Nishii-san was late again tonight. She sent a text, apologizing for missing dinner. Haru knows she's a curry fan, so he had prepared a big pot of chicken curry. But it was getting a bit cold. Chicken curry, in his opinion, is best enjoyed when freshly prepared and he didn't want to put it in the fridge for a reheat later.

So he grabbed a large bowl and poured half of the curry into it. He was just wearing t-shirt and jogger pants, but that shouldn't be a problem. He'd just deliver this food and head back home.

The house across the street always seemed quiet from the outside, as if it were empty. Its residents were not the fussy type. Despite being larger than Nishii-san's house, the house was divided into three: the second floor transformed into two smaller apartments rented out to two people, and Suzuki-san, the owner, lived on the ground floor. She had her own entrance. Haru had met her a couple of times and she even let him borrow her bike to go shopping.

Haru knocked on the door but got no answer. He regretted not checking the window earlier—perhaps nobody was home. But before he returned, someone slide off the door's latch.

"Oh. Nakano-san."

Fujiwara greeted him, also dressed in casual clothes: an oversized long-sleeved sweater (or maybe he was too thin?), and khakis so shabby they looked almost grey.

"Pardon my intrusion." Haru showed him the curry pot. "I bought you some curry."

Fujiwara sighed. "Nishii-san always spoils me."

"This is my cooking."

"Really?" Fujiwara's face turned red. "Sorry. I forgot that you too are good at cooking! Waist isn't sprained again, is it?"

"I'm fine this time."

He reached out for the curry. "It smells... exquisite."

"It's hot. Maybe I should put it straight on your table."

Fujiwara nodded and let him in. He led Haru to the stairs at the small turn after the vestibule. Haru had never been inside Fujiwara's apartment. So far, when he stopped by, he only stood on the veranda.

The apartment upstairs resembled a one-room studio. It had a bathroom, kitchen, and a storage. The furniture was modest but neatly arranged, creating an illusion of spaciousness. Under the window directly facing his own, there was a writing desk. Haru saw no bed, so he assumed Fujiwara slept on the futon.

"Just put it on the table, please," Fujiwara pointed at the low round dining table in front of the TV. "Had dinner already? I haven't. Wanna join?"

"I'm waiting for Nishii-san, but it looks like she's running late again tonight. Please, don't let me bother you."

"No problem at all. You treated me lunch last week, so consider this a payback. Besides, it's not fun eating curry alone, right?"

On the days when Nishii-san came home late, Haru often felt lonely in the empty house. It was strange feeling lonely in such a bustling city like Tokyo.

"Sorry for bothering you," Haru bowed his head.

"Why so formal all the time?" Fujiwara chuckled. "Give me a sec."

Haru sat down at the round table. While waiting for Fujiwara, he took a closer look at the room and noticed another object. Across the room, next to the TV, there was a memorial altar. A photo of a young man sat in the center of the altar. He appeared to be around the same age as him, about eighteen. There was something unusual about the photo. Unlike most pictures on memorial altars, the young man wasn't facing forward in a formal pose. He smiled broadly, his right hand stretched out to the side as if he were hugging someone, but Haru couldn't see who it was. The photo seemed to be folded in half and then placed inside the frame, cutting off the view of the person the young man was embracing.

He approached the altar, sat in praying position and clasped his hands. He didn't know who this young man was, but he must be someone who meant a lot to Fujiwara.

May you rest in peace.

He only noticed that he was being watched when he turned around "I just finished praying."

He just nodded and put the dishes on the round table. "Let's eat."

...

They had dinner in almost total silence. Haru wanted to ask about the young man in the photo, but he held himself back, worried that it would make his host sad.

"Thank you for walk me to campus everyday, and showing me around," he decided to say something because the silence started to kill his mood too. "I appreciate your help."

"Don't mention it."

"My friends asked me to go out for coffee the other day. I was about to suggest your café, but I didn't know where your café was."

"Mine's Shiru Café, near the park," Fujiwara answered abruptly. "I heard from Nishii-san that you're looking for a part-time job."

"Yes. If there's any, I'd like to apply. Tokyo is expensive."

"You should've checked that before coming here," he chuckled with a playful tone. "So, any special skills up your sleeve? As a barista, maybe?"

"Uh, no."

"I could teach you if you want."

"You're very kind."

"Feel free to drop by anytime."

"Thank you very much."

Fujiwara smiled politely and gathered the empty bowls. "Maybe you should try looking for a part-time job in restaurants or izakaya. You can cook, and you're familiar with hospitality. Those are skills, right? It'd be pretty much like working in ryokan, just with a slightly faster pace. It can be a bit tiring but I bet you can handle it."

"I'm used to hard work. We only have five staff at the ryokan, so my family do the chores too. Mother and Grandma take care of the guests, while I clean and help in the kitchen."

Fujiwara made a gentle 'hmm' sound, agreeing. "What about supermarket? There are two Family Marts in this area; one is next to my café, and the other one is across from the station. They always look for a part-timer. I'll check the one near the café first, and I'll take you to the one at the station on the weekend."

He was surprised that Fujiwara had given so much thoughts to his part-time hunt. "I can go check on my own. Thank you for letting me know."

"Oh, stop with all the 'thank yous' and bows; that's so inaka-jin. Just go with a casual 'thanks,' that's good enough," Fujiwara said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. "Three years ago, I arrived here from Misawa with only fifteen thousand yen—my entire savings. It was gone in a blink. So I know how it's not an easy transition." He snickered and drummed the table with his fingers. "Are you an only child?"

"I have two younger sisters. They're still in school."

"You don't want to burden your parents, I see. Does your father work in the ryokan too?"

"No. Father works for the Kyushu National Museum in Fukuoka. He only comes home once a month."

"A family of hard workers."

Haru was supposed to ask him back about Fujiwara's family – to make the conversation less one-sided, but previous trials taught him to be cautious. So he waited instead.

"My family is hardworking too," Fujiwara finally uttered. "When I was a kid, Father didn't have a steady job for a few years—he was a drunkard. Mother had to cover the expenses. She did three jobs, working almost fourteen hours every day to support our family."

"Does your family still live in Misawa?"

"I guess. I haven't talked to my parents for a while."

"Don't you miss them?"

"I'm coming home next month," Fujiwara suddenly announce. "I'll stay for two days, before coming back to Tokyo."

"To see your parents?"

Fujiwara didn't asnwer. He glanced at the photo in the altar.

Haru couldn't help not to look at the photo again. Curiosity surged within him. Certainly the young man had passed away, but who was he? Throughout dinner, Fujiwara glanced at photo several times, seemingly trying to include the young man in their conversation.

"The guy in the altar... is he your brother?"

Fujiwara blinked. "No."

Then who? Haru's thoughts continued to whirl. What had happened to the young man?

The neighbor cleared his throat, picked up the dishes, and stood up. "I apologize, Nakano-san. It's getting late, and I have something else to attend to."

"Are you going to work on the secret project?"

Fujiwara was stunned. "What?"

"I've been seeing you working every night from my window. I don't know what you're working on, so I just call it a secret project."

"Are you prying on me?"

"It wasn't intentional. Our windows align, and I couldn't help but—"

"Of course you'll blame the window!"

Fujiwara's reaction was beyond Haru's expectation. "I'm sorry!"

Without saying anything more, the neighbor paced to the kitchen, leaving him alone, overwhelmed with guilt. Haru blamed his embarrassing curiosity. He should have realized that Fujiwara was already at his limit talking about his mother, and he should have stopped there.

Fujiwara returned with the clean curry pot.

"Thank you for dinner," he bowed his head and handed over the pot.

"You're welcome. Look, Fujiwara-san, I—"

Fujiwara was already standing by the stairs, silently convicting him. Haru gulped self-consciously, bowed, and ran down to the foyer. He tried to say "Good night," but received no reply, so he went straight home, red-faced.

In his room, before closing the curtains, he took a glimpse at the room across the street. Fujiwara was retrieving something from storage, a large cardboard box. He strolled downstairs, went to the trash collection spot, and discarded the box. As he walked home, he looked up at Haru's window, making him startled. He switched off the desk lamp and jumped into bed, hoping anxiously that the neighbor wouldn't caught him off red handed.

He couldn't sleep. His mind pondering on their conversation before. It felt awkward but honest—he couldn't quite describe it. Did Fujiwara dismiss him forever? He had no idea.

He stayed in bed for some time until he heard Nishii-san returned from work. Promising himself that this would be the last time, he crept up and peered through the curtains, only to find that the light in the neighbor's room was off.

Without explanation, Fujiwara had stopped work on the secret project.