You Were the Witness to My Life

Mio has someone she contacts only twice a year.
That person is neither a lover nor a friend.
Yet, they were someone who knew the milestones of her life better than her husband did.

*Part 1: A Meeting on a Rainy Day*

[Chapter 1: Makoto's Birthday]

In the morning, the sound of rain reached my ears before the alarm clock rang.
Beyond the curtains, rain like thin threads was falling incessantly.
"…Rain, huh."
Mio slowly sat up.
Since entering her 50s, the morning stiffness in her joints had increased just a little.
However, she accepted that as part of her daily life.

She stood in the kitchen and boiled water.
Her husband had already left for work, and the house was quiet.
Her daughter had also moved out, and there were few signs of life left in the house.

The living room, which had become more spacious, felt even emptier on rainy days.
As she poured coffee into a mug, her eyes suddenly went to her smartphone.
The screen remained face down.

This season was approaching again.
When Makoto's birthday draws near, my heart still feels restless.
"Today is… 50, huh."
When she said it out loud, a faint heat rose deep in her chest.
She thought she had stopped counting Makoto's age altogether.
But she just couldn't forget his birthday.

She stood by the window with her coffee.
Raindrops traced the glass, slowly changing shape as they fell.

Watching their path with her eyes, Mio wondered.
How many years had it been since it rained on Makoto's birthday?
While preparing for work, Mio stood in front of the mirror.
She fixed her hair and applied light makeup. Not that she was showing it to anyone.

Yet, there was a part of her that carefully prepared her skin only on Makoto's birthday.
"…I really am stubborn, aren't I?"
She gave a small, bitter smile at herself in the mirror. She wasn't going to see Makoto.

Even though she would never see his face again for the rest of her life, only on this day did she want to reclaim a little bit of who she was back then.
It was less an obsession with youth and more like a modest ritual.

She started the car engine to head to work.
Her smartphone caught the corner of her eye.
Even though she tried not to touch it, her fingertips reached out on their own.

Only on his birthday did she want to confirm that he was still doing well.
It was not love, nor was it obsession, but something more ambiguous, quieter, and deeper.

Mio took a deep breath.
"…Just sending it. As always."
Telling herself that, she picked up her smartphone.
"Happy birthday."
One stamp.

The moment she pressed the send button, she was struck by the sensation of body heat draining from her fingertips.
It happened every year, but she never got used to it. And, after a short pause,
"Welcome to your 50s (lol)"
She turned the screen face down, placed it on the passenger seat, and drove the car.

Even though she decided not to look,
every time the traffic light changed, her gaze was drawn to it.
The rain was still falling.

The wipers cleared the rain with a steady rhythm.
That sound overlapped with the sound of rain from 20 years ago.

Makoto's voice, the temperature inside the car, the silence of that time.
She didn't want to remember, but on rainy days, she couldn't help but remember.
As if quietly tethering the past to the present.

[Chapter 2: The Meeting 20 Years Ago]

20 years ago, the day Mio and Makoto met, it was surely raining like this.
Everything started from there.

The November rain left a chill on my skin the moment it touched me.
Every time the wipers moved, my vision blurred, and only the sound of the rain remained inside the car.
When I opened the office door, the air felt heavier than usual.
The smell of coffee, the dampness of wet coats, the low hum of the copier.

"We have a new person joining us today."
My back straightened at the announcement during the morning meeting.
"I'm Makoto. It's a pleasure to meet you all."
It was a low, resonant voice.

The moment I looked up, I felt our gazes collide.
He was tall. And close.
From the gaps in his short-cropped hair, I caught a scent that didn't belong in Mio's daily life.

The ring finger of his left hand reflected the fluorescent light.
A ring.
For some reason, that was the only thing that remained strangely etched in my mind.

"I'm Mio. It's a pleasure to meet you."
My own voice reached my ears a beat late.
Mio also wore a ring in the same spot on her finger.
But unlike Makoto's, it was dull, as if it were absorbing the light.

Even after that, we hardly spoke.
Mio faced her computer, and only her fingertips tapping the keyboard were terribly busy.

Every time Makoto answered the phone, his voice changed.
"Thank you very much."
"Yes, regarding that matter. I will be in touch again."
There was a hint of laughter in his tone.

Every time I heard that voice, I felt an unsettling sensation, as if something deep in my chest were trembling. But I didn't know why.

During lunch break, as I was brewing coffee in the pantry, I heard footsteps behind me.
"Good work today."
It was Makoto's voice. When I turned around, he was smiling, looking slightly embarrassed.

That smile was as soft as light on a rainy day.
"...Good work to you too."
Mio gripped the cup in her hand just a little tighter.

I didn't want him to realize that I had reacted to Makoto's smile.
A conversation of only a few seconds.
Even though it was just that, Mio found herself remembering that smile many times throughout the afternoon's work.

A month had passed since Makoto came to the office.
By the time the scent of rain faded and the air turned cold, the restlessness inside Mio had become a part of her daily routine.

Makoto didn't close the distance more than necessary.
However, he didn't move away more than necessary either.

During lunch break, when I was brewing coffee in the pantry, I could sense Makoto entering.
I had come to know it without even turning around.
"Good work today."

That voice was always just a little softer. It was different from the voice he used for anyone else.
He showed a vulnerability to Mio that he didn't show to others.

Mio pretended not to notice that difference.

[Chapter 3: The Year-End Party and the Premonition of a Beginning]

The second round of the year-end party.
The lounge lighting was dim, and only the rims of the glasses shone white.
The sweetness and bitterness of the alcohol I was tasting for the first time.
Every time it passed through my throat, the depths of my body relaxed.
"This is delicious."
A glass was offered to me.
Should I avoid the spot where Makoto had touched his lips, or should I trace it?

The hesitation lasted only an instant, and the heat of the alcohol passing through my throat began to numb my thoughts.
"So you can drink."
Beside me, a low vibration struck my eardrums.

Amidst the commotion, it was a voice that seemed to possess a different density.
"Well, yes."
Mio tilted her glass, wore a look of composure befitting someone older, and gave a soft laugh.

Talk of work, someone's failure stories, plans for the winter holidays.
Intermingled laughter and the dry sound of ice melting and hitting the glass.

In the heated air, we were just colleagues, properly consuming a lively time.
"Good work today."
"Have a happy new year."

The sound of the closing door serves as a signal, and the night's chill slips into the gaps of my coat.

The frenzy from just a few minutes ago has frozen white, as if it were a lie.
The taxi's leather seat is cool and firm.
Outside the window, the asphalt after the rain reflects the streetlights, flowing like a black river.

While staring outside, a sound suddenly bounced deep within my ears.
“So you can drink.”
Beside me, a low vibration struck my eardrum.

What we talked about was already beyond the fog.
However, the texture of that voice alone does not fade.
The habit of his voice dropping slightly when he says a name.
A deep, quiet resonance that seems to reach the depths of my lungs.

In the dark car, the light of a streetlight shines on my left hand resting on my lap.
Mio's ring, as expected, absorbs the light and remains in silence.
Behind my eyelids, the nape of his neck and his clean scent crossed my mind.

Just a year-end party. Just a voice.
Even so, every time the taxi turned a corner, it felt as if only Mio's body temperature was being left behind in the night, little by little.

Makoto's invitations had increased little by little as the seasons turned.
“Shall we talk for a bit on the way home?”
“How about we grab lunch sometime?”
“It’s fine if you can’t.”
All of them were phrased in a way that left an escape route.

There was never any forcefulness.
Mio was saved by that kindness, but at the same time, she suffered.
There were plenty of reasons to refuse.

Family matters, work, health. These were not lies.
However, there was another, true reason.

If we were to meet, my emotions would crumble like a sandcastle.
That premonition was always stuck in the back of my throat like a cold thorn.

[Chapter 4: The Birthday Promise]

Mio's birthday.
I had been restless since the morning.
There is no way Makoto could know.
Even while thinking that, I found myself opening the screen over and over again.

In the early afternoon, a short notification arrived.
“Happy birthday.”
Just that.
Even though it was just that, the corners of my vision blurred, losing their outline.

That evening, while I was washing my coffee cup in the pantry, Makoto said,
“How about some light pasta at the shopping mall?
It’s fine if it’s just lunch with a coworker, right?”

The way he said it was craftily exquisite.
It wasn't a special invitation; it maintained the form of just a lunch between colleagues.

Mio hesitated for just a fleeting moment.
That moment pushed out all the wavering I had felt until then.
“...Okay.”
My own voice was trembling slightly.

I took a paid day off on the day we promised to have lunch.
In the morning, Mio carefully styled her hair in front of the mirror, more than usual.
My hand stopped many times while choosing clothes.
“...Where are you trying to go?”
Even when I asked myself in the mirror, no answer came back.

A precarious sense of floating, as if my feet were just a few centimeters off the ground from the role of a good wife and wise mother. More than guilt, I could only be bewildered by the trembling of my heart that I couldn't even control myself.

The shopping mall parking lot.
Cars parked separately.
The moment I saw Makoto walking toward me,
Mio's heart jumped harder than she had expected.
“Thank you for coming.”
Makoto relaxed his mouth, looking shy.

It wasn't raining.
However, deep inside Mio's chest,
something had quietly, surely, begun to fall.

Amidst the bustle of the food court, the cold pasta placed in front of me.
I had always thought pasta was something served warm.
So, things like this happen too.

For some reason, that trivial discovery remained in my heart.
Because of my nervousness, I barely remember the taste.
Only the cool sensation as it went down my throat remained in my memory.

We went our separate ways after the meal.
Makoto went to the movie theater, and Mio browsed the shops.
We couldn't walk together.
We met back at the parking lot at the agreed time.
It was still too early to go home.

I knew we were both thinking the same thing.
"Do you want to talk in the car for a bit?"
With those words, the world tilted quietly.

In the passenger seat of Makoto's car.
A place I was sitting in for the first time.
The sound of the door closing echoed louder than I expected.
Just the two of us. A space with no escape. The engine was not running.
Our breathing was close, and the silence was tense.

When we first met at the office, his hair had a different scent than mine, but this passenger seat was surprisingly odorless, as if it had blended with my own scent.
Mio was secretly surprised by that.

Makoto didn't look at me, but I felt like I was being watched.
An invisible gaze pierced Mio's heart.
Mio kept looking forward and gripped her hands tightly on the seat.
We weren't touching. We weren't doing anything.
Yet, deep inside my body, I was clearly reacting.

I thought it was an adult romance.
That was precisely why I felt like I was going to forget how to breathe, due to an unfathomable premonition that if we went any further, we would sink into a deep place where no light could reach.

A nameless tension flowed through the car. Only the sound of the second hand was strangely loud.
Makoto took a slow breath.
Just from that sign, Mio slowly closed her eyes.

[Chapter 5: Company Trip and Mobile Phones]

On the morning of the company trip, the bus heading to the meeting point was strangely noisy.
Even my usually calm colleagues were a bit restless when it came to traveling.
Mio sat in a window seat, gazing blankly at the scenery outside.

Makoto boarded a little late.
Even though I tried not to make eye contact,
I had come to know the moment he boarded just by the change in the air.

Makoto walked past Mio and sat in a seat a few rows back.
The distance was neither too close nor too far.
However, Makoto's presence was clearly felt on Mio's back.

When we arrived at the ropeway station, it was crowded with tourists.
Pushed into a narrow gondola, Mio naturally ended up standing right in front of Makoto.
Every time it swayed, Makoto's body heat touched my back.

Makoto stretched his arms to the handrail right behind Mio,
creating a small space between us and the other passengers.
He wasn't pulling me close. He wasn't touching me.
It was just a distance that seemed to gently protect me so I wouldn't be crushed.

"…It's crowded, isn't it."
The voice dropped by my ear disturbed Mio's breathing more than the swaying of the ropeway.
When I looked up, Makoto was watching the fog outside the window.
If I moved, this distance would end.

If I stepped away, I could pretend nothing had happened.
Even so, Mio didn't move.
That was the small answer Mio had come up with.

Even while touring the sightseeing spots, without touching, yet surely, something was flowing between us. Makoto walked at Mio's pace.

When we were about to get separated in the crowd, instead of calling out, he reached his hand out near Mio's shoulder for just a fleeting moment. Not touching. But a distance that felt like being touched.
Mio's heart fluttered every time.

At night, after the banquet ended, in the hallway of the inn where the presence of people had faded.
Makoto was standing under the white light of the vending machine.

As I approached, Makoto said nothing and held out his mobile phone.
“Could you... hold onto this for me?”
“Huh?”
“Just because. You can give it back to me tomorrow.”
He gave no reason. He offered no explanation.

Yet, that small machine, a part of Makoto’s life, lay defenseless before Mio.
To accept it or to refuse it. It was always Mio who had to choose.
“...I suppose it would be a problem if you got drunk and lost it.”
Mio accepted it, wearing the mask of composure that came with being older.

Back in her room, after turning off the lights.
Under the covers, Mio kept staring at that black lump.
If she wanted to open it, she could at any time.
Makoto’s daily life, his secrets—she could peek at them with a single fingertip. Was this trust?
Or was it a chain meant to keep her from escaping?

While she remained unsure, the mobile phone vibrated once, briefly.
She didn't know if it was a call or a notification.
But that vibration traveled directly from her palm to her heart.
Mio closed her eyes.

—I want to ask.
Why did you leave your phone with me? But she couldn't ask.
She felt that the moment she put the question into words, this quiet relationship would take on a definitive shape.
She was more afraid than anything of giving Makoto an escape route by saying, “That’s not what I meant.”

[Chapter 6: The Kiss in the Pantry - Deepening the Relationship]

The week after returning from the trip, the workplace had returned to its usual atmosphere.
The sound of the copier, the ringing of phones, someone’s laughter.
All of it felt strangely distant.

Mio tried not to meet Makoto’s eyes.
Makoto, too, did not come closer than necessary.
But just being in the same space made her heart flutter.
—The weight of the phone that night.
—The body heat that remained in her palm.
—The question she couldn't ask.
These things throbbed quietly within her daily life.

In the afternoon, after the lunch break had ended,
Mio was washing a coffee cup in the pantry.
The sound of water falling from the faucet echoed loudly.

Behind her, the sound of the door opening. She knew without turning around. It was Makoto.
“It’s hot outside.”
His voice was a little stiffer than usual.

Humid air flowed in, as if he had brought the heat from outside with him.
Mio headed toward the refrigerator,
intending to take out a bottle of iced coffee.

Even though her movements were the same as always,
for some reason, Mio’s heart would not settle.
“Do you want some iced coffee?”
The moment Mio turned around, arms wrapped around her back.
Mio gasped.

It wasn't a strong embrace. She could have escaped if she wanted to.
Yet, her body wouldn't move. Makoto’s body heat transferred to her entire being.

The scent of sweat mixed with the summer air and enveloped Mio.
“...Mio-san.”
He hadn't called her name, but she felt as if he had.

Mio’s heart tried to catch up to the rhythm of Makoto’s breathing.
“...No.”
She tried to say that.
If she said it, everything would return to how it was. If she didn't, she wouldn't be able to go back.

During that moment of hesitation, Makoto’s lips touched hers.
It was neither deep nor long.
A kiss that was like a confirmation, like a hesitation,
so light she couldn't tell if they had truly touched.

Even so, Mio’s knees trembled slightly.
She realized that even her heart had been touched.
Makoto was trembling too. The strength in his arms increased just a little.

Makoto said nothing either.
He knew that the moment they exchanged words, this silence would break.
“...I’m going back now,”
Mio said in a raspy voice.
“...Yeah.”
Makoto’s voice was trembling in the same way.

When she returned to her seat, the usual scenery spread out before her.
The computer screen, the piles of documents, the conversations of her colleagues.
Everything should have been routine, but only Mio’s fingertips were still hot.

Every time I strike the keyboard, the sensation from earlier comes back.
Makoto is sitting a few rows away.
He is working as if nothing happened.
But Mio knows.
—There is no going back now.
That conviction alone kept ringing quietly deep in her chest.

From that day on, the two of them began meeting after work sometimes.
A large parking lot. A car parked next to hers. That was the signal.

She would get into the passenger seat of Makoto's car and they would talk about trivial things.
"How is your daughter doing lately?"
Makoto asked one day.
"She's become quite a chatterbox."
Mio smiles.
"But she's cute."
"I know."
Makoto smiled too.
"Because you always look so happy when you talk about her."
Mio was silent for a moment.

For some reason, she could talk to Makoto about things she couldn't tell her husband or friends.
Things about school. Anxiety about the future. Makoto never interrupted.
He just listened. That felt comfortable.
They also talked about work. Projects that failed. Subordinates.
Complaints about their bosses.
These were things she couldn't talk about at home.
The time was short. Even so, she could breathe easier inside the car.

Occasionally, Makoto's cell phone would ring.
Every time she saw his profile as he returned to his work face, Mio thought:
This person lives a full life in places I don't know.
As a husband. As a professional.
She had fallen in love with that side of him too.
That was why it was painful. That was why she couldn't let go.

She wanted to cherish this time. Even a little longer...
The time when she got out of the car was always short.
"See you."
"Yeah."
That was all.

Lingering on the aftertaste, she would return to her designated spot.
Before starting the engine, they would always look at each other and wave just once.
And then, she would take a deep breath.

How long would this time be allowed?
While trying not to think about it.

*Part 2: Parting and Beginning*

[Chapter 7: Collapse - The Wife Finds Out]

No matter where she was, her feelings and her body were slightly out of sync.
Makoto's wife did not overlook that sense of unease.
Whether she was questioned or just noticed, the details were unclear.
But it was clear that the escape route had been blocked.

Have Mio come.
If she doesn't come, I will go to Mio's house.

That was the message from Makoto. Inside the car where they met in the parking lot.
Even though the engine was running, the air was frozen.
The blood had drained from Makoto's face.
"...I'm sorry."
That was all. No excuses, no explanations. That one word was everything.
His hands gripping the steering wheel were trembling.
Mio kept looking forward and steadied her breathing. The two of them were being forced to make a choice.

"...Let's go somewhere, just the two of us."

Makoto said in a small voice. Words that offered an escape route.
That kindness he had offered her so many times before.
Was he serious, or was it just an escape? Mio's heart wavered.
An unknown land. A place where no one knew them. The choice to throw away everything she had now.
For just a moment, she imagined it.

But the answer was already decided.
"...I can't."
Mio's voice was quieter than she expected.
Makoto said nothing. He just looked at Mio for a brief moment.
In that gaze, she could see the presence of the young daughter he always spoke of so lovingly.

As if he had realized everything, Makoto closed his eyes and exhaled deeply.
He understood that what Mio was trying to protect was not a future with him, but a small life.
That was enough.

The car headed toward Makoto's house.
Beyond the windshield, it was raining again that day.
The familiar residential area drew closer.
Mio unlocked the door herself.
A dry click echoed inside the car.
There was nowhere to run to from the very beginning.

[Chapter 8: Parting and Resignation]

Mio appeared at the office for a few days to complete her resignation procedures and hand over her work.
When she sat at her desk, the scenery that had been normal until yesterday lost its reality, like a set from an old movie.
The sound of phones, the sound of typing on keyboards, the laughter of her colleagues.
All of it felt far away.

Makoto sat a few rows away. We never once made eye contact.
Just seeing him made Mio's heart tighten.
The sound of him getting up from his seat, the rustle of papers—everything reached her with a heat that stung her skin.
"Due to personal reasons, it's sudden, but..."
That was what he kept repeating to his colleagues.
The resignation letter was received in a heavy, oppressive silence.
That was supposed to be the final proof that Mio had been in this place.

While packing up to leave, she found herself alone in the inescapable pantry.
She felt someone's presence behind her.
Even without turning around, she felt the air tremble.
Makoto's footsteps. Makoto's scent.
"I'm quitting, too."
A small, desperate voice. The weight of the self-reproach Makoto was carrying was transparent.

Mio slowly turned off the faucet. The sound of the water vanished, and silence enveloped them both.
"Please, don't quit."
Mio turned around and looked straight at Makoto for the first time.
Makoto's eyes were terribly clouded and wavering.

"Become successful here. Go as high as you can, so no one can say anything against you."
"How can I..."
"Please."
Mio took a step forward. A tense atmosphere hung between them.

"Stay here and thrive."
Every time your name is called... I want you to remember us.
Don't let the fact that we were here be treated as if it never happened."

It was a wish too sharp to be called a prayer, and too earnest to be called a curse.

If Makoto quit the company, the connection between them would vanish completely.
From everyone's memory, their time together would be processed as 'having never happened.' But as long as Makoto remained in this place, the trace of Mio's presence would not disappear every time he walked through this office.
The inescapable pantry, the hallway where they exchanged words, the warmth of their secretly joined hands.
To carve those into Makoto's life.
That was Mio's final and greatest act of selfishness.

Makoto replied with a voice that sounded like it was being squeezed out,
"I understand."
That word was driven between them like a wedge.

That became the last promise they exchanged.
Packing her final belongings, Mio left the office.
The person reflected in the elevator mirror was surprisingly expressionless.
In a place with no escape, Mio chose a new solitude.

On the day of her resignation, a few days later.
Inside her car parked in the lot, Mio opened her mobile phone's address book with trembling fingers.
She selected the characters for 'Makoto' and pressed the delete button.
"…!"
The back of her throat grew hot.

It was completely different from the trembling she felt when she told Makoto 'it's impossible' that day.
It was the pain of forcibly and permanently stripping the existence of Makoto from Mio's life.
To think that such a large hole could open in a place where there should have been nothing.

Mio pressed her forehead against the steering wheel, and while enveloped in the sound of the rain, she could not stop the overflowing tears from running coldly down her cheeks.

That night, even after Makoto returned home, he couldn't get out of the car for a while.
The hand resting on the steering wheel was trembling slightly.
Mio's voice saying 'it's impossible' echoed in the back of his ears over and over.
He knew it wasn't a rejection.
Even so, somewhere in his chest, something was slowly sinking.

The lights of the house were flickering in the window. His wife's presence was definitely there.
Makoto understood better than anyone that there were things he had to protect.
That was precisely why he couldn't blame Mio for her choice.
It just hurt, quietly.

He was a man who had no choice but to accept a future where he would disappear from Mio's life.
A man who had to keep staying at a company where Mio was no longer present.
A man who had to face his wife.
Thinking about what was to come, his heart felt heavy, and he couldn't move for a while.

[Chapter 9: Mio, A New Day]

For a while after resigning, there was no time to stop and think.
Searching for a new job, writing resumes, going to interviews.
Learning unfamiliar work and building new human relationships.

In the morning, she would send her daughter off and head to work. When she returned, dinner preparations were waiting.
By the time the day ended, she had no energy left to think.
I think that was for the best.
If she looked back, she would have to admit that she had left herself behind in that heat. If she remembered, she would stop in her tracks.
That was why Mio was desperate to focus on the daily life right in front of her.

A few years after resigning, her daughter was in the sixth grade of elementary school.
Before entering her rebellious phase, she had become a little precocious and a little cheeky.
"Mom, that's wrong."
"What is?"
"The way you just said that."
She would talk back with a tone that could rival an adult's.
She wondered who she took after. Probably herself.
"Yes, yes."
When she replied like that,
"You only say 'yes' once."
She would reply back. She couldn't help but laugh.
There were more and more times she couldn't win with words.
However, when Mio returned from work,
She would say 'Welcome home' and talk as if she had been waiting.
About her friends. About her teacher. About the boy she liked.
She would come home with a different topic every day.
That small world was precious to her.

She also did many extracurricular activities.
She had work, but she did her best to handle the drop-offs and pick-ups.
Calligraphy. Cram school. Swimming sometimes.
The car was always lively.
The stories that started with 'Today, you know...' never seemed to end.

I listen while shopping for dinner, listen while folding laundry, and listen while helping with homework. Before I know it, the day is over. I was busy. I was truly busy.
Yet, strangely, I also felt fulfilled.

On holidays, we went out as a family.
The three of us—my husband, my daughter, and I—would eat out or go shopping.
There was nothing special about it. We laughed together and we fought, too.
But that ordinariness felt comfortable.
I want to protect this life. The moments I felt that way were increasing.

The seasons turn quietly.
My daughter took off her school backpack, her rebellious phase began in earnest, and I struggled with parenting.

Little by little, I found my place at my new job and settled in.
There were days I didn't think of Makoto. Days. Weeks.
Perhaps even months. That is how hectic every day was.
So, I thought, surely I would be fine.
Time properly moves people forward. Even what is lost eventually becomes the past.
I believed that. Until it rained.

One evening.
As I was driving to pick up my daughter, raindrops fell onto the windshield. The wipers moved. They cleared the rain in a steady rhythm.
It was the moment I heard that sound.

Without any warning, Makoto's face appeared. It was startlingly vivid.
It wasn't that I had forgotten. It hadn't disappeared, either.
It had simply sunk quietly into the depths of my busyness.
I look up at the sky while waiting at a red light. Gray clouds. Flowing rain.
There is no one in the passenger seat. But deep in my chest, it was a little noisy.
The light turns green. Mio exhales softly and steps on the accelerator.
I have to go pick her up. My daughter is waiting.

For the current me, that was far more important.

[Chapter 10: A Single Business Card]

Several years had passed since I quit my job, and my daughter had become a middle schooler.
While I went through my daily routine, I found myself chasing the shadow of the 'extraordinary' somewhere.
Only the numbers on the calendar passed by, leaving Mio behind.

It happened while I was organizing the back of the closet during a seasonal change of clothes.
Mio sat down on the cold floor and pulled out a handbag she recognized.
An old bag she hadn't used in years, worn and dirty in places.
Thinking of throwing it away, she reached into the pocket just in case, and her fingertips touched the feel of stiff paper.

When she took it out, it was a business card.
Inside the worn and dirty bag, it alone remained surprisingly pristine, without a single crease. The company logo she recognized. And Makoto's name.
She traces her memories.

That's right, that year-end party. The last winter we were still together.
In the corner of a noisy izakaya, he had quietly taken it from his own card case, and without letting anyone else touch it,
'This is mine. Just keep it for now,' he said,
with a mischievous smile, as he slipped it into Mio's bag.

An inner pocket she hadn't opened even once since that day.
On the day I resigned, I deleted all digital data.
But this single piece of analog paper had survived, still holding the warmth of Makoto from that time.

Mio reached for her smartphone as if drawn to it.
What if Makoto had changed his number?
What if he had forgotten about Mio?
If there is no response, that is the answer.
If it doesn't connect, I can just become a stranger. That's fine.

I will throw this card away and finally end it for real this time.
With trembling fingers, I type in the numbers written on the card.
And then I delete them. I repeat this a few times. The room is silent, but my heart is noisy.

A single word,
'How are you?'
I didn't have the courage to send that. Instead, I sent just one photo of the business card.
The moment I pressed the send button for the message, the sound of the rain vanished. A heartbeat.
Deep inside my body, that alone was violently heavy and fast, shaking my skull.
The silence was as quiet as the deep sea.

A few days later.
Mio's smartphone, which she had almost given up on, vibrated briefly.
'How are you?'
Just two characters.
But the moment she saw those characters, Mio's heart leaped.

Makoto is still there. That alone was enough.
Truly, that alone was enough. Mio thought for a moment before replying.
'I'm well.'
After sending it, the room became quiet again.

It didn't mean something had started. It didn't mean the lost time would return.
It didn't mean we had promised to meet. Even so, I felt strangely at peace.

I felt as though a life that should never have crossed paths again had been connected by a mere thin thread.

[Chapter 11: The Beginning of Birthday Messages]

It was Mio's birthday. There were no special plans from the morning.
Her husband went to work, and her daughter went to school. It was a day like any other.

As the years went by, birthdays had become days that passed quietly rather than days to be celebrated. A few months ago, she had found a business card in the back of a closet.
Back then, they had exchanged a few brief messages, and that was it.

It was in the evening, when she had returned from shopping and was putting away groceries in the refrigerator.
The smartphone left on the table vibrated.
She picked it up casually. And then, Mio stopped moving.

It was Makoto.
The message displayed was short.
"Happy birthday"
That was all.
Even though it was just that, her heart felt as if it were melting without a sound.
He remembered. Even though they hadn't met. No matter how far apart they were.
Makoto remembered Mio's birthday.

Mio stared at the screen for a while. No long words came to mind.
Even if they did, she couldn't send them. She typed slowly with her fingertips.
"Thank you"
She sent it. She thought that was the end of it. A few minutes later, another notification arrived.
"It's hot, isn't it?"
She couldn't help but smile.

Outside the window, cicadas were chirping. It was a midsummer evening.
Mio thought for a moment before replying.
"Yes, it is."
That was all.

They didn't ask about their current lives. They didn't talk about their families.
They didn't say they wanted to meet. They didn't touch upon those days either.
However, strangely, she didn't feel lonely.

That autumn.
On Makoto's birthday, Mio sent a message.
"Happy birthday"
After a while, a reply arrived.
"Thank you"
It was a short exchange.

That was when it started.
They began to send messages only on each other's birthdays.

*Part 3: Witness to Life*

[Chapter 12: Makoto Becomes a Father]

Makoto's child was born on a rainy morning, a little earlier than the due date.
The hospital corridor was quiet, and only the white walls seemed to continue forever.
Makoto, feeling restless, clutched a coffee from the vending machine.
It should have been hot, but he couldn't really taste it.
He checked his watch repeatedly. He checked his smartphone repeatedly.
He felt a little pathetic that he could only wait for news.

Eventually, he heard the baby's cry. The door to the delivery room opened, and a nurse smiled and said,
"Congratulations."

The moment he heard those words, the strength left his entire body. He entered the room as guided. A small bed.
Inside it was a life much smaller than he had imagined.
The face was red, and the eyes were still closed.
Perhaps tired from crying, it was breathing quietly in its sleep.
Makoto peered in cautiously. It was his child.
That fact didn't sink in immediately.

His wife smiled with a tired face.
"Do you want to hold it?"
Makoto shook his head. He was afraid. He felt like he might break it.
But urged by the nurse, he awkwardly stretched out his arms.
The life that settled into his arms was surprisingly light.
Yet, the moment it rested on his chest, it felt incredibly heavy.

I must protect it. He thought so naturally.
Without anyone telling him. Not out of logic. He just thought so.
Small fingers moved. They touched Makoto's fingertips. Just that made his chest feel warm.
Before he knew it, he was smiling. It was the first time he had felt this way.

Rain was tapping against the hospital room window. It wasn't October.
But the sound of the rain was a little similar to that day. Makoto looked out the window.
A gray sky. Wet street trees. A landscape blurred by rain.

And, suddenly. He remembered.
Mio.
It wasn't that he wanted to see her. It wasn't that he wanted to go back.
He just remembered.

If I had made a different choice that day, I would never have met this child.
That was what I thought. A small pain shot through the depths of my chest.
But that pain was a little different from regret.
What I lost and what I gained. Both were real.
I cannot choose just one or the other.
Life must be like that, I suppose.
Makoto gazed at the child in his arms.
Small, rhythmic breathing. Soft hair. Warm body temperature. I wanted to protect them.
With all my heart.

There was no lie in that feeling.
Before leaving the hospital room, I looked out the window one last time.
It was still raining. Makoto quietly closed his eyes.
And he gently closed the lid on the memories deep within his heart as well.

On the night of my birthday that year, my smartphone vibrated.
“Happy birthday.”
It was from Mio. Makoto hesitated for a moment before replying.
“Thank you.”
And then, he typed one more line.
“A child was born.”
After sending it, I thought about deleting it. But I didn't.
A while later, a reply arrived.
“Congratulations.”
Five characters. I don't know what expression she had when she sent these words.
She didn't ask for the name, the gender, or anything else.
But that graceful blessing was more appreciated than anything else.

Makoto quietly put his smartphone in his pocket and looked out the window.
The sound of the rain was quiet.

【Chapter 13: Parting with Father】

In the spring when Mio turned 49, her kind father passed away.
Several years had passed since his illness was discovered.
From the day they received the explanation from the doctor, Mio and her family should have been preparing themselves little by little. Mio had watched by his side the whole time as his back grew thinner from the side effects of the anticancer drugs and his voice grew weaker day by day.
That was why she knew this day would come eventually.
She should have known.

And yet, the moment she received the call from the hospital, Mio's mind went blank. “Father is...”
She didn't remember much after that. She had just spoken to him yesterday.
“I'll come again.”
She had just said that and left.
And yet, he died today? Could such a thing happen?
The same words repeated over and over in her head.

Spring rain streamed down the windows of the car heading to the hospital.
Every time the wipers cleared her vision, it felt as if only reality was being thrust upon her.
That sound alone sounded strangely loud to Mio now.

When she arrived at the hospital room, her father was quietly closing his eyes.
He looked like he was sleeping.
It felt like he would open his eyes at any moment and say,
“What is it, Mio, did you come again?”
But the coldness that greeted her fingertips when she touched his cheek was that of a life after its light had gone out.
At that moment, something collapsed deep inside her chest.

Why. We were able to talk yesterday. Why today.
If you were going to die, tell me. If there was no tomorrow, tell me.
If you had, I wouldn't have left. I would have stayed longer. I would have talked more.
There were so many things I wanted to ask. About his youth.
About when he met Mother. I haven't heard anything yet.
And yet, why did you leave on your own?

She knew it was a childish way of thinking. People die someday.
Her father was ill. She knew that.
Even so, somewhere in her heart, she felt like she would be able to see him next week, next month, as a matter of course. That was why she couldn't accept it.

On the day of the funeral, Mio cried. She bowed her head many times.
She said “Thank you” many times.
But she hardly remembered what she had said. Her tears wouldn't stop.
Only the scent of incense remained on her clothes and hair.

A few days later, in the empty family home, Mio sat alone.
The chair her father always sat in. His half-used glasses.
Everything was just as it was.
It was so unchanged that it felt like her father might come out from the back of the room at any moment.
And yet, only her father was gone.
That was the only fact she couldn't accept.
Mio placed her hand on her father's chair. Tears spilled out again.

I should have visited more. I should have talked more.
I should have been kinder. Such regrets kept surfacing.
And deep within that regret was another emotion.
It was a feeling akin to anger.
Why did you leave so soon?
Why did you leave me behind? Why didn't you say anything?
She knew no answer would come back.
Even so, her heart kept asking.

It was raining outside the window.
Mio gently touched her father's glasses on the desk.
All that reached her fingertips was the hard coldness of the lenses.

【Chapter 14: Makoto's Promotion】

Time passed faster than he had thought.
Before he knew it, Makoto had become a chief and then a section manager.
From that time on, Makoto's work changed little by little.

He spent more time moving people than producing results himself.
Receiving reports of subordinates' failures.
Facing harsh words from business partners.
When he was young, it would have been faster to handle it himself.
But now it was different. Makoto didn't give the answers. Instead, he returned with questions.
“What do you think?”
His subordinates were confused at first.
Even so, they gradually began to think for themselves.

Makoto became known for being good at nurturing people.
He had no such awareness himself.
He just wanted to be the kind of boss he had wanted when he was young.
He never imagined this when he was young. He never thought about wanting to get promoted.
He was just finishing the work in front of him.
Even so, before he knew it, he had come this far.

Every time his title changed, the position of his desk changed.
The scenery he saw also changed little by little.

The day I received the notice of my promotion.
When I returned home, my wife had prepared a modest feast.
“Congratulations.”
She smiled, looking a bit shy.
My child clapped their hands, too. They were still such small hands.
Makoto smiled and thanked them. He felt happy.
There were things he wanted to protect, and a place to return to.
That was, without a doubt, the life he had chosen.

However.
The night I received my new business card.
Alone in my study, staring at that card, I suddenly remembered.

The pantry that day. The sound of water dripping from the faucet. The dim fluorescent light.
Mio's voice.
“Become someone great here.”
It was a raspy voice. But I remember it with strange clarity.
“Go high enough that no one can complain.”
Was that a wish? Or was it a punishment?
I still don't know.

From that day when Mio bound me with the words “become someone great here,” I never once tried to run away from this place. No, I couldn't run away.
When morning came, I fought in an office where Mio wasn't, and when night came, I returned to the home where my wife waited.
In a daily life with no escape, the thing that supported me was, ironically, those words Mio had left behind.

Those words remained inside Makoto. He remembered them every time he was promoted.
Even when surrounded by subordinates. Even when entrusted with major projects.
Each time, he wondered what Mio would say if she were watching.
Would she be happy? Would she be unimpressed?
Or would she,
“You've still got a long way to go,”
would she laugh and say that?
Of course, no answer came back. We never made contact.
I never called her name. Yet, it was strange.
Every time I stood at a turning point in my life, I felt the presence of Mio, who shouldn't have been there.

The view from the conference room window has changed quite a bit from the old days. More buildings have gone up.
The employees who were young have become managers, and the ones who were new recruits are starting to have families of their own. Yet, for some reason, I still stop at the pantry.
It has been renovated, and the coffee maker is new. The wallpaper has changed, too.
But in Makoto's memory, nothing has changed at all.
Mio is always standing there.
Her back as she washes a cup. Her face when she turned around.
And those straight, honest eyes she showed me at the end.

Every time my job title changed, I would stop by that pantry and report to her in my heart. “I made it this far, just as promised.”
It was a pain, and at the same time, it was a charm to help me live through this world honestly.

Makoto stared at the business card once more.
General Manager of Sales.
He stared quietly at the title written there.
Had he kept his promise? He suddenly wondered about that.
He didn't know the answer. But there was one thing he was certain of.
It wasn't just his own effort that had allowed him to walk this far.
The words of someone he couldn't forget had been pushing him forward the whole time.
Makoto put away the business card and turned his eyes toward the window.

It was raining.
Rain like thin threads was blurring the city lights.

【Chapter 15: Mio's Daily Life and the Witness to Life】

When rainy days continue, the silence in the house becomes a little heavier.
It has been two years since my daughter graduated from university, got a job at a company in another prefecture, and left home. She is a fine working adult now. She contacts me sometimes on her days off.
Sometimes it's an update on her life, sometimes it's complaining about work.
But we no longer see each other every day.

That day, after seeing off the car loaded with her moving boxes, Mio couldn't move from the entrance for a while.
“See you later.” My daughter smiled and waved.
It wasn't a marriage, nor was it a lifelong parting.
If I wanted to see her, I could see her anytime. And yet, I felt as if something deep in my chest had quietly come to an end.

When I opened the door to my daughter's room, it was surprisingly spacious.
Her study desk and bookshelf were still there, just as they were.
But the presence that should have been there had vanished completely.
There was no music that I would usually hear, no sweet scent of her favorite hairspray, and no socks left discarded on the floor.

Only the sound of rain falling outside the window echoed coldly in the empty room.
The laundry decreased. The contents of the refrigerator decreased. The number of plates set on the dining table decreased.
The daily life we had built up over more than 20 years was slowly changing its shape.

A life with just my husband and me.
It was by no means unhappy.
In fact, it was peaceful.
We had come to exchange words with each other more naturally than I could have ever imagined when we were young.
On our days off, we go shopping together and watch TV.
While eating steaming Neapolitan spaghetti for lunch, we talk about trivial things. Every time I blow on it and bring it to my mouth, the bottom of my stomach warms up gently.
I think we became a family over a long period of time.

But at the same time, there were moments when I wondered what would have happened if I had nodded to Makoto's words, “Let's go somewhere,” on that day.
In truth, there were words that had been on the tip of my tongue.
“I cannot take this child's father away.”

Because Mio loved Makoto, she chose the “present” that Makoto had to protect, and the “ordinary daily life” of the small life right in front of her.
People only count what they have lost. But in truth, on the path she did not choose, there are things that Mio has held tightly in her own hands.

The year my daughter's job was decided.
Mio replied to the short message from Makoto as she always did.
“Thank you.”
After thinking for a moment, she typed one more line.
“My daughter has become independent.”
After sending it, she put down her smartphone. A few minutes later.
“Congratulations.”

That was the only reply. But a little while later, another message arrived.
“Good work.”
Just six characters. Mio couldn't help but smile.

Her vision, staring at the screen, blurred with hot tears in an instant.
She gripped her smartphone tightly as if to wrap it in both hands and pulled it to her chest. Remembering what Mio had thrown away that day, and what path she had chosen to protect.

"Good work today."
That phrase was proof that Makoto alone correctly affirmed the twenty-plus years Mio had lived as a mother. It had been long. Truly, it had been so long.

To be honest, there were times I wanted to see Makoto's face as it is now with my own eyes, just once. But every time, Mio would stare at her own fingertips and hold herself back.
Once I touched him, my fingertips alone would not be enough.
We would crave each other's existence more and more.
And those ripples would mercilessly swallow the daily life that had finally calmed down after such a long time.

Makoto has the warmth of small hands he must protect.
Mio has this peaceful dining table she has quietly built up.
That is why we do not meet.
Without meeting, I simply receive the faint vibration of the fact that he is alive in the palm of my hand.

The last profile of him I saw has already faded into the corners of my memory.
The resonance of his voice and the heat of his skin have long been buried in the sands of time.

Even so, the two of us know.
About the day he became a father and felt the weight in his arms.
About the night Mio sent off a relative and chewed on her loneliness in the cold rain.
That he is carrying heavy responsibilities and fighting while bowing his head, now mixed with gray hair.

And that Mio has raised a daughter splendidly as a "mother" and is sipping tea alone in an empty room.
Knowing only the important events of each other's lives, as if crossing stepping stones placed in a dark river, the two of us have walked this far.

We could not even become husband and wife. We were not permitted to tie the bond of a family.
Even so, there is only one person in the whole world.
The joy Makoto felt when he became a father, and the pride Mio felt living as a mother—we were the ones who knew these things more deeply and more correctly than anyone else.
"Good work today."
Those six characters melt away the loneliness.

Mio's struggles that no one saw, and her tears that no one knew—Makoto alone embraced them with those short words.

Two lines that would never intersect created a knot just once, on that rainy day.
Without untying that knot, while pulling each other in opposite directions, we have lived our respective lives to the fullest.

[Chapter 16: Makoto's Birthday]

Makoto's 50th birthday.
When I was young, I thought there was some meaning to milestone ages.
30, 40. Each time, I braced myself a little.
But the morning I turned 50 was surprisingly just like any other.
I wake up before the alarm goes off. I wash my face in the sink and look in the mirror.
The wrinkles at the corners of my eyes have increased a little. I have to dye my gray hair more frequently, too.

As she set the breakfast table, my wife said,
"Happy birthday."
"Thank you."
"You've got more gray hair."
"Well, I'm 50 now, after all."
"Me too, though."
We laugh together. There is no excitement like when we were young.
But there was an atmosphere there that only people who have lived through the same time can create.
It was a peaceful exchange, typical of a couple who have been together for many years.

"Happy birthday, Dad."
"Thank you."
Makoto smiled and replied. The child had finally turned 10.

Since the child was born, time had passed surprisingly quickly.
The day they first walked. The day they fell at sports day and cried.
The day the training wheels came off their bicycle.
When I returned from work, I was told stories almost every day.
What happened at school today. Fighting with friends.
They were all trivial things. But Makoto did not dislike that time.
Rather, in the gaps of his busy work, it was precious time that returned him to being a father.

I think I have a happy enough life.
At least, that is how I would answer if I were explaining it to someone.

It started to rain in the car on the way to the office.
Watching the raindrops flow across the windshield, Makoto exhaled softly.
I don't dislike October rain. I could never bring myself to dislike it.

When I arrived at the office, there was a meeting from the morning.
During the meeting, my smartphone vibrated. A short notification.
The meeting ended, and I went out into the hallway to check the screen.
"Happy birthday."
After a short pause, another message.
"Welcome to your 50s (lol)"
Makoto couldn't help but laugh. It didn't come out as a sound. Just the corners of his mouth relaxed a little.
"Thank you," I sent.

After thinking for a moment, I added another line.
"I'm doing well."
That was enough.

It is raining outside the window.

[Chapter 17: The Aftermath of Love]

Twice a year, each other's birthdays.
"Happy birthday."
"Thank you."
A few vibrations of the smartphone and a short exchange.
I neither hope for more than that, nor do I step any further.

The depths of her heart, which she shows to no one and lets no one touch.
There, the memory named Makoto still slightly raised Mio's body temperature.
It is precisely because of that pain that Mio can keep from forgetting 'the self of that time' who once craved someone so desperately.

Mio stared blankly at the streaks of rain flowing down the window.
She can no longer accurately recall Makoto's voice or his profile.
However, she remembers how she breathed back then.
The temperature of the night when she reached out for a relationship that felt like it would crumble if touched—that temperature alone was not stolen by time.

Listening to the sound of rain tapping against the glass, she felt as if the steady hum of the car where they had hidden away together that day was reviving in the depths of her ears.

Mio gently touches the ring finger of her left hand.
The coldness of the ring there forces the reality of time upon her.
In life, the paths not taken remain in the heart longer.
But Mio also knew the magnitude of what would have been lost on the other side of that.
Her daughter's smile, the quiet time with her husband, and the weight of the small life Makoto held as a father. All of these were too precious to let go of in that moment.

That is why the distance between them now exists not as regret, but as the result of a choice.
There are things protected by not touching, and relationships that have continued by not meeting. It is too quiet to call love, and too warm to call a parting.
Within that exquisite sense of distance, perhaps they have spent many long years learning how not to hurt each other.

Rain streaks down the glass.
Its trajectory, much like their lives, flows in the same direction somewhere without ever intersecting. Confirming each other's existence from a distance where they do not touch.

Hey, that's unfair, isn't it?
Even though I thought I had set you free, it might be me who is holding you tethered in the deepest part of my heart.
It was none other than Mio herself who bound Makoto to that place.

We were neither passionate enough to ruin each other's lives, nor cold-hearted enough to forget one another. It is too quiet to call love, and too warm to call a curse.
This choice of 'not meeting' was the end result of the love we had reached after all these years.

Outside the window, the rain continues to fall.
Mio turned her smartphone face down and stood up slowly.
She closed the storm shutters, checked the window locks, and drew the curtains.
The silence that visited suddenly seemed to tell her of the peace in her current life.
She took a deep breath and smiled faintly.

When tomorrow comes, daily life will begin again as if nothing had happened.
In separate places, living separate lives, we will continue to live with all our might.

You were the witness to my life.
That alone was enough.

--END--

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