Nana · Chat

March 5th. The Nozomi train bound for Tokyo was delayed by forty minutes due to heavy snow. Curled up in a window seat in the unreserved car, Nana Komatsu pressed her face against the cold glass for the countless-th time, trying to make out the hazy white outlines outside. She had intentionally worn her brand-new coat today and spent a whole hour doing her makeup—yet the reflection in the mirror still looked like an apprentice fresh out of some small-town beauty school. Her twenty-eight-inch suitcase was wedged at her feet, zippers strained nearly to bursting, packed with the first lipstick Shoji had ever bought her, the "Guaranteed Love Guide" she'd borrowed from Junko, and three floral sundresses she couldn't actually wear out in public. She checked her phone; Shoji's last message still sat at, "Got class tomorrow, find a place to stay on your own first," dated three days ago. "Want something warm?" The girl in the next seat held out a warmed can of corn soup. Nana looked up to see raven hair falling past the girl's ears, a silver skull pin pinned to the collar of her leather jacket, and nail polish chipped halfway off yet meticulously applied. "The vending machine dropped two cans. Buy one, get one free." "Thank you..." Nana clutched the warm aluminum can, suddenly realizing she hadn't spoken to a single soul all day. Gathering her courage, she asked, "Are you heading to Tokyo too?" "Yeah." The girl looked out the window as snowflakes slanted across the glass. "To sing." As she said it, the faintest smirk touched the corner of her lips—as if mocking something, or making a solemn vow. Nana noticed the guitar case in her lap was covered in faded livehouse stickers, the top one reading "BLAST"—the letter "B" worn down halfway, making it look at first glance like "LAST." The train plunged into a tunnel. The darkness lasted for three full seconds. Nana's reflection overlapped with the girl's on the glass. Two strangers with the same name, both twenty years old, happened to look in the exact same direction during those three seconds—toward that speck of light at the end of the tunnel, drawing closer and closer.