The Scent of Sunday [1000-Character Novel #010]

"I love you."

I sat with her on a square bench on the Toyohira River riverbed under the Munich Bridge and confessed my feelings. I wonder if she noticed I said it George Orwell-style.

"Thanks."

She gave a noncommittal reply, with an attitude that could almost be described as "oh boy, here we go." After a long silence, she asked.

"By the way, which part?"

I perked up, thinking, (Oh, this is one that appeared in the Shinken Zemi prep course). It was a question I had anticipated.

"The fact that our sense of humor is similar."

"Is it?"

Strong. That was a strong denial.

When we're at karaoke, there are sometimes songs where the percussion is a bit off or the volume is wrong, and you hold back your laughter, right? I do too. I think we're very similar in that way.

The foundation of "having a similar sense of humor," which men and women use to gauge compatibility, was wobbling, and I felt uneasy. It's okay. I have one more special one waiting in reserve.

"I feel at ease when I'm with you."

She glanced at me gently, as if I were someone far away. What? Do you have a complaint about this ultimate compliment?

"When I'm with you, my feelings loosen up and my head goes blank. Somehow, you naturally make me feel like something good is going to happen. Like a sunny day with no plans, wondering what to do today."

"Like a Sunday?" She said, however, with the lack of energy of a Wednesday.

"Yes!"

"...That's probably because of this of mine."

She held out her left wrist and told me to smell it.

I smelled it. Instantly, dazzling, irreplaceable scenes flashed back one after another: the strangely soft and moist feeling of a futon on a Sunday, toasted bread, a bookstore on a Sunday, the light streaming into a train heading out on a Sunday trip...

"W-w-what is this?"

"A perfume called 'The Scent of Sunday.' Ever since I started wearing this, for the same reason as you, I've been getting confessed to more often. This is the fourth person."

"No way... Is it one of those old pheromone perfumes?"

"Take it back with you and think it over again."

I was at a loss, and with a rustle, I opened the Mister Donut paper bag that I had bought but hadn't been able to give to her.

"Aren't you going to eat?" I stared at the fun character-collaboration donut, wondering where to take the first bite. She was a basic chocolate donut, one that had been around forever but that I had never tried.

"Right here."
She stroked the weathered edge of the square bench.

"Sometimes, there's an old guy lying there naked, sunbathing, right?"

"Yeah, that's true. Shall we go over there?"
I pointed to the concrete stepped embankment.

"Why don't we go over there instead?"
She wanted to get closer to the river.

I wonder if all the joy of today is because it's Sunday.