CHAPTER 69

HANA

The strings of my koto fade into silence. The crowd murmurs, applauds. I have come to Yasukuni to honor those who were lost, to pay my respects to the dead. And now it is over.

A pang of emptiness washes through me. What was I expecting? No glowing fireflies. No ghostly violin. I slide the picks from my fingers. The performance is over. The day at an end.

The crowd parts and moves on. Around me, my classmates prepare to do the same.

I reach for my koto case, but something stops me. As if my name has been spoken out loud. I look up.

And there are miracles.

For there is Taro.

Taro. Taro. Taro.

I raise my hand, trembling. And wave.

Hello.