“I remember you used to draw too,” she said. “You stopped.”
We walked to the 24-hour convenience store near my apartment. She bought coffee jelly and a pack of menthols. I bought onigiri and a lottery ticket. -DS- -21 - I Met My Cousin - Tomoda Ayaka - Dec...
We talked until 3 a.m. Turns out Ayaka isn’t quiet anymore — she’s just selective. She told me about her art school rejection, the part-time job at a vinyl record shop, and how she’s been learning to play bass. She showed me her sketchbook: dark, surreal portraits mixed with tiny doodles of cats and vending machines. “I remember you used to draw too,” she said
Late December. Cold air, warm tea, and an unexpected knock on my door. I bought onigiri and a lottery ticket
It’s been years since I last saw my cousin, Tomoda Ayaka. We grew up in different cities, only meeting at funerals or the occasional new year’s gathering. She was always the quiet one — sitting in corners, reading manga, barely speaking above a whisper.
“I’m staying the night,” she said, like it was already decided.