#shuannweek

“A DSLR?” he said to himself, taking the camera out for inspection. He turned it around and dusted it off. It still looked as pristine as new, as though it hadn’t seen much use before it was shelved inside the box. A shame, he thought. Ren didn’t know much about cameras but it seemed like a good model. He pressed down on the power button. It stayed dead. 

Of course.

Rising to his feet, Ren climbed down the stairs into the coffee shop. Business was slow. Only the old couple were present, conversing about nothing in particular. Sojiro sat on the counter as he watched TV, a bored look on his face. He was in the middle of a yawn when Ren approached, eyes widening slightly at the sight of the camera in Ren’s hand. 

“Now that’s something I haven’t seen in a while,” he murmured. 

“I take it this is yours then?” Ren asked. 

Sojiro grunted. “Was mine, I guess.” He took the camera from Ren and fumbled with it for a bit. He tried turning it on, only to chuckle wryly when it refused. “Of course. How many years has it been since I last used it?”

“I didn’t know you used to do photography.” 

“I didn’t.” Sojiro huffed. He didn’t offer further elaboration. 

“Oh come now!” came the old woman’s voice. Having heard their exchange, she countered, her husband nodding his affirmation. “Didn’t you used to bring a camera all the time whenever you went out with that young lady. What was her name again? Ishi… Ishikawa?” 

“Isshiki, I think,” her husband offered. 

“Right! Isshiki! She was such a lovely woman. Smart, too.” 

Sojiro cleared his throat. “All right, all right! That will do! Any more and you’d expose all my embarrassing secrets.”

“My, So-chan, I would think you’re old enough not to be embarrassed by your own story.”

The old couple giggled, much to Sojiro’s affectionate vexation. Although, when Ren deigned to join in the fun—a little smirk and a half-breathy chuckle—his guardian hit him with an ice-cold glare. 

“Sorry,” Ren mumbled. 

“Anyway,” he went on, giving the camera back to Ren, “you can have it if you want. I don’t have much use for it any longer.”

“Really?”

Sojiro shrugged. “Better you than me, in any case. Don’t think she’d like it if it stayed cooped up in a box, collecting dust. I think you’d make a fine new master for it.” The old proprietor gave him a rare grin before his face twisted into consternation. “The problem is I can’t remember where I put the charger. It should be in the box along with the camera. But if not, I’ll take a look at my house.”

It wasn’t in the box, so later that day, Sojiro had Ren mind the shop as he went back to his house. It took a while, but after an hour or so, he returned with the charger, saying, “Sorry, got caught up in cleaning some stuff out.” 

Ren brought the charger to his room, where he connected the cable into the camera, then plugged the other end into the socket behind the TV. A red light blinked back at him. Ren didn’t quite know how long it’d stayed dead, but at least the charger still worked. He only hoped that it was still functional. 

He left it alone then to help Sojiro at the shop until near closing time. He washed the dishes and swept the floor, and when there was nothing left to do but close for the night, Sojiro let him retire to his room. So he climbed back up, intent upon checking on the camera, when he found Morgana pawing it on the TV table.

“Hey.” He reprimanded the cat, swiping the camera off the wooden surface. 

“The light was blinking so I got curious,” the cat said defensively, as though that was reason enough to almost drop it off the table. 

“The light was blinking ‘cause it was charging,” he said. It was now blinking green. He unplugged the cable, sat on the couch, and turned it on. The screen blinked to life. 

This brought him back. He used to play around with his father’s cameras when he was small. Ren directed the lens to Morgana and, adjusting the lens, snapped a picture. The pupils in Morgana’s eyes slitted at the sudden flash of flight; he snarled and growled then hopped off the table. Ren snickered. 

“Let’s see now…” 

Maneuvering through the myriad of buttons and menus on the camera, Ren finally found the gallery, which showed him a photo of Morgana’s blank face. He stifled a laugh and asked the cat to come and see. Morgana wrinkled his nose, but came up to the back of the couch and propped himself on Ren’s shoulder. He hissed at his own picture. 

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad,” Ren said with a half-smile. 

“For you, maybe.” Morgana’s paw came to Ren’s cheek in what he assumed was an attempt at a playful swat, but the soft pads only softened the blow so it felt like a pat instead, albeit a forceful one. Ren chuckled under his breath as his eyes drifted to the number at the top right corner: 83. He cocked his head to the side. 

Pressing the next button, a picture of an unfamiliar house suddenly filled the screen, somewhat blurry. “Huh,” came Morgana’s quiet comment. The next several images were of the same house but from different angles, then empty streets—a neighborhood. 

“Are they Sojiro’s?” the cat wondered. 

“Probably.” 

The next photo, however, made him pause. Ren saw a sakura tree in what looked to be a sidewalk, but it was the figure dressed in black that froze him. He shut the camera off so quickly that Morgana meowed in protest. Just then, lights from the floor below disappeared, followed by the sound of a jingling bell and the jangle of keys. Sojiro had exited the store, clicking the lock into place. 

Ren sighed in defeat. Perhaps, he could ask Sojiro about it tomorrow. 

***

Ann’s message came early the next morning. 9 AM at the station? She asked.

Ren sent a quick reply then got ready. Sojiro had already prepared curry for breakfast by the time Ren came down from his attic. 

“Hanami, huh,” he mused. “Where are you going? Inokashira?”

Ren shook his head. “Ueno. We decided to go a little farther.” 

An awkward pause fell before Sojiro said, “I see.” 

Ren quietly eyed the coffee master, but Sojiro quickly regained his bearing. He hoped Ren would get some pretty views. It wasn’t quite the season yet but the news had reported some already blooming in places. Ren nodded absently—that was the reason why he had proposed the idea to Ann. He only had a few days left in Tokyo before he had to return to his hometown. They might not have a chance to go flower viewing together. Ann had then decided where they would go. 

Silence stretched, filled only by soft TV noises. Ren cleared his throat. 

“Sojiro, is it really okay for me to have the camera?” 

“I already told you. It’ll only collect dust if I keep it.” He hadn’t even missed a beat. As though sensing Ren’s reluctance, he added, “Just think of it as a farewell gift.”

“What about the photos?”

“I doubt there’s much of it.”

Sojiro grunted and shrugged, as though wanting to drive home that the camera really didn’t mean anything to him. But rather than being nonchalant about it, he seemed to be avoiding the subject altogether. 

“Can I look at them, then?” Ren tried again. 

There, just a quick stilling of his hands before Sojiro returned brewing his coffee, but it was enough. “Suit yourself.” 

Ann was already waiting for him by the time he reached Shibuya Station. It was already a bit warm so she wore a simple loose floral shirt with a pair of jeans. Her hair was unusually undone: long luscious blonde flowing freely down her back, kept in place by a couple sakura-patterned pins near her temple. Ren couldn’t help but grin when their eyes met. 

“W—what?” Pink tinged her cheeks in fluster, though he suspected she knew what he was thinking. 

Still, Ren grabbed her hand and intertwined their fingers together. “You look pretty.” It took all his self-control not to break into the biggest, most idiotic grin he would have made because the way Ann’s face went instantly red looked so adorable, it was hard to contain his affections to a bare minimum in such a public space. Instead, he settled with a smirk—albeit somewhat teasing—which apparently did more damage than he’d realized. Ann’s ears went scarlet, then she playfully slapped his arm, which he deftly dodged. 

“Stop being sassy!” 

“I’m not,” he responded with a laugh. She really was beautiful, now even more so when the hint of a smile slowly revealed itself beneath her pout. He tugged her hand. “Let’s get going.”

The station was unexpectedly crowded for a Sunday morning, though the sakura blooming had reached the news so perhaps Ren should have expected otherwise. As they headed towards the platform, Ann noticed the square black bag Ren was carrying on his shoulder. 

“A camera,” she said when he showed it to her. She studied it, fumbled around with it. “Sojiro’s, did you say it was?”

Ren nodded. “He said I could have it.”

“Huh. I didn’t peg him to be into photography.”

“Neither did I—” The sound of a camera shutter cut him off and Ren looked up. Ann had turned the camera on and directed it at him, smirking. He frowned. “Hey. Delete that.”

“Why? You look good.” She giggled. 

“Ann—”

She stepped away when he reached out to grab her hand. “Candid is best,” she said, still giggling. He tried to catch her but she stepped away again, and again, and again, always keeping herself just out of reach, until Ren sighed in half-exasperation and made to run for her— 

When the intercom announced the arrival of their train. 

“Ah! It's here!” Ann shut off the camera and took his hand. “C’mon, we don’t wanna miss it.”

They slipped into the crowd and managed to grab a seat inside the train. Ann returned the camera back to Ren, who turned it on again at the first chance he had. You look good, she’d said, when all the pictures she had taken were either in an odd angle, blurry, or even downright bad. What was even this shot of his close-up skin that he could almost see his pores? Ann giggled softly again when she noticed what he was frowning at. 

“You know I’ll get back at you ten fold, right?” he said. 

“You know I’ll be ready for it.”

She grinned, and he resisted the urge to bop her head or even kiss her cheek. Instead, he sighed, turned the camera off, then stashed it back inside his bag. He spotted her hand on her lap and inadvertently intertwined his fingers through hers. 

“Ren—” She made to pull away, but he locked their hands together. 

“That’s what you get for teasing me,” he said. 

Her face twisted in such a way that usually bespoke of an upcoming counter, but eventually, Ann settled into his hand and into her seat. 

“You started it,” came her quiet mumble. 

This time Ren did bop her head. Albeit fondly. 

***

Their destination was Ueno Park. It took only a few minutes to walk from the station. The news reported that the sakura blooms had been spotted in the park as early as two days ago. Indeed, as early as it was, a crowd was already trickling into the park. Not as much as peak season but already a hefty amount, according to Ann. They entered the gates, then followed the crowd, letting the sea of people carry them to where the heart of sakura blooms gathered. 

Ren took out his camera again. Letting Ann walk ahead of him, he called Ann to a stop once she reached some distance away. He had already put his eye behind the camera by the time Ann half-turned towards him, and then he snapped the picture. Ann exclaimed in surprise when she realized what he’d just done. Ren, meanwhile, was half-smiling to himself as he checked the result of his work. 

“Not bad,” he mused—it wasn't blurred at least—just as Ann stomped back towards him and said, “Don’t just take my picture like that.” 

“Candid is best, as you said so yourself.” Ann fumed, made to snatch the camera away, but Ren held it out of reach. “I told you I’d get back at you ten fold.”

He grinned, to which Ann scowled. “Fine. But I’m taking your share of the crepe.” Because apparently that was where Ann had been heading: a crepe stall erected on the side of the wide central path flanked on each side by tall sakura trees now in bloom. Yes, it wasn’t peak season yet—not all the flowers had blossomed—but pretty dots of pink and white had decorated the boughs on either side, giving off a sweet scent that only came around once a year. 

Ren could only chuckle and acquiesce at her request.

He followed behind her, capturing moments left and right: a family of three, the father carrying his little girl on his shoulders; the flowers on the trees, going as close as he could to capture the delicate petals in his camera; the tranquil moat, the crowded stalls, then a wide shot of the sakura-lined path leading deeper into the park. 

Ann was still queuing at the crepe stall when Ren returned. Putting his eye to the camera, he zoomed in. He took a picture of her back, at the way she slipped a stray strand of her hair behind her ear, of how she noticed his presence not far behind her, then her frown at the realization of being photographed silently again, and finally her small smile, and a full-on grin. He often thought that Ann’s features were dynamic—expressive. He swore he’d seen her cry, get mad, and laugh all in the span of one minute. Seeing the pictures he’d just taken, Ren knew it wasn’t just his feelings. 

Ren was just stashing his camera back inside his bag and meant to wait in the queue with Ann when Ann appeared behind him. She gave him a crepe—Banana and Lemon. He quirked an eyebrow at her. “Let’s find somewhere to sit,” she said instead, then added with a glance, “and I’m gonna take a look at the pictures you've taken.” She didn’t leave any room to say no. Not that Ren would want to . 

So they walked down the path, enjoying their crepes—hers was Double Chocolate & Almond. Farther into the park, they found a rather empty spot beneath a tree on the bank of the moat. Ann took a picnic mat from her bag and spread it out for them. 

It was nice, he thought. The air was slightly warmer now, the sakura—while still early—was beautiful. Out on the still water, people rowed boats languidly. 

Ren showed Ann the camera gallery after they finished their crepes. They started with the ultra-close skin-pore photo Ann had taken before, which made her laugh and him frown again. Then it cut into the park, and they saw pictures of families, children, and friends—all engaged in different forms of activities.

“You’re pretty good at this,” Ann said at the image of the general crowd amidst pink trees. “Have you ever learned photography before?”

“My father was a journalist so we had a camera at home,” Ren replied. “I used to mess around with it.”

Ann made a non-committal comment. Then she pressed next, and she paused. Ren looked over her shoulder and found that she had arrived at the first picture of her: her body half-turned, face set in inquiry, framed by the pink sakura blossoms on each side. The crowd almost drowned her, but her blonde hair and floral shirt was enough to make her stand out—at least to him. 

He glanced at her, waited for her response, but Ann only clicked next, then next, and next again. 

“You really meant it when you said you’d get back at me ten fold,” she said at last, but her voice was quiet. She’d arrived at her grinning face, zoomed in and angled. The sun almost made her gleam blindingly bright. Ren wouldn’t tell her but he planned to print that shot and slip it in his wallet. 

“Aren’t I good?” he said in a forced smugness because Ann had become speechless. 

“Really.”

Her honesty made him pause. She cleared her throat, shook herself, then clicked next again. Except, they’d gotten to the last of his pictures and were now back at the beginning. A shot of a house front looked back at them. 

“Ah,” Ren said, reaching out to take the camera from her, “I think this is Sojiro’s. I haven’t taken much of a look.” A small lie, but it didn’t feel right to pry into another person’s memories. 

Ann looked at him. “Sojiro gave it to you knowing he still had some photos in it?”

“He didn’t seem too keen about it. But…” 

“But?” 

He glanced at Ann, who was searching his face inquiringly. The camera was technically his now, and Sojiro did allow him to look through the gallery. He decided to show her the source of his hesitancy, skipped the next several images until they came to the one that had frozen him. 

“Is that Futaba?” Ann said with a soft gasp. 

A younger Futaba, barely twelve, they guessed. Her hair was still black, but there were no mistaking the big round eyes and glasses. Then the woman behind her could only be Wakaba Isshiki. They recognized the sleek black hair, sharp features, and neat dress. 

Knowing the history between Sojiro and the Isshiki mother and daughter, there was no doubt the contents of the gallery would be private territory between Sojiro and his heart. And yet, the old coffee master had given him free rein on what to do with the camera as he saw fit. 

“Did you tell Sojiro about this?” Ann asked. 

“Couldn’t. He was avoiding it; wouldn’t even let his regulars tease him about it.” 

Yet Ren was curious; he couldn’t deny that. Perhaps they really were nothing much, as Sojiro had claimed. He pressed the next button, then the next, and again. 

What followed were a series of pictures of Wakaba and Futaba, sometimes together, other times alone. Feeding a stray cat, making curry, a trip to the park. The images felt warm, sincere. Even though Sojiro had claimed his feelings were one-sided, Ren could see how much the old man had meant to Wakaba. He doubted she would have been able to make such a bright smile had it been another person behind the camera. 

Ren clicked next, and it seemed they arrived at a video. 

“It’s so pretty!” A young Futaba ran across the screen; the camera desperately tried to follow her. 

“Be careful, Futaba! You’ll trip!” a familiar voice appeared—Sojiro. 

They spotted lanterns strung between sakura trees in full bloom. It was evening and the lanterns emitted a mesmerizing glow amidst the sea of flowers. Music echoed from the distance—drums. Laughter sounded nearby and the camera swiveled to the source. 

“You’re such a worrywart, Sojiro. Futaba will be all right,” Wakaba said. “It’s not often she gets to have fun like this.”

“Yes, but—” The camera shifted again. Ren scowled inwardly at the haphazard movements. 

Just then, Futaba fell, and Sojiro yelped. But Wakaba only laughed beside him. She rushed to the scene and helped her daughter stand up, murmured something to her, before both of them turned to the camera and Futaba called out with the biggest grin on her face, “Thanks for taking me here, Sojiro!”

They watched her run, watched as the camera trembled as it slowly, shakily, zoomed into Wakaba’s profile. She was watching her daughter frolic with the softest expression on her face. Then, as though she had just noticed the camera on her, she looked to her side and smiled. 

The video ended, and silence fell. 

Neither Ren nor Ann knew quite what to say. It felt like they had just glimpsed into the old man’s diary. Perhaps it was wrong of him to take the camera, but Sojiro clearly didn’t want it anymore. 

A million things popped to Ren’s mind—things he would like to say to his guardian—but the words died before they could reach his mouth. 

“This camera clearly holds important memories for Sojiro.” Ann broke the silence. “How could he throw it away?”

“He said that he doesn’t want it to collect dust.” Ren recalled what Sojiro had told him the night before. “That ‘she’ wouldn’t want it cooped up in a storage box.”

“She?” It clicked with her. “Did Wakaba give Sojiro this camera?”

“If that’s true, I can see why he doesn’t use it any longer.” 

Ann pursed her lips in consternation. “Should you give it back?”

“Honestly, I’ve thought about it but I think he gave it to me as a way to respect Wakaba’s memory. So that the camera can be put to good use.” Sojiro might not remember just what this little box of memories contained, but from what Ren had seen, it was clearly important. The video dated five years ago. He could transfer them, save them somewhere, then give them to him before he left. 

There were still several photos left before they’d reach his picture of Morgana from the night before, but Ren decided it was enough prying. He was about to shut it off when Ann spoke: 

“That’s Ueno Park—those lanterns. It’s the Sakura Festival.”

Ann told him of the Sakura Festival that Ueno Park would hold every year in its grounds. They’d have lanterns strung between the trees and music to decorate the day. Sometimes parades would come down the central path. But it seemed right now the festival wouldn’t be until a few days yet when the sakura had fully blossomed. 

She looked downcast, and Ren noted the melancholy in her tone as she said, “You would’ve been gone by then.” Now he knew why she had asked to visit Ueno Park today. 

“It’s really pretty—” Ann perked up, “—especially at night when the lanterns are all lit up. We may not be able to see it today but I guess now you’ve seen how it would’ve looked like.”

Her smile was tight; her eyes hollow. She really was bad at hiding her emotions. He looked at his camera. Sojiro’s video was still displayed on the screen. A warm, eerie glow painted the trees; the lanterns all frozen in time. Beautiful, and alluring. 

“Maybe we can see it someday.”

She looked up. 

“I mean, we’ll be third-years next term,” he went on. “If I can get into a good uni in Tokyo next year, I should think we’ll be able to meet like this again. And perhaps hold a proper hanami, too.”

Her eyes lit up. She held up her pinky finger. “Promise?”

At that, Ren laughed. “What are we—kids?”

“I want you to promise me that we’ll go flower-viewing together again.”

She looked quite adamant, though the blue of her eyes glinted with delight. Seeing no other recourse, Ren chuckled under his breath, then twined his little finger with hers, locking the promise into place. 

~ END ~

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