked out of the window.

Japan.

Her stomach flipped.

Not the unpleasant kind. Not exactly.

More like every emotion she’d managed to keep under control for the past twenty-four hours had suddenly decided to wake up at once.

Excitement.

Fear.

Disbelief.

And the increasingly loud realization that she might have completely lost her mind.

She pushed herself upright and pulled the blanket away, then ran both hands through her hair. After more than twelve hours on a plane, her long blonde hair probably looked like she’d been electrocuted somewhere over Siberia.

She didn’t care.

She pressed closer to the window.

Below the aircraft, pieces of Japan appeared between the clouds. Roads. Houses. Perfect little rectangles of fields. Everything growing larger as the plane descended.

Nina smiled before she could stop herself.

She was actually here.

For years, Japan had existed inside books, videos, photographs and the increasingly complicated notebooks she’d filled while studying Japanese. It had been something distant. Something she would do one day.

One day after school.

One day when she had enough money.

One day when she was brave enough.

Apparently, one day was today.

Yesterday morning she’d been in Zakopane.

She had left the mountains behind with one suitcase that weighed dangerously close to the airline limit, a backpack stuffed with documents, chargers and snacks, and enough anxiety from her family to supply a small country.

Now she was about to land in Tokyo.

Alone.

At nineteen.

Maybe she really was insane.

The wheels hit the runway.

Nina’s fingers tightened around the armrest as the aircraft bounced once before settling onto the ground.

Her heart hammered.

Outside the window, airport buildings rushed past.

And then came the announcement she’d imagined hearing for years.

Welcome to Tokyo.

Nina let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Holy shit,” she whispered.

The Japanese man sitting beside her glanced over.

Nina immediately looked straight ahead.

Great.

Less than thirty seconds in Japan and she’d already embarrassed herself.

Excellent start.

⸻

Narita Airport taught Nina her first important lesson about moving to Japan.

Knowing Japanese and understanding Japanese people speaking Japanese were apparently two completely different skills.

She’d studied for years.

She could read hiragana and katakana easily. Her kanji wasn’t terrible. She could hold conversations. She had spent countless evenings speaking with her tutor online until answering simple questions stopped requiring five minutes of internal preparation.

She had been proud of herself.

Then an airport employee said something to her at approximately the speed of a machine gun.

Nina stared at him.

He stared back.

She caught perhaps four words.

She bowed automatically.

“Sumimasen. Mō ichido onegaishimasu.”

Could you say that again?

He repeated himself, thankfully slower.

This time she understood.

Mostly.

By the time she finally collected her enormous suitcase, found the correct train and managed to buy what she needed without accidentally sending herself to Osaka, Nina had revised her assessment of her Japanese abilities.

Back in Poland:

My Japanese is pretty good.

In Japan:

I know nothing.

She dragged her suitcase onto the train and collapsed into a seat.

Tokyo waited.

She watched through the window as Narita gradually disappeared behind her.

At first there was nothing particularly overwhelming. Houses, roads, patches of green. She almost laughed at herself for expecting the entire country to immediately look like the Tokyo she’d seen online.

Then the city began swallowing the horizon.

More buildings.

More signs.

More tracks.

More people.

Nina sat straighter.

Her phone was already full of messages from home.

Mum: Landed???

Mum: Nina?

Mum: Please message when you land.

Mum: Nina???

Nina smiled.

She took a quick photograph through the window.

Nina: Alive. I landed. ❤️

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Of course.

She put her phone away before her mother could begin the first international interrogation of Nina’s adult life.

For the first few weeks, she would be staying in student accommodation arranged through the language school. The photographs online had made the room look small but cute.

The photographs had lied.

Nina stood in the doorway several hours later, staring at what would apparently be her home.

“Wow.”

She pulled her suitcase inside.

“Very… compact.”

That was generous.

If she opened the suitcase completely, she suspected she’d lose access to half the room.

There was a narrow bed, a tiny desk, storage, a kitchenette that appeared designed for someone who hated cooking, and a bathroom so small she could probably brush her teeth while sitting on the toilet.

But it was hers.

For now, anyway.

Nina dropped onto the bed.

Silence.

For the first time since leaving Poland, there was nobody telling her where to go next.

No airport announcements.

No immigration officer.

No train.

No directions glowing on Google Maps.

Just Nina.

She looked around the tiny room.

Then at her suitcase.

Then at the unfamiliar ceiling.

The excitement inside her suddenly collided with something heavier.

Zakopane was thousands of miles away.

Her family was thousands of miles away.

If something went wrong, she couldn’t simply call her mother and ask to be picked up.

Nina swallowed.

“Nope.”

She sat up.

She wasn’t doing this.

Not on her first day.

She hadn’t spent years learning Japanese, saving money and convincing everyone that she could do this just to sit in a tiny Tokyo apartment and cry because she missed home after six hours.

She grabbed her phone.

She was going outside.

⸻

If Nina had been sensible, she would have eaten something nearby and returned to unpack.

Instead, she went to Shibuya.

Because apparently crossing half the planet hadn’t exhausted her capacity for questionable decisions.

The moment she stepped out of Shibuya Station, she stopped.

People moved around her from every direction.

Japanese conversations blended with music, traffic, electronic sounds and announcements. Screens climbed entire buildings. Advertisements flashed overhead. Cars waited behind the crossing.

And then Nina saw him.

Hachikō.

The bronze dog stood exactly where she’d seen him in hundreds of photographs, surrounded by people meeting friends, tourists taking pictures and commuters passing without giving him a second glance.

Nina didn’t move for several seconds.

This was ridiculous.

It was a statue.

She knew it was a statue.

But somehow seeing Hachikō made everything real in a way the airport hadn’t.

She was in Tokyo.

Actually Tokyo.

Nina walked closer, smiling helplessly.

She waited until a group moved away and took a photograph.

Then another.

And, because her mother would complain otherwise, one with herself in it.

She sent it home.

Nina: Look where I am.

Her mother’s reply came quickly.

Mum: Beautiful ❤️ Don’t stay out too late.

Nina laughed.

Some things apparently survived an eight-hour time difference.

She turned toward the famous crossing.

Her mouth fell slightly open.

She’d seen Shibuya Crossing online so many times that she thought she knew what to expect.

She didn’t.

The pedestrian lights changed.

And suddenly hundreds of people moved.

From everywhere.

Nina joined them.

For several seconds she was swallowed by Tokyo.

People passed on either side of her. Businessmen. Teenagers. Tourists. Couples. Women in heels. Men staring at phones. Someone pulling a suitcase almost as enormous as hers.

Nina reached the opposite pavement and turned around.

The crossing filled behind her.

A laugh escaped her.

She didn’t know anyone here.

Nobody knew her.

Nobody cared who Nina Wolska was.

And strangely, that felt incredible.

She could become anyone.

⸻

Three days later, Nina discovered that becoming anyone involved considerably more paperwork than she’d anticipated.

Her language school orientation began at nine in the morning.

By nine forty-five, her head hurt.

There were forms.

Rules.

Schedules.

Emergency procedures.

Information about attendance.

Information about residence requirements.

Information about part-time employment.

Information about information.

Nina sat among students from countries all over the world, clutching a folder that seemed to multiply papers every time she opened it.

At least she understood most of what was being said.

That counted as progress.

After the main orientation, several names were called.

“Nina Wolska?”

She raised her hand.

A member of staff smiled and gestured toward another area of the room.

Nina gathered her things.

The school had explained the buddy support system before she’d arrived. New international students could be paired with local young people who worked with the programme, helping them through their first weeks in Tokyo.

Nina had imagined a very organized Japanese girl carrying a clipboard.

Instead, a tall young man in loose black trousers, sneakers and an oversized grey sweatshirt was leaning against the wall looking at his phone.

A duffel bag rested at his feet.

The staff member said something to him.

He looked up.

His eyes found Nina.

Then briefly moved over her blonde hair before returning to her face.

“Nina?”

His English was good.

Better than she’d expected.

“Yes.”

He slipped his phone into his pocket and walked over.

Up close, he was taller than she’d thought. Not enormous, but certainly taller than most of the men she’d passed during her first few days in Tokyo. His dark hair was slightly messy, and there was something immediately easy about his face.

He held out his hand.

“Ren Adachi.”

Nina shook it.

“Nina Wolska.”

He attempted her surname.

“Wol…ska?”

Her eyebrows lifted.

“That was actually good.”

Ren looked pleased with himself.

“I practiced.”

“You knew my name before today?”

“I got your information yesterday.”

“That sounds slightly creepy.”

He blinked.

Then laughed.

“Okay. My English is not good enough for you.”

“Your English is fine.”

“No. Apparently I sound like a stalker.”

Nina laughed for the first time that morning.

Ren picked up his bag.

“Come. I’ll show you around.”

They left the orientation room together.

“So,” he said in English, “Poland.”

“So,” Nina replied in Japanese, “Japan.”

Ren looked sideways at her.

Then answered in English.

“You speak Japanese.”

“A little.”

“That is not a little.”

“Your English isn’t bad either.”

“It is.”

“It isn’t.”

“It is why I work here.”

Nina glanced at him.

“This is your job?”

“Part-time. I help new students. Show them things. Stop them getting lost.”

“I’ve already been lost.”

“Then I’m three days late.”

She smiled.

“What do you normally do?”

“Dance.”

Nina waited.

Ren waited.

“That’s it?”

“What?”

“You just… dance?”

His expression became offended.

“I dance professionally.”

“Oh.”

“Sometimes.”

She started laughing.

Ren pointed at her.

“You are rude.”

“You said sometimes!”

“Tokyo is expensive. Sometimes dancing pays. Sometimes it doesn’t. So…” He gestured around the school. “I rescue foreigners.”

“Very noble.”

“Exactly.”

They reached the stairs.

Ren switched to Japanese.

“If you want, we can speak Japanese. But sometimes English.”

“Why?”

“I need practice.”

Nina narrowed her eyes.

“So I’m free English lessons.”

“And I’m free Japanese lessons.”

She considered that.

“Fair.”

Ren grinned.

“Good. We have a deal.”

It was strange how quickly talking to him felt easy.

Maybe because he didn’t slow every sentence down as though she were five years old. Maybe because when she made a mistake, he corrected her without making a big deal of it. Maybe because he seemed genuinely curious about Poland without immediately asking whether it was freezing there all year.

By lunchtime, he’d shown her the classrooms, nearby convenience stores, the cheapest place to buy groceries, which train exit she should use and which one, according to him, would “ruin her life.”

He also informed her that convenience-store coffee would become her best friend.

Nina believed him.

They stopped outside the school.

Ren adjusted the strap of his duffel bag.

“You have my number?”

She lifted her phone.

“Yes.”

“If you get lost, message me.”

“What if I get lost at three in the morning?”

“Message Google.”

Nina laughed.

“Excellent support service.”