Biyu lays on the futon, as Nazo looks at her. Nazo sits at a small table near her, with a bowl of yesterday's white rice with an egg on top, and a small tea pot and a smaller cup of green tea. A small ray of light is just passing into the room from an abbreviated window, and falls at the foot of the futon, near Biyu's exposed foot. Nazo is sipping his tea as he watches the light.

He was careful to not make much noise as he prepared his breakfast this morning. He doesn't expect Biyu to be awake for another hour or so. The medication has made her very tired, and even when she's awake, her energy level is still low. 

He scoops up a bite of the rice, and considers the first time they shared a meal. Biyu had come to Japan on a cultural visit from Guangdong. Nazo owned a small tobacco shop called Jukushitaha Tabako, located in an off-the-beaten path street in Tokyo, but not far from the Tokyo National Museum. Biyu had wandered off from her group, in an unusual display of independence. She was 22, and looking for a moment of escape from the group she had been confined to for the past three days. 

When she wandered down the street and caught the scent of the tobacco, it drew her into the shop. She had never been to a tobacco shop before. She knew the scent of the garbage cigarettes her father smoked. This was similar, and reminded her of home. But it was more intoxicating, not unlike the fragrance of fresh tea in the morning. 

The shop was small. As she walked in, a glass case to her left, and another to her right, contained boxes of cigarettes and smoking accessories. In front of her was a short desk, behind which sat a meek man of 24 years. He puffed a cigarette and stared at her. She smiled nervously, as he sat looking at her inquisitively. It was unusual for women, or anyone Chinese for that matter, to come to his shop. Mainly he supported the habits of a small group of local tobacco aficionados. 

She continued to survey the shop as he sat smoking. When he had finished his cigarette, he rose and moved behind the case she was examining. She was staring at a collection of metal cylindrical objects that looked interesting, though Biyu had no idea what they were. Nazo looked curiously at her as she examined the objects. Some were shiny, while others appeared to be weathered and had undergone some level of dilapidation. 

After several moments, Nazo asked her: "Do you smoke?"

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Biyu, looking surprised, just stared back at Nazo for several moments. His blue eyes struck her as odd. She thought maybe he had a sight problem. As she continued to stare, she realized she hadn't responded to him yet. "Oh... no." she muttered eventually. 

Nazo furrowed his brow in a confused look. He thought to himself - "Why is she here, then?"

"Are you looking for a gift?" he asked. 

"I... uhm... no. I... don't think so." she responded.

Biyu glanced back at the case. Nazo extracted a new cigarette from a pocket, then he opened the case she was looking at. He grabbed a grubby looking metal cylinder from the case, and placed the cigarette to his lips. He pulled the tiny ring at the base of the cylinder, and his thumb manipulated a wheel near the top of the cylinder. It sparked. He made the gesture again, and a flame appeared. He brought it to the tip of the cigarette for a moment, as he continued to watch her, and inhaled. 

Biyu looked embarrassed, and even blushed a bit. She started to retreat from the shop. As she got to the door, she stopped for a moment, then continued out. Before she let go of the door, she pulled it open, sheepishly. She peeked in as Nazo was starting back to his seat. He looked up, surprised, and confused. His hand approached his mouth to grab the burning cigarette. Biyu looked at him and said nothing for a moment, then asked "What time do you close?". Nazo considered this question, and responded, briefly, "4pm". She smiled, and let the door close. 

Nazo sat and rubbed his chin with his hand as he tried to understand what just happened. He knew she was Chinese. He could tell she didn't smoke. So, why was she in his shop? It was unusual for someone to just wander in. After a few minutes of considering those moments, one of his regulars pushed through the door to collect some of his favorite tobacco, and thoughts of the Chinese woman were replaced by memories of late nights drinking with this customer. 

As the digital clock on his desk updated to 3:45pm, Nazo was closing the shop. Most of his customers knew his hours, and that he didn't appreciate last minute pop-ins. He wiped the glass cases and locked up everything. He walked out the entrance, and locked the door. He briefly remembered the odd Chinese woman, and wondered about her as he turned down the main road toward the Tokyo National Museum. Nazo lived close to the museum, and had passed it every day for the past several years on the way to and from his shop. 

There was a new hotel near the museum, where cultural visitors often stayed. He considered this as he walked past it. There was a glass-walled restaurant at street level, and as he peered in, he could see the familiar Chinese woman sitting at a table with three other Chinese women, enjoying what appeared to be miso soup. He stopped for a moment to confirm if this was the same woman, and it obviously was. Then he continued home.