The train reached a small station whose name didn't reach Haruka's ears. No boastful voice was uttered, no crowd of travelers like the ones in Tokyo. Only gentle ringing metal wheels halted, then the morning wind which slipped in via the creaking gap within the slowly unfolding train door.
Haruka held her backpack close. Her body ached from having spent the night sitting up, and her eyes, drowsy with lack of sleep, made everything feel dreamlike.
She got off the train gradually. The small platform was deserted, and only one or two old people also got off the back carriage. The sky was pale gray, which meant that dawn was not yet fully risen.
The air here was colder than she had anticipated.
She hugged the snug jacket she had grabbed from the house in a rush to her. Cold enough, but warm enough to offset the biting morning wind.
The station was basic. No escalators or elevators. Just creaky wooden planks and stone stairs. Haruka descended the stairs, taking deep breaths. Each step was heavy. Not only because she was tired physically, but also because her mind was still a blank. She didn't quite know. what she was going to do next.
"Just take it one step at a time," she told herself.
She opened her phone. 9% battery. No charger. No plan. All she had was the name of a place she had somehow managed to scrawl from the internet the previous night—a small house which was reputed to be cheap and not too far from the station.
Shivering cold and tired, she entered the address into a map on her phone. Six hundred meters. Not far at all. But on this cold morning, when her feet already felt cold and her eyes barely open, it felt like crossing a city.
Haruka walked slowly down the narrow sidewalk. The city was not yet awake. The shops were still closed. The roads were empty. Even birds said nothing.
She paused to catch her breath or shake out her sore legs every few metres. Her pack was light, but from hunger and lack of sleep, even a light weight seemed to be exaggerated.
She came to a narrow alley that led to a residential area. At the end, there was an old sign with faded handwriting: "Haruki's Room for Rent – Cheap Rates, Pay Weekly."
Haruka let out a soft sigh. This was it. It might not be the ideal place, but right now, she just needed a place to lie down and. disappear from the world for a while.
The creaky wooden door quietly slid open when she pushed it. An old woman came out of the kitchen in an apron and a headscarf.
"Oh, a new visitor, eh?" the woman asked with a kind smile, voice a little caught off guard to see Haruka standing in front of her with puffy eyes and a pale face.
Haruka nodded slowly. "I'm. looking for a rent room. Short-term."
The woman did not ask Haruka many questions. Maybe because she had witnessed Harukas like her come and go hundreds of times. She simply told Haruka to wait a minute, then took her to an empty second-floor room—a small room with a thin mattress, a wooden table, and a small window that opened out into the alley.
"There's a small heater in the corner. It's not that strong, but it'll do," the landlady said with a smile.
Haruka nodded again. She paid next week with the remaining money, then locked the door as the woman left.
For a brief moment, Haruka just stayed still in the middle of the room, her fingers tingling and legs hurting. But the worst was her chest.
She approached the window, slid open the frail curtains, and looked out. The sun was rising, tinting the sky pale orange. This city did not know who she was. This city did not care what had happened the previous night. This city did not know her as a 'failed child' or a 'hope of a broken family'.
This city. perhaps where she started anew.
She sat on her bed, again opened her diary, and wrote the following sentence:
"Today I entered an unfamiliar city whose name I don't even know. But perhaps. here I will be myself."
Then Haruka closed her eyes. Not because of peacefulness, but because her body could simply not cope with the fatigue.
She slept without time to get dressed. Without having eaten. Without knowing that this nap would be the beginning of many new days she had never seen coming before.