Love accidental to addiction

The suffocating embrace of a Tokyo summer began its daily siege long before the city's heart fully stirred. At 6:00 AM on a Sunday, even the early morning air hung thick and heavy, already promising the relentless, humid heat that would settle like a blanket over the metropolis. Yet, for Minji, this hour held a peculiar, almost sacred, tranquility. It was a brief window of reprieve, a chance to reclaim the city before it pulsed with its full, overwhelming energy.

Minji slipped her wireless earpods into her ears, the cool plastic a minor comfort against the nascent warmth. A mellow indie-pop melody, something with a gentle, undulating bassline and ethereal vocals, began to hum softly, creating a private bubble around her as she stepped out of her family's apartment building in Setagaya. The concrete outside was still cool to the touch, a fleeting luxury.

The streets, though not yet bustling, were far from deserted. Tokyo never truly slept, merely dozed. Minji joined the quiet procession of early risers already claiming their piece of the morning. Old men, their backs slightly stooped, performed slow, deliberate tai chi movements in a patch of green by the convenience store. Young couples, hand-in-hand, walked with a shared, sleepy intimacy, their laughter muted. Children, surprisingly wide awake for such an hour, chased invisible butterflies or kicked worn soccer balls against railings, their youthful energy a sharp contrast to the languid movements of their elders. Some people power-walked with determined purpose, while others simply ambled, lost in thought or the gentle rhythm of their surroundings. Minji observed them all, a silent participant in this communal morning ritual, her music a soothing balm against the waking world.

Her route took her through a small, meticulously maintained park, an emerald jewel carved out of the urban sprawl. The path was lined with trees, their leaves a deep, verdant green, though they offered little true shade against the sun, which was already climbing, a fierce, white orb in the pale blue sky. Drops of condensation clung to the railings of the children's playground, remnants of the humid night. Minji inhaled deeply, trying to draw in the fleeting freshness before it evaporated completely, replaced by the scent of asphalt and exhaust.

She had been walking for nearly forty minutes, her muscles loosening, her mind clearing from the remnants of sleep. The rhythm of her steps, synchronized with the beat in her ears, had been almost meditative. But the insidious tendrils of heat were beginning to creep in, coating her skin in a fine sheen of sweat. Her light t-shirt, initially crisp, was starting to cling. A wave of weariness washed over her. It wasn't an exhaustion from the walk itself, but rather the cumulative fatigue of battling Tokyo's eternal summer, the constant low-level effort to stay cool and comfortable.

Spotting an empty bench nestled under a particularly lush cherry tree, Minji veered off the path. The bench, made of lacquered wood, was still cool to the touch. She sighed, a deep, satisfied sound, as she lowered herself onto it, pushing her earpods slightly inward to amplify the music, letting the gentle melody wash over her. She pulled a small, embroidered towel, damp from her cold water bottle, from her backpack and dabbed it across her forehead, neck, and arms, wiping away the beads of sweat that had gathered. The cool fabric was a small, exquisite luxury, a brief respite from the burgeoning heat. She leaned back, closing her eyes for a moment, letting the music fill her senses, the world outside her a soft blur. For a few blissful minutes, she was just Minji, adrift in a sea of sound, ok, followed by the gentle tap of a wet nose against her hand. Minji's eyes fluttered open to find a pair of curious, dark eyes staring up at her. A small tan Shiba Inu, its tail wagging tentatively, was looking at her with an undeniable sweetness. Behind it, a woman stood, her posture erect despite her apparent age, a gentle smile gracing her lips. She looked to be in her late fifties, perhaps fifty-seven as the prompt implied, her silver hair pulled back neatly, her traditional summer yukata a splash of soft blue against the muted greens of the park.

"Hello," the old lady's voice was soft, laced with the melodic lilt of an older Tokyoite. "May I sit here? Kimi seems to have taken a liking to you." She gestured to the dog, who now sat patiently, still gazing up at Minji with an expectant curiosity.

Minji smiled warmly, pulling earpod out. "Oh, yes, please, of course! There's plenty of room." She shifted slightly to make more space, gesturing to the empty half of the bench. "He's very friendly."

The old lady carefully sat down, her movements graceful. Kimi, with a little grunt of satisfaction, settled at her feet, occasionally glancing at Minji. "Thank you, dear. The mornings are getting warmer, aren't they? One needs a good rest after a walk." She fanned herself gently with a small, folded paper fan. "Do you live around here, young lady?"

"Yes, ma'am," Minji replied, using the respectful term. "My family and I have lived in this neighborhood for years."

"Ah, good, good. Always nice to see young people out enjoying the morning. It's a good habit. By the way, what is your name, if you don't mind me asking?"

Minji felt a familiar warmth spread through her. She loved these chance encounters, the brief, unexpected moments of connection in a city often characterized by its anonymity. "My name is Minji."

"Minji," the old lady repeated slowly, as if savoring the sound. "That's a very good name. A beautiful name." Her eyes twinkled with genuine warmth. "And how old are you, Minji, if you don't mind an old woman's curiosity?"

"I'm twenty-two years old," Minji said, feeling a slight flush. She was used to older Japanese women being direct, their questions often stemming from a place of genuine interest rather than impoliteness.

"Twenty-two, imagine that! So young, so full of possibilities," the old lady mused. "Are you graduated or still studying?"

Minji chuckled softly. "I finished graduating last year. Now I'm working in a pottery business." She intentionally used 'pottery' instead of "pot" to avoid any misinterpretation, though she knew the old lady likely wouldn't connect it to anything untoward. The "pot business" her prompt mentioned, assumed 'pottery' or 'ceramics', felt like a safe and wholesome interpretation for a 22-year-old in Japan.

"Oh, a pottery business!" the old lady exclaimed, her eyes widening slightly in genuine interest. "How wonderful! That's such a beautiful craft. Do you make the pieces yourself?"

"Yes, I do," Minji confirmed, feeling a surge of quiet pride. "My father is a ceramic artist, and I grew up watching him. I studied art in university, and now I m working, expanding our online presence and creating some of my own modern designs too. It's challenging but very rewarding." She thought of the delicate clay, the hum of the kiln, the patient brushstrokes of glaze. It was a world away from the hustle of the city, a quiet, focused passion.

"That's truly good, Minji. To follow your passion and work with your family. Not many young people do that these days, always chasing the big corporations or moving far away." The old lady nodded approvingly. "So, who lives with you?"

"It's just us four," Minji replied, feeling a familiar comfort in talking about her family. "Me, my mom, my dad, and my little brother.

"A complete family, how lovely," the old lady murmured, her gaze distant for a moment, as if remembering her own past. Then she refocused on Minji. "Well, as for me, I live here with my granddaughter. She's a wonderful girl, full of life, and she loves pets. Especially Kimi here." She gestured to the Shiba Inu, who had now stretched out, his eyes half-closed in contentment.

"Oh, I see," Minji said, her curiosity piqued. "What's your granddaughter's name?"

"Her name is Hana," the old lady replied, a soft smile playing on her lips. "She's a very bright girl."

"Hana… that's a beautiful name," Minji commented. "Which grade is she in?"

"She's in fifth grade this year," the old lady said proudly. "Almost a young woman now."

Minji's gaze drifted to Kimi, who had just let out a soft sigh. He looked so calm and trusting. She extended her hand slowly, holding it out to him. "Ma'am, if you don't mind me asking, can I touch him? Does he bite?"

The old lady chuckled, a warm, melodic sound. "Oh, no, dear, he doesn't bite at all. Kimi loves everyone. He's a very gentle soul."

Encouraged, Minji gently stroked Kimi's head. His fur was surprisingly soft, like spun silk. Kimi's eyes opened fully, gazing at her with a blissful expression, and his tail began to thump a happy rhythm against the ground. He nudged his head into her hand, clearly enjoying the attention.

"He's so sweet!" Minji exclaimed, her voice softening. "Kimi, what a cute name."

"Yes," the old lady confirmed, watching the interaction with a fond gaze. "My granddaughter, Hana, loves him very, very much. She can't live without Kimi. He's like her shadow, her best friend. They're inseparable."

Minji continued to stroke Kimi, feeling the simple joy of connecting with another living being. The dog seemed to radiate warmth and affection. She wished she had something to give him, a little treat. "Oh, Kimi," she said softly, feeling a pang of slight regret as she realized she had nothing suitable. "I'm sorry, I don't have any cookies to give you right now."

The old lady waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, no need, Minji. Don't worry about it. I'll give him his breakfast and a special treat when we get home. He's already had his morning walk, so he's happy just to rest."

The conversation had been so pleasant, so easy, that Minji had almost forgotten the time, and the plans she had for the rest of her day. But a glance at her watch, ticking silently, reminded her. The sun was getting higher, and the air was already thickening.

"Ma'am, I'm so sorry," Minji began, reluctant to break the comfortable silence, "but I actually have a bit of an emergency at home. I need to get back."

The "emergency" was mostly an excuse to politely disengage, a common Japanese way of ending a pleasant but time-constrained interaction.

The old lady smiled understandingly. "Of course, dear. Don't you worry. It was a great pleasure meeting you, Minji. You're a very charming young woman."

Minji stood up, offering a respectful bow. "It was a pleasure meeting you too, ma'am, and Kimi. I hope to see you both again soon."

Kimi, sensing the impending departure, lifted his head and gave a small, mournful whine. Minji leaned down one last time, giving him a farewell pat. "Goodbye, Kimi," she whispered, and the dog responded with a soft lick to her hand.

"Goodbye,maam"

"Goodbye, Minji," the old lady called out kindly as Minji turned and started walking away, her steps lightened by the pleasant encounter. The music in her earpods seemed to hum with a happier tune now.

The short walk home felt noticeably warmer than the walk out. By the time Minji reached her family's apartment, the humidity was already making her hair frizz slightly at the temples. The cool blast of air conditioning as she stepped inside was a profoundly welcome shock. The apartment, though cozy, always felt like a sanctuary from the relentless Tokyo summer.

Her father, a man in his late fifties with kind eyes and hands stained permanently with clay, was sprawled on the living room sofa, seemingly hypnotized by a morning news program playing softly on the large flat-screen TV. He wore a comfortable t-shirt and loose shorts, a familiar sight on a Sunday morning. The faint aroma of miso soup and grilled fish wafted from the kitchen, a promise of breakfast.

Suddenly, her father noticed her standing in the doorway, a towel still draped over her shoulder, her cheeks flushed from the heat. He blinked, adjusting his glasses. "Minji? You're back already? Where have you been?"

Minji smiled, dropping her small backpack by the entrance. "Morning, Dad. I was at my morning walk, remember?"

He squinted playfully. "Morning walk, I see. My diligent daughter, always up with the sun. I thought you might have slept in for once." He paused, then sniffed the air dramatically. "You smell of fresh air and… sweat. You must have worked up an appetite."

"You know me, Dad," Minji said, laughing. Her stomach gave a loud, undeniable rumble, confirming his statement. "My stomach knows what time it is, even if my brain forgets. I'm hungry!"

Her father chuckled, turning his attention back to the TV, though his eyes still held a fond warmth. "Your mom already made breakfast for you. It's on the table, still warm. Eat it up.

Minji's eyes lit up. "Oh, thank goodness! Thanks, Dad." She took a step towards the kitchen, then paused. "Where is Mom, anyway?"

"Your mom?" he mused, then waved a hand vaguely towards the window. "Oh, she just popped over to Mrs. Tanaka's house, next door. Something about a new recipe for pickled daikon. She'll be back soon enough. You know how she and Mrs. Tanaka get when they start talking about food."

Minji went straight to the kitchen, drawn by the enticing aromas. A steaming bowl of miso soup, a perfectly grilled piece of salmon, a small bowl of sticky white rice, and a side of vibrant green spinach ohitashi were laid out for her on the small, unassuming kitchen table. Her mother always made sure Minji had a hearty, nourishing breakfast, knowing she needed the energy for her creative work. Minji ate slowly, savoring each bite, the simple, comforting flavors a perfect end to her morning excursion. The food brought a sense of grounding, connecting her back to the quiet rhythm of her home life.

After breakfast, Minji felt revitalized. The soft hum of the air conditioner was a constant, soothing presence. She cleared her plate, rinsed it, and then made her way to her room.

She glanced at her reflection in the full-length mirror attached to her wardrobe. Her hair was a little damp, clinging to her neck where the heat had been most intense. She decided a cool shower was in order before she tackled her work.

She peeled off her sweaty workout clothes, a sense of liberation washing over her. The heat was already intensifying, even indoors. After a quick, cool shower that refreshed her from head to toe, Minji towel-dried her long, dark hair, letting it fall naturally around her shoulders. She stood before her wardrobe, contemplating her attire for the day. Comfort was paramount, but she also wanted something that made her feel good, something light and airy for the Tokyo summer.

After few hour.....

Her eyes fell upon a sleeveless, acute floral frock, its fabric a light cotton, adorned with delicate and wisteria vines against a soft cream background. It was one of her favorites, perfect for a humid day. She slipped it on, feeling the cool fabric glide against her skin. It flowed softly around her knees, offering both freedom of movement and a touch of elegance. For her feet, she chose a pair of comfortable, open-toed sandals, simple yet chic, that would allow her feet to breathe.

She checked her reflection in the mirror, turning slightly from side to side. The dress brought out the subtle highlights in her hair, and the gentle pastel colors complemented her complexion. Satisfied, she pulled a soft scrunchie from her wrist and gathered her damp hair into a loose, and bun hair, securing it to keep it off her neck. The rising heat outside was palpable even from her window. A quick spritz of light floral perfume, and she was ready.

Before heading out, she checked her bag. Her phone, wallet, keys – all essential. Then, remembering the blazing sun, she reached for a compact, foldable umbrella. It wasn't for rain; it was a sun umbrella, a common sight in Tokyo summers

The city, in its full summer glory, was a beautiful but often punishing beast.

It was a Tokyo summer, after all – a time for finding beauty and peace in the small, fleeting moments of reprieve.