Serial [Short Story] "Your colors were your kindness itself" (Episode 1)

The color of the flowers
has faded away
in vain
while I spent my time in this world
watching the long rains fall
From Ono no Komachi's "Kokinshu"

The asphalt on the sidewalk, wet with a soft spring rain that felt like a gentle hand placed on a loved one's shoulder, contained a pale ink-wash tone and grew deeper in color. Even though she was wearing a cap, Mikan didn't seem to mind getting wet. She stepped away from the gray umbrella we were sharing and continued to chat while spinning around in a waltz, looking as if she had never known a single misfortune in her life.
It's not as if I've ever opened the album of her heart, so I can't easily jump to that conclusion, but we've been together for nearly two years now, and I have never seen a single sigh or a single complaint fall from her lips. I suppose there are people who possess a natural brightness like a sunflower, but perhaps Mikan is the quintessential child born under that star.
Like bouncing raindrops, she laughed with a voice that was constantly vibrant, and naturally, she had no way of knowing what was in my heart. I think she feels some kind of guilt toward me from the time we first met, but perhaps because of her own gentle, cotton-like nature, Mikan has never once stepped on my shadow. If I were to say that I am saved by her, it wouldn't be entirely untrue. I am the type who is always alone, hiding away in my room, and she is the only one who, even on rainy days like this, literally takes my hand and leads me outside. That is why I am always nothing but grateful to Mikan.

The gallery, which also served as a cafe, that we were aiming for came into view. Mikan returned to the inside of my umbrella like a fledgling bird. Yes. No matter how far away Mikan wandered, she would always return to me. She probably hasn't realized yet that this fact is my greatest emotional anchor. I, too, avoided shaping that feeling into words any further. Because if I were to put it into form once, it would surely just crumble away like a sandcastle.

“Oh, welcome!”
Shinku Tachibana, a senior from Mikan's high school art club who had become somewhat known as a contemporary artist after graduating from art school, welcomed us at the entrance with a blooming smile. True to her name, her rouge lipstick caught the eye.
“Hello!”
When it came to smiles, Mikan was no match.
“Um, hello.”
I poked just my face out from behind Mikan's back and greeted Shinku. It was my first time meeting her.
“Oh, Shinku-san, this is Kohaku. Kohaku Mimori.”
Mikan gently placed her hand on my back. Mikan's hand was always warm, like a patch of sunlight.
“Hello. Thank you so much for coming all this way today. I'm Shinku Tachibana. I'd be happy if you'd at least heard the name.”
“O-of course, I know who you are. It was partly because you're Mikan's senior, but I saw your Instagram and fell in love at first sight. So, to be able to meet you in person like this, I feel like I'm about to ascend to heaven.”
Though I was a sudden fan, I became high-strung in front of someone I admired and started speaking quickly. I hate that about myself, but it's always like this.
Shinku opened her mouth wide and said,
“Hahaha. Mikan, this girl is cute.”
Shinku turned her face toward Mikan. Mikan also laughed and said,
“She's cute and interesting.”
She clenched her fist in front of me as if to emphasize it. Stop it. It's embarrassing.
“Then, go register over there. For now, just go ahead and take a look around.”
“Yes. Thank you. Let's go, Kohaku.”
After carefully shaking off the water droplets outside and placing my folded umbrella in the stand, I followed Mikan to the reception. At the reception counter, a man wearing an ultramarine raincoat that completely covered his body held out a large palm and muttered for us to write our names here.
“I'll write it.”
Mikan took off her cap, tucked her hair behind her ears, bent her back to lean over the guestbook, wrote her own name first, and then wrote my name for me.
“Thank you very much. Please, enjoy your visit.”
Urged on by the palm the man held out, we stepped into the gallery.

Shinku's work is based on her experience of anthropomorphizing familiar buildings and drawing them when she was a child. For example, in her representative work "A Gentleman's Stance," modeled after Tokyo Station, a British gentleman carrying a crimson Japanese umbrella as a cane is depicted, in reference to the Queen Anne style that follows the lineage of British architecture, which Kingo Tatsuno adopted after the Japanese-style architectural plan by German railway engineer Franz Baltzer was scrapped. It seems that every piece is designed to contain the history of the building used as a model within the depths of the painting, allowing the viewer to catch a glimpse of a new or unexpected side of a building they were accustomed to. I heard that critics have praised it as being enjoyable as a "puzzle to solve."
As someone ignorant of history, I couldn't appreciate the paintings that deeply, but I felt as if a door to a world I had never encountered before had been opened, wondering if this was what they called "art."

“Mikan, is this also Shinku-san's work?”
I stopped in front of a certain piece and called out to Mikan's back as she walked ahead. Mikan turned around, stared at the painting, and said,
“--Yeah. I think so.”
What was depicted was, like the other works, a single person, but to me, it didn't look like a building anthropomorphized at all; it looked like a portrait drawn with a real person as the model.
Deep green eyes that seemed to be staring into the far distance caught my attention first. That was the left eye; the right eye was hidden by bangs of the same color as the eyes that hung down to the brow, making it hard to see. The nose wasn't particularly high, but it had a definite presence as a central part of the face. The lips, painted in a bleeding scarlet, had a thick lower lip and were pressed into a straight line. The contours of the face had lines and curves balanced as perfectly as could be, and if I could, I would want to gently trace that outline with my fingertips. The neck was thick compared to the size of the face, and the Adam's apple was prominent. A small cobalt blue earring glinted dully on the right ear.
“Oh, what's the matter?”
As I was captivated by that painting, Shinku came over, the sound of her heels echoing.

To be continued

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