Only, snails know there is no rush , when you learn to carry home with you
___________________________________________
As Naoto's voice cut through Takemichi's weary haze, the weight of his recent efforts evident in the bags under his eyes, Takemichi struggled to focus. "A certain person?" Takemichi responded, confusion apparent as he tried to process the new information thrust upon him.
"These are the 'Toman' leaders," Naoto continued, his voice intense as he slammed his hand onto a pinboard covered with information about Toman's leaders. "Manjiro Sano and Tetta Kisaki,"
"Scary," Takemichi interjected, his mind racing to make sense of the implications.
"Listen, if Tetta Kisaki and Manjiro Sano never cross paths, then the current Tokyo Manji Gang wouldn't exist. In other words, there would be nothing for my sister to get entangled with and ultimately killed by."
"I understand. So, if I can go back to my middle school days and prevent those two from meeting," Takemichi replied, his understanding slowly taking shape.
"Then Toman wouldn't come into existence," Naoto affirmed, his excitement palpable.
"But how am I supposed to travel back in time?"
"I know the 'trigger' for time leaps."
"Huh?"
"When I shook hands with you twelve years ago, I felt that the 'you' inside past Takemichi vanished. The 'trigger' for time leaps is shaking hands with me. Perhaps I am 'one part' of your ability, given that you saved me."
Takemichi's mind spun as both he and Naoto drew closer, their hands poised to shake. "Are you ready?" Naoto's voice pierced the uneasy silence that had settled in the room, the tension almost tangible enough to hear Takemichi's racing heartbeat.
And then, as their hands met, Takemichi felt as if his consciousness was being pulled or falling into another place. He was experiencing a time leap.
""SON, do you know what a hanahaki means?" A women ask, her voice gentle
"No, what is it?" he responds, turning to face her with a curious expression.
"It's a disease caused by unrequited love. You cough petals and your body grows weak," she explain
"But why petals, mama? Shouldn't it be blood? Does the blood turn into petals?" he inquires, his brow furrowing in confusion.
"I'm not entirely sure, honey. It's just a superstition," she reply, trying to ease his worries.
"Well, petals are pretty, mama. But it's sad if they cause an illness," he muses, his voice tinged with innocence.
"I promise, mama, I won't fall in love, okay?" he suddenly declares, determination shining in his eyes.
"Why not, sweetheart?" I ask, taken aback by his sudden resolution.
"Because you don't want to lose me, right mama? You want me to stay by your side?" he responds, his tone filled with understanding.
I pause for a moment, feeling a swell of emotion in my chest. "Yes, Yano , I want you to stay by my side," I say softly, pulling him into a warm embrace.
Ring --!
A alarm clock , wake me up,
"That's was so vivid dream" I whisper , weirdly awaken fully after that dream, And what was this dream even about , I can't remember holding such conversation with mom
*
*
""Mom, did you ever tell me about the hanahaki disease?" Yano asked, munching on breakfast prepared for school, while his little sister Horikita sat on the sofa watching a jdrama.
His mom, who was working in the kitchen packing lunch, looked at him surprised. "You remember it?"
The kitchen and the drawing room were only separated by a gate, so Horikita, who was engrossed in the show, turned around to look at them from the sofa. "Hanahaki? What's that?" she asked.
"That was part of a folk tale my grandmother used to tell me," she said, her eyes filled with reminiscence. She looked at both of her children and continued, "It's a disease caused by unrequited love for your loved ones. You cough up petals, and your body grows weak."
"But I'm surprised, Yano, you remember it," she said, looking at her son. Even she had forgotten about it. How did he remember it?
Yano smiled awkwardly. He just remembered it suddenly, he didn't know why.
"Wow! That's the first time I've heard about it. It seems like an idea from a romance tragedy novel," her gaze fixed on the screen again as the climax of the scene appeared.
"Grandma must be a huge book lover," waving the remote in her hand, laughing jokingly at it.
"Horikita, it's time for school, shut off the TV," Mom scolded her, angry at the young lady glued to the TV screen early in the morning. "If you don't, you will get a huge headache later, and then don't come to me complaining about it."
As Horikita reluctantly switched off the TV and grabbed her stuff for school, their mom shot her a stern look. "Remember what I told you, Hori. Too much screen time isn't good for you."
Horikita playfully rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, Mom. I got it."
With that, they all headed out the door, ready for the day ahead. Yano couldn't shake his curiosity about the hanahaki disease. It seemed like such an intriguing concept.
As they strolled to school, Yano stole a glance at his sister, wondering if she remembered their mom's warning. But Horikita seemed lost in her own world, already engrossed in thoughts of the latest drama she had watched.
When they reached school, Yano's mind was still consumed by the strange dream he had just woken up from. He couldn't shake the feeling that it held some significance, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.
As he entered the class, he involuntarily glanced at Disha's seat, only to find it empty.
Even Nozomi and Ayaka are here
'Is she running late?' he wondered.
But as the class began and she still hadn't arrived, it became clear she was absent today. Concern crept into his thoughts. Is she alright? He remembered yesterday's accident, her unexpectedly entering the boys' room. Her face had looked pale, and they hadn't been able to talk much that day.
Now, maybe something did happen. As he pondered it, the strange dream faded into the back of his mind.
In the apartment, a room adorned with LED lighting, the wallpaper a blend of black and blue-grey, Disha lay peacefully asleep.
Her room is like a cozy apartment of its own.
There's a dog crate doubling as a table, cluttered with folded but unsorted laundry.
Her bed has storage boxes underneath, maximizing space.
A projector is aimed at the blank wall, serving as TV.
Three walls are adorned with whiteboards, notes, and posters from science magazines.
She has a large L-shaped desk with three monitors, a computer, and a sound system for the projector, along with a hot water maker and her tea set.
There's a reading chair with books and a Gameboy stored underneath.
A dresser holds my 30-gallon fish tank on top.
A bookshelf tucked inside my closet provides additional storage.
Blinds with tapestries cover the windows, adding to the cozy atmosphere.
The door creaks open, and a beautiful woman enters the room, sitting beside Disha. She gazes at her serene face, gently touching her forehead, then leans down to touch Disha's forehead with her own.
"Her temperature is still high," she whispers, her expression filled with concern for her daughter
Early this morning, when she went to wake Disha up, she noticed her unusually high temperature. It was 104 degrees. Worried, she and her dad had taken her to the closest doctor. After taking her pills, Disha fell asleep. For the past hour, she had been placing wet cloths on her forehead to help reduce the fever.
Disha isn't my biological daughter, but I've been taking care of her since birth. It almost feels like she's my own flesh and blood.
"Mom! I found the medical documents during my birthday. Your name wasn't on them. I'm not your blood-related child, right?" Young Disha states, wanting to say more but stopping when she sees her mother's horrified expression.
Even when she found out at a younger age, I couldn't bring myself to tell her, too horrified to realize she had found out. But that evening, I tried to tell her the truth. Instead, Disha diverted the topic, perhaps realizing my fear and considering my feelings.
Disha wasn't showing eagerness to find her true mother.
Or—" maybe because she already knows who she is " I whisper, shaking my head.
No, that's impossible. My darling is intelligent, but... or maybe If it's Disha then.
I stop my thoughts, worried to go further.
But still, it was shockingly calm behavior for a child, then again, Disha has always been quiet, never complaining or throwing tantrums. She started noticing people's behavior at a young age and maintained a calm nature. The only issue was her social anxiety and weak health.
She was born with a weak body, which led to weeks of hospitalization after her birth. She catches colds, TB, fevers, faints easily, and needs glucose from time to time. She was homeschooled until she turned 13, rarely going out due to her poor health. Only after we came to Japan did she start attending regular school.
But perhaps the side effects lingered. She often gets nervous talking to unknown people or during any sudden changes in her environment.
"Mom," Disha grunts, feeling her mother caressing her face.
"Did something happen?" she asks, putting her hand on her mother's cheeks. "You always have that look whenever you think about stupid stuff," Disha scolds her, pinching her mother's cheek.
"Ouch!" her mother whines, removing her darling hands from her cheeks.
Disha laughs and hugs her mom. "Mom! You're so cute," she says, but her mom starts checking her temperature instead of laughing.
Disha looked at the woman she cared about most. The woman for whom she is ready to set the world on fire.
"Darling, you're still hot," her mom says, standing up. "I'll bring some porridge. It's good for your health."
Disha watches her mom leave, feeling grateful for her unconditional love and care.
Her mom, a Filipino woman, had always been a bit of a mystery to her. From what she had observed until now, all she knew was that her mother was Filipino, once worked in a pub as a bartender, and fell in love with a Japanese guy. But something happened between them, leading her to leave Japan and visit Canada.
That's where her mom met her dad. He was from India, going to Canada for study purposes and eventually finding a job there. Her mom worked at a coffee shop near his workplace, and they fell in love. They got married and gave birth to her brother, Abhishek.
But then, something happened again. When her dad and mom returned to India, there was some sort of mishap or perhaps even planning involved. Her dad ended up sleeping with an Indian woman. And that's when she was born. She didn't know all the details, but it seemed like her parents might have been on the verge of divorce or something similar. However, that's all she could gather from their conversations and the available documents.
She might be able to uncover the whole truth If she goes extra miles, but it seemed too complicated for her to delve into, especially considering her parents' discomfort in discussing it. So why should she go out of her way?
I believe in Energy Conservation
"Not like it matters to me who my actual mother is. Am I curious? Yes. But am I eager? No," she shrugged.
"It's like our family tree decided to go on a world tour and collect DNA souvenirs instead of leaves! Dad's got that spicy Indian curry flavor, Mom brings the sweetness of Filipino halo-halo, and my brother, well, he's like a fusion dish – a sushi-adobo roll! Talk about a genetic buffet!" I said , looking out of window, This situation is funny
Being half Filipino and half Japanese, she always teased her brother by calling him "Japillino." It was like an inside joke in their family
Kurokawa Izana isn't a stranger to scars.
He could still vaguely remember the times where he would trip on a rock while racing kakucho, and then complaining like a brat when the younger boy would have to patch him up, or the times where he would nick his fingers on a knife while practicing a recipe with shinichiro.
But those scars always healed up in the end, making him forget that he'd even hurt himself in the first place. Izana wished he could say the same for the scars littering his chest—invisible, seen only by him.
It's one of those nights where Izana sits facing his bathroom mirror, his expression blank as he gazes at his reflection.