On my way to the metro, my heart had started to dance to two different tempos. It was losing itself between rhythms, like a DJ who can't decide which track to play next. The box I held under my arm was as light as a feather, yet with every passing second, it somehow grew heavier along with my curiosity. Alongside that, the excitement of getting on the same train car as Hinata — that sweet nervousness — made the butterflies in my chest prepare for takeoff.
"Takashi Akiyama – Undelivered."Although the sentence seemed simple, it left a strange echo inside me — like a riddle wrapped in an enigma, sealed with a suspicious "return to sender."
When I arrived at the stop, the metro hadn't come yet. People were lined up behind the yellow line, waiting patiently. It wasn't crowded; just a few students, some adults clutching their coffee like it was liquid motivation, and an old lady so buried in her phone she looked ready to send a text from another dimension. Everyone else either stared at their phones like hypnotized zombies or chatted quietly, killing time. I sat on a bench and placed the box on my knees. My head felt heavy, like I had just woken up from a nap on a roller coaster. I stared at the box for a long time. Its corner was a little crushed, but it was still closed. There was a label from a Japanese domestic shipping company on one side, but the date seemed erased — like a mystery smudged out by a forgetful postman. I couldn't tell when it was sent. It felt like something thrown out of time.
"Should I open it now? No, I can't. Hinata's waiting," I told myself. But maybe I should open it now and see what was inside. My curiosity was gnawing at me like an army of mosquitoes on a sleepless night. Whatever was inside was consuming me from the inside out. I was sure if I wasn't careful, I'd lose the box like a careless fool. So, without raising my head, I kept staring at the box like it was a secret I wasn't ready to learn.
At that moment, my phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Hinata."I'm leaving now ^^"
I held my breath. Read the message once, then again. To suppress the turmoil inside me, I gently raised my head to the sky."Take a deep breath, Takashi. This is just a metro meeting. Most likely, you'll spend five stops without talking, then say 'see you' and get off. But what if it's not like that? What if this is a beginning?"
I calmed myself and wrote back:"I just got here too, I'm waiting for you."
I put the phone back in my pocket. My hands caressed the edges of the box. I couldn't open it. There were people on the metro. It would be weird to open it in front of everyone. It felt like a giant clock would suddenly pop out and start counting down my time with a loud "TICK TOCK TICK." Everyone's attention would snap to me, whispering, "Look at what he's holding," "A clock, ticking." They'd probably think it was a timed bomb. Only I could weave such wild nonsense in my mind.
I tossed those absurd thoughts into the trash bin of my brain and looked toward the metro entrance. I saw Hinata slowly approaching from afar. I recognized her immediately. She had a small backpack on her back, her hair resting on her shoulders. Her eyes searched for me, and a familiar, sincere smile appeared on her face.
— "Takashi!" she said, her voice soft but warm.I nodded and smiled.— "Hello."— "Hello, I hope I didn't keep you waiting long. I got up a bit late, was going to come early without eating, but my mom insisted on breakfast…" she said, waving her hands and arms like a guilty house cat looking for a hiding spot. I couldn't help but think how adorable she was.— "No, not at all. I just got here too."
She smiled and sat on the bench next to me, glancing at the box.— "What's this? Is it yours?"
At that moment... my heart seemed to want to open the box before I did.— "Yes. I found it in front of my door this morning. Only my name was written on it… no sender."
Hinata's eyes widened.— "Ooo… a mysterious box story? When will you open it?"
I shrugged.— "I don't know. I have a feeling... like I need to wait for the right time."
— "Hmm..." she said, pretending to think. Then she looked down and met my eyes.— "Maybe we can open it together?"
I paused for a moment, unsure how to respond. I was certain whatever was inside that box was special and would paint the pale walls of my past. I'd lived sixteen years unaware of it, never thought about it, but now valuing it felt so unlike me. I thought to myself, whatever happens, happens.
— "Let's open it," I said.
Hinata's pupils grew like a cat locked on a laser pointer, full of excitement to see what would come out of the box. As she moved closer, my excitement took me on a small trip to the underworld and back.
I tried to suppress what I was thinking, but that silly smile returned to my face.I thought to myself:"Takashi... since when did your life start to feel like an anime episode?"
I imagined myself the protagonist, and everything that had happened in the last week felt like episodes from a slice-of-life manga.
From afar, the sound of the metro was heard. The metallic clattering of the rails grew louder as it approached. When the metro arrived at the station, the wind it brought cooled the entire platform. The doors opened, and people started boarding one by one.
But we remained on the benches, frozen in time, isolated from everything else as we prepared to see what was inside the box. Whether we'd be late for school didn't seem to matter at all.
I carefully peeled open the yellowed envelope, its edges worn and fragile like an ancient relic. The paper inside was surprisingly intact, but my hands trembled as if holding something far heavier than mere sheets of paper. My heart pounded so loudly I was pretty sure everyone on the metro could hear it — maybe even the pigeon outside.
As I unfolded the letter, a silent echo of a child's sob rose inside me. Maybe it was my own buried pain, or the ghost of my past crying out through time. The handwriting was delicate yet rushed, each word seeming to pulse with raw emotion, as if the writer's hand had been fueled by heartbreak and a very strong cup of green tea.
"My dear son Takashi," the letter began.
I swallowed hard and read on.
"I write this knowing one day you will find it — maybe years from now, maybe far away. But a corner of my heart will always be with you.Leaving you was the darkest moment of my life. Even now, my hands shake just thinking about it. What it means for a mother to give up her son, no one can explain.But I never truly gave up on you, Takashi. I was only trying to protect you."
I blinked back tears, but they were relentless. This wasn't just any letter — it was a tsunami dressed as a simple note. The words tumbled out, unveiling a story soaked in fear and sacrifice.
"Your father and I come from a very wealthy family. But that wealth brought only enemies, betrayal, and death. We loved each other — and you — too much to be part of that world.They threatened to take you from us. So, we had to leave you behind, ripping out our own hearts to save yours.Every night I dream of you, smell the scent of your baby hair, trace the tiny dimple on your cheek. I have not forgotten. I cannot forget.If we can ever disappear completely, believe me, we will come back for you. Until then, you are buried deep in the safest place of our hearts."
My grip loosened, and the letter slipped from my fingers like a fragile butterfly breaking free. I wanted to scream, cry, laugh, and curse all at once — but instead, I just sat there, numb. Then I felt it — Hinata's hand, warm and steady, gently resting on my shoulder.
I met her eyes, still red but filled with something like hope, or maybe just pure "I don't know what to say but I'm here for you" energy. She tried to speak but the words tangled up like noodles on chopsticks.
Inside the box, I found the photograph — faded, stained, like a secret treasure. There she was: my mother, black hair tied in a tired bun, eyes shadowed with exhaustion but still beautiful. Her expression was fierce yet fragile, like a warrior guarding her last breath. Next to her stood a man, his sharp cheekbones and protective gaze unmistakable — my father.
And there I was — a baby, head resting against my mother's chest, eyes shut tight, probably dreaming of a world far kinder than the one that forced this farewell.
My throat tightened into a knot so tight I was sure it could strangle me."Mom…" I whispered, my voice cracking like an old vinyl record.
Hinata wrapped her arms around me, pulling me close as if to shield me from the weight of history."I'm sorry, Takashi," she murmured, her voice shaky but sincere. And honestly, in that moment, all I wanted was to believe that maybe, just maybe, things could get better from here — or at least, that I wouldn't have to face it alone.