...
The drizzle swayed, softly knocking against the bluish tiles of the secret garden in Tokyo, gathering from the crevices into a babbling brook, like pearls, like silk, dripping into the pond in the garden, where ripples spread out in circles, fading away, only to begin again.
Under the eaves, Mike leaned against a wooden post, his eyes misty. He gazed at the girl before him, so intoxicated that he forgot himself.
The girl slightly tilted her head up, her face calm and serene, with long eyelashes fluttering over her deep blue eyes, like the wings of a summer butterfly. Her lips curved slightly, a high bridge of the nose, her delicate features without a single flaw. Her slender fingers, white as jade, pure as snow, caught the falling raindrops. The water slipped through her fingers, crystal clear, radiating a brilliant light.
