Chapter 136
[She asked you, “Does the red-checkered yukata in my left hand look better, or the blue morning glory yukata in my right hand?”]
[You could tell she preferred the one in her left hand, but you said you liked the other.]
[It was a lie. The moment you saw the red-checkered yukata, you were reminded of the candied apple from two years ago, of the softness and sweet fragrance as she leaned against your back, of her shy gasp when you bit her hand playfully.]
[What you truly liked was the red-checkered yukata in her left hand, a garment that brought forth a flood of cherished memories. But with those memories came a shadow, a hidden unease stirred by their reawakening. The memory of the candied apple was like a wooden box tucked away in a corner; when you picked it up to admire it, the shadows that had been concealed behind it emerged into view.]
[Two years ago, it was right after your wife fulfilled her wish to attend the festival, and just before she saw snow and lakes, that her condition worsened.]
[The unchanging town, the unchanging festival—these things unsettled you. You suddenly understood why the elderly often muttered about things being “inauspicious.” You feared that this scene, so eerily similar to two years ago, was like a sinister spell designed to summon misfortune again, this time upon your wife.]
[And so, you had her wear the blue morning glory yukata instead. This yukata, so different from two years ago, was your way of resisting misfortune, your prayer and hope for her well-being.]
[When you arrived at the foot of the shrine’s mountain, the stone steps were already crowded with locals and tourists. You were late.]
[Hand in hand with Reina, you ascended the steps. Bright, lively, and brimming with energy, the path was filled with laughter and calls from vendors. Yet, surrounding this vibrant ascent was the vast, enveloping darkness of the mountain forest.]