Page 18 of A Serving of Hope

“And here’s the onigiri,” said Koishi, handing the basket to Shiori. “There’s a flask of tea in there as well.”

“Thank you so much.”

“We’ll go for a little stroll, so take your time, okay?” Nagare nodded to Koishi, and the pair departed.

There was hardly anyone around. Glancing around the large garden, Shiori only counted a dozen or so people. Still, though she basically had the pond to herself, the knowledge that this was technically a temple made her slightly self-conscious about eating. She peered into the rattan basket, retrieved a small box, and carefully opened the lid.

Inside were two triangular onigiri that looked just like the ones she remembered. They were wrapped in nori, but the seaweed wasn’t brittle or flaky like on convenience store onigiri. It was soft, moist, and practically melded to the rice. She picked one of them up, gazed at it for a while, then brought it slowly to her lips.

Gently, carefully, she chewed on the rice. It was saltier than she’d expected, with an almost briny aroma that tickled her nostrils.

Yes, this was it. This was how it had tasted.

Holding the onigiri in one hand, Shiori stared down at the pond’s surface, from which Yasuhiko seemed to gaze back up at her.

I’m used to scraping by, she’d wanted to tell him. I’ve never wanted luxury. We could make it work. You might not earn much, but with my wages we’d have enough to live on. I could wait one year, maybe even two. But not four. I just want to be together.

The words had been on the tip of her tongue, but she’d been scared. Scared that uttering them aloud would shatter the fragile future he’d so tenderly imagined for them.

As she slipped the last of the first onigiri into her mouth, tears began spilling down her cheeks.

She should have spoken her mind, even if it meant an argument. Even if it meant shattering that dream. Dreams could always be mended. But when she voiced these thoughts to Yasuhiko’s wavering reflection in the pond, he simply stared back in silence.

She took the second onigiri from the box and broke it in half. The sticky, finely minced filling was a dark vermilion. When she bit into it, her mouth filled with that rich, briny aroma.

This time she managed to slow down and savor the taste. No other onigiri could ever compare to this, she realized. That was how much it had meant to her.

The white form of Kyoto Tower quivered in the water, warped and blurred by the blue sky around it. Crying wouldn’t change anything, thought Shiori. She could never go back to that day. She dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief and set about fixing her makeup.

Just then, Nagare and Koishi reappeared, as if this was the cue they’d been waiting for.

“How was it?” asked Nagare.

“Oh, it was wonderful. Like I said, my memories are quite hazy, but I’m pretty sure that was the onigiri he made me.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Your oido must be all cold and sore from that rock,” said Koishi.

Shiori’s eyes widened. “My…oido?”

“Kyoto speak for your rear end,” explained Nagare with a grin.

“Oh,” said Shiori, getting to her feet. “I had no idea. Kyoto dialect is so charming.”

Nagare led the way again. Shiori and Koishi followed a short distance behind, walking side by side at an easy pace.

“Was it really the same?” asked Koishi in a low voice.

“To be honest,” murmured Shiori, “I don’t remember it all that well. So if I tell myself it was the same, then that’s how it feels—but if someone were to tell me otherwise, I’d probably believe them too.”

“I guess it’s the act of eating it that matters,” said Koishi. “So you can make your decision.”

“Exactly. It’s time I made my mind up once and for all.”

“I know just how you feel. You need something to stop yourself going in circles.”

Shiori nodded silently in response.