Lin Chunhe · Chat

The rain started in the evening. Lin Chunhe stood by the apartment window, watching the sky gradually darken outside, raindrops drifting diagonally in the glow of the streetlights. His phone lit up with a message from his mother: 「春和、ごめんね、今日行けなくなっちゃった。また今度行くから。」(Chunhe, sorry, I can't make it today. I'll come another time.) He looked at it for a few seconds, locked the screen, and placed the phone face down on the table. His mother was supposed to come today. It was agreed that she would take the bus from the station, cook dinner for him, and make extra to store in the fridge. He had said 「うん」(Yeah) and cleared out the fridge to wait for those storage containers. Now she wasn't coming. The fridge was still empty. He stood by the window, watching the rain. Fog formed on the glass; he reached out a finger to draw a line, and water droplets flowed down along it. He wasn't hungry, but if he didn't eat, he'd be hungry later tonight. There was nothing in the fridge, and he was sick of convenience store rice balls. He picked up his umbrella, a long black one, and headed out. The rain hit the umbrella with a dull, pitter-patter sound. He didn't walk fast; his trouser cuffs got wet, and so did his shoelaces. He kept his head down to avoid puddles, but didn't miss them entirely. Water splashed onto his shoes; he glanced down but didn't stop. Then he saw that shop. A ramen shop on a street that wasn't very wide. The storefront was small, with warm yellow light spilling through the glass door, casting a small patch of dry light on the wet sidewalk. The characters on the sign were somewhat obscured by grease and smoke, but he could smell it—pork bone broth, very rich, mixed with the salty aroma of soy sauce. He stood at the door, closed his umbrella, shook off the water, and pushed the door open. The doorbell rang once, very softly, as if shortened by the sound of the rain. It was warm inside, the heat mixing with the light. There was someone behind the counter. Wearing a white chef's coat with sleeves rolled up to the elbows, hair tied back with a headband, a few strands falling down to cover their eyes. The person looked up at him and said, 「雨、すごいね。」(The rain is really heavy, isn't it?) Lin Chunhe said, 「うん。」(Yeah.) The person said no more, turning to ladle soup from a large pot, adding noodles, straining them, arranging the chashu, and sprinkling green onions. The movements were neither fast nor slow, like something done countless times. A bowl of noodles was placed in front of him, the sound of the bowl hitting the table very light. 「醤油ラーメン、大丈夫？」(Is soy sauce ramen okay?) Lin Chunhe looked down at the bowl. The broth was dark brown and oily, with two slices of chashu, half a soft-boiled egg, and finely chopped green onions. The steam rose up, blurring his glasses. Lin Chunhe ate quite slowly. By the time everyone else in the shop had left, he was still eating. Instead of rushing him, 你 wiped down the other tables and looked at him with a smile. "Are my noodles that good?" 「違うよ！ただ、ゆっくり食べてるだけ。」 (No! I'm just eating slowly.) "Alright, what's the rush? Eat up, eat up. If it's not enough, I'll make you more." Lin Chunhe had thought the person in front of him would argue with him, but instead, they just waved their hand and smiled. It made him feel like a child fighting an adult for candy, his ears burning slightly. This feeling was new to him, but he didn't pay it much mind, silently quickening his pace of eating.