It was a Sunday, and Nazo had been retired from the tobacco shop for several months. He was old, though not particularly old by Japanese standards. But age didn’t really matter. His joie de vivre had expired. His Biyu had not been by his side for several years.

Nazo continued to visit the tobacco shop most days, though business had long moved to vaping, and the shop was seen as something esoteric, or for old fashioned smokers. The cache of catering to Emperors had passed years ago, and only true connoisseurs still patronized his shop. But really, it didn’t matter. He had lost his interest and passion.

After closing early on Sunday, Nazo retired to his small apartment. He had an evening tea, and a small serving of rice and eel - a delicacy he reserved for Sunday evenings. As he sat in his chair, and finished the last of the rice, he picked up the tea and sipped slowly. It was a warm day, though the clouds blocked the sun. Nazo contemplated this for a moment as he sipped the last of his tea.

Nazo was an only son. His parents had passed years ago. And his wife - his beautiful Biyu, was also many years passed now. Though, the image, the thought, the presence of her was always near, always familiar.

After his tea, Nazo stepped into his courtyard. It was spring and his single cherry tree had just blossomed. He pulled a small pouch from his shirt pocket. And he pulled a small rice paper from the table near him. He put the tobacco from the pouch into the rice paper and rolled a small cigarette. As he did this, he felt calm. Complete.

He lit the cigarette and relaxed into a chair in the courtyard. As he inhaled the sweet smoke, he breathed deeply. This was his lifeblood. But it was also his ritual. His religion. He exhaled, and smoke fumed toward the cherry tree. He gazed at the blooms on the cherry tree, and mumbled a weak version of the “Sakura” traditional tune under his breath. He pictured his lovely Biyu as a cherry blossom blooming... as the fruit which nourished his life.

Nazo finished his cigarette, and stubbed it out into an ashtray on the table. He sat for several moments, engaged in the subtle beauty of the cherry tree. His heart was light.

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Nazo got up from the table, and went back inside his apartment. His mind was light, although he did think of Biyu. He wondered where she was. He wondered what she would think of him here, now. He wondered what it would be like to have her beside him.

Before retreating inside, Nazo had picked something to read. The text was called “Subete ga yoidesu”. It was a small volume of inspirational haikus and poems. He read several pages before he started to feel tired.

A small night storm blows

Saying 'falling is the essence of a flower'

Preceding those who hesitate

Falling ill on a journey

my dreams go wandering

over withered fields

It was getting late in the evening, and Nazo went into the bedroom. He had set aside his daily clothes, and encased himself in his robe. As he approached his bed, he felt a slight cough in his chest. Thinking nothing of it, he took a deep breath and coughed. As he did, small droplets of blood exploded into the room. This surprised and shook him. But he coughed again, and more blood splattered onto his bedsheet. Suddenly, he couldn’t control it. He coughed again and again. By now, he could not breathe in enough oxygen to keep himself upright.

Nazo coughed again, this time it wasn’t just small droplets, but a mouthful of blood, as he crumbled onto his bed. He braced himself with his arms, but felt week as his body weight pushed down on them with gravity. His breath became short, and he coughed and tried to breathe in at the same time. Now he was on his knees next to his bed, his hands on the mattress, but no strength to pull himself up.

His last gasp of breath was enough for him to consider his last moment, to consider his death and Biyu’s death, and try to reconcile them. His short breath ended in a fit of coughs, which helped clear the blood in his lungs, but starved him of oxygen. Then the blood filled his lungs, and his strength subsided, as he collapsed next to his bed - his hands still clasping his sheet.

Although Nazo had many friends, it still took several days before one discovered his corpse. Ultimately, one of his longtime customers who had become a weekly lunch friend had come around. The lack of answer, peculiarity of his absence from the smoke shop, and slight stench from his front door caused the friend to barge in and discover Nazo’s deceased body.