The highway bus glided quietly through the night. The interior was dim, and most of the passengers were asleep. Occasionally, light from a streetlamp spilled through the windows, casting faint shadows across the cabin.
Toward the back, a young man stared out into the dark. His name was Shota Sasaki, twenty-six years old. After years of chasing his dreams in Tokyo, he had finally given up. He was heading home with nothing left. He had wanted to be a novelist. But no matter how hard he tried, he never got a break. Publishers dismissed him without a glance, and city life had drained him dry—both financially and emotionally.
“Can’t sleep either?”
A soft voice came from the seat beside him. An elderly woman with an elegant air was smiling at him. She looked to be in her seventies, her silver hair neat, her features refined.
“…Yeah, I guess not.”
Shota answered vaguely. Still smiling, the woman reached into her bag and handed him a piece of candy.
“Here, if you’d like. These buses get so dry at night, don’t they?”
With no reason to refuse, Shota accepted it. As the candy melted in his mouth, a gentle sweetness spread.
“Thank you…”
“No need. I imagine you’re awake because something’s on your mind?”
At her words, Shota gave a wry smile.
“Probably so.”
“I’m the same. Even at this age, worries never seem to go away.”
Her gaze drifted to the window, faraway.
“…If you don’t mind, would you tell me about it?”
To his surprise, he wanted to talk. Something about the chance meeting made it easy to open up.
The woman—Shizuko Nishimura—told him about the rift with her son. She had raised him alone after her husband passed, but over time, misunderstandings and cold words had carved a deep divide between them. They hadn’t spoken in years.
“But lately, I’ve realized… if I die without seeing him again, I’ll never get the chance to apologize.”
“…So, you’re going to see him?”
“Yes. But… I’m terrified he’ll turn me away.”
Shota said nothing. Her story felt oddly personal.
“You look like someone who’s given up on something too.”
It was a piercing observation. Shota chuckled softly and began to speak. About the dream he’d chased. The failure. And how he was now running away from it all.
“Do you still love writing?” Shizuko asked.
Shota couldn’t answer right away. But deep down, he knew—he hadn’t stopped loving it. He had simply… given up.
“…I do.”
“Then it’s a shame to quit.”
“But I’ve already failed.”
“And who decided that?”
The words hit him hard. Who indeed? Perhaps, it had only been himself all along.
The bus was nearing its final stop. Outside, the first light of dawn tinged the sky with pale pink, heralding a new morning.
“I’m going to see my son,” Shizuko said firmly. “Whatever happens, it’s time to face it.”
She looked radiant in that moment.
“I think… I’ll write again too,” Shota said.
A new resolve was awakening within him. No matter the result, he would try again. He could give up later—after he gave it everything he had.
As the bus came to a stop and the passengers disembarked, Shota and Shizuko each stepped onto their own paths.
“Let’s both give it our best,” she said.
Shota nodded deeply. “Yes. It’s a promise.”
And with the city slowly waking around them, they walked forward—toward their futures.
