[Short-Short Story] The Worn-Out Handkerchief

At the crosswalk in front of the station, something white flipped up in the wind.

At first, I thought it was a receipt.
But it was a handkerchief, neatly folded into a square.

I looked up as I reached down to pick it up.

I did it to identify the person who dropped it.
—And, I was hoping just a little bit.

I hoped it would be a young woman.

Like in a drama, she might smile and say, "Thank you," and a brief conversation would spark. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was imagining such a convenient scene.

However, the person who turned around a few steps ahead was a middle-aged man in a tired-looking suit.

"Oh, that's mine."

The moment I heard that voice, I clearly felt a small sense of disappointment arise deep in my chest.

—Oh, it's just an old guy.

As I handed it to him, I couldn't help but think that somewhere in my heart.

At that moment, the man smiled, looking a little embarrassed.

"Sorry about that. I drop this thing all the time."

In the hand I held out, the handkerchief felt softer than I had expected.
The edges were frayed, and the color had faded a bit.

It was far from new.

But, strangely, the weight of the time that couldn't be thrown away was there.

"You see, I got this from someone I used to date a long time ago. For our two-week anniversary, of all things."

The man started talking, even though I hadn't asked.

"My sales job wasn't going well at all. It was back when I was constantly getting scolded. But when I carry this, I feel like I can somehow keep trying."

He unfolded the handkerchief while laughing.

A small stain. Frayed threads. Traces of having been washed many times.

"It's already falling apart, you know. But somehow, I just can't bring myself to throw it away."

When I heard those words, I felt a little ashamed of how I had been feeling just moments before.

Wishing it had been a young woman's handkerchief, of all things.

The scrap of cloth before me was soaked with the time spent with someone, the days that didn't go well, and a life that had continued on regardless.

The handkerchief was not just a piece of cloth.

It was like proof of the life this person had lived.

"Thank you very much."

The older man bowed deeply and walked back into the crowd.

Watching his back as he left, I thought to myself.

It is easy to determine value based on things like whether something is dirty or old.

But that is surely someone's way of life.

The next time I pick something up, I want to be the kind of person who can imagine the time that lies beyond it.