Chapter Text
I jolted awake in a slight panic as the seat under me shook. A couple seconds of heart-pounding later, I reminded myself: plane turbulence, not doom. Normal. Totally fine.
Rubbing my eyes, I tugged at my hoodie where it had bunched uncomfortably while I slept. My legs ached, so I stretched them as far as I could. Luckily, I’d scored an aisle seat with extra legroom, which made me feel slightly less like a bull crammed into a china shop.
I fumbled around for my phone until I spotted my blue ombre-colored case on the floor. Reaching down gave my back a satisfying stretch. The screen lit up way too bright, practically a spotlight in the dark cabin. I scrambled to lower the brightness before I blinded myself and half the row behind me. Three hours left until landing.
I glanced out the window at the faint orange glow of sunrise bleeding into the clouds, and suddenly all the emotions I’d been shoving down hit at once. Excitement, I was finally going to see Toshi again. Toshi. Just thinking about him made my chest squeeze; I hadn’t seen my twin in almost seven years.
But right alongside the excitement sat this jittery nervousness. Japan. It’s been forever. I left when I was ten, and sure, I practiced my Japanese with Dad and online, but actually speaking it here? A whole different battlefield. My accent’s going to stick out like a sore thumb. And the manners? Yeah, that’s going to be a train wreck. Canada made me way too casual, I wave at people, I hug strangers, I say “hey” instead of bowing. Imagining me trying to fit in here. Disaster waiting to happen.
And then, of course, there was the dread. The whole mother situation. Over text, I could ignore her until I had the right words. In person? Nowhere to hide. Our relationship was about as good as Toshi is at expressing emotions, which is to say, it needs a miracle. Our last text thread had ended in an argument, naturally. She was furious I’d chosen dorm life at my exchange school instead of living at home.
Now three hours felt both way too long and way too short, too long to stew in all these emotions, too short to actually get ready for them.
Realizing that if I continued this spiral, I’d probably spend the next three hours drowning in dread, nerves, and excitement, so I decided to distract myself. Luckily, my dad apparently knows everything about me. He had foreseen this exact situation and made sure I brought along my newest addition to my book collection.
I’d already started it while waiting at the gate, so I was almost halfway through, and it had me hooked. The mix of dark, whimsical magic and clever, sharp-witted characters made it impossible to think about anything else. I laughed quietly at a scene, muttered under my breath at every unexpected twist, and for a while, the cramped airplane seat and my jittery nerves didn’t exist, it was just me and the book. The streets, the odd little shops, the sudden dark corners hiding secrets… I could practically smell the faint tang of smoke and rain that seemed to hang over the town. Even the hum of the engines, the creaking of the cabin, and the guy snoring three rows over didn’t register.
I checked the time, and an hour had flown by without me noticing.The ending was perfect in a strange, twisted sort of way, and I couldn’t help but smile, shaking my head at how perfectly twisted it was.
Shoving the book into my backpack, I stretched and realized that yes, unfortunately, I would have to start the uncomfortable dance of trying to wiggle past the other two people in my row without invading too much of their personal space. Finally, after taking way too long and trying not to shove my behind in someone’s face, I managed to get out into the aisle. Immediately, I almost collided with a tall guy carrying a coffee cup. “Whoa, sorry!” I squeaked, grabbing the edge of the seat to steady myself.
The guy had noticed me before I noticed him and somehow managed not to spill his coffee all over both of us. “No problem. I was walking a bit fast to be carrying coffee while it’s still mostly dark in the cabin,” he said cheerfully.
“Oh, thanks!” I chirped, flashing a grin.He smiled and squeezed past me with his cup intact, and I waved at him before continuing up the aisle toward the bathroom.
On my way back from the bathroom, I noticed a few people who were awake, staring down the aisle instead of at their phones or other distractions. How were they doing that? Did their thoughts just… not exist? Or were they somehow silently talking to themselves in a way I didn’t understand? Maybe they were the kind of people who could ride alone in a car for hours without their brain exploding into a million tiny pieces. I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to do that. I think I’d make myself go completely crazy if I tried. Definitely. Absolutely.
Sliding back into my seat, I caught the coffee guy giving me a little smile. I smiled back, a quick, bright one, and then turned my attention back to the window, letting my brain wander.
As the plane began its descent, I reminded myself to take a few deep breaths. Two hours had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye, me, the hum of the engines, my book-long gone, leaving me with nothing but my thoughts and the faint anxiety crawling back into my stomach. Ahead of me was an entire train ride to mentally prepare myself to see my brother and my mother, and somehow that thought made my chest tighten and my heart flip at the same time.
The lights of the city began to twinkle below as we neared Tokyo Narita Airport, and I forced my mind to focus on practical things; I had to remember to speak Japanese once I got out of the airport and walked the short distance to the train station. Seven years in Canada had mostly shifted even my inner voice into English, and I could already feel my brain tripping over itself just thinking about it. Luckily, I called Toshi all the time, so I had some reassurance that I didn’t actually forget how to speak Japanese, he would have definitely called me out during our countless conversations.
As the wheels touched down, the whole plane jerked slightly, and it finally hit me,I was here. I was in Japan. My home country. Even though I hadn’t called it home for seven years, it was where my brother was. And no matter how many times I’d tried to call somewhere else home, at the end of the day my twin..my other half, would always be my real home.
The nerves I’d been carrying about seeing my mom again were suddenly drowned out by something much stronger: the fierce excitement of finally being reunited with him. Honestly, I might even be a little annoyed that I still had to take a whole train ride before I could actually see him.
Then came the grand game of airports: “Let’s see how much we can make you wait.” First, I had to shuffle with everyone else just to grab my carry-on from the overhead compartment. Of course, it was wedged in behind someone else’s gigantic roller case, and there was this slow domino effect of one person tugging at a bag, another person stepping back, me squeezing into a tiny half-space so I didn’t elbow anyone in the ribs. By the time I finally had my backpack, carry-on and had got into the aisle, we were already moving forward in a single-file parade out of the plane.
And then, baggage claim. Another round of the waiting game. The carousel creaked to life, spitting out a few random suitcases that definitely weren’t mine. I found myself staring at the endless rotation of black and navy bags, trying to convince myself I’d instantly recognize mine the second it appeared. (Spoiler: I did not. I thought I spotted my bag at least three different times before realizing it wasn’t.)
By the time my two big bags finally did appear, one after the other like they were mocking me for being dramatic, I almost cheered out loud. I wrestled them off the belt with a very ungraceful grunt, muttering, “You better be worth it,” under my breath.
Getting through customs was another slow crawl, but once I stepped out into the arrivals hall, it was like the world opened up. Bright lights, announcements echoing over the speakers, families waving signs, people rushing in every direction, it was a whole new kind of chaos compared to the hushed bubble of the airplane. The smell of coffee and fried food drifted from a little café tucked against the wall, and somewhere nearby a child was crying while their parents tried to juggle three bags and a stroller. I caught myself grinning like an idiot; it was messy and loud and alive, and it felt like Japan had opened its arms and said, Welcome back. Try not to get lost.
My heart picked up again, reminding me that I was really here. Seven years had passed, but the familiar rhythm of the announcements in Japanese, the shape of the kanji on the glowing signs, tugged at something deep in me, like muscle memory.
I followed the signs toward the train station, dragging my suitcase wheels across the polished floor. For a second, I hesitated by the doors, watching them slide open and shut as wave after wave of travellers passed through.
The automatic doors whooshed open, and the Tokyo air hit my face, cooler than I expected, with that faint sharpness of city air mixed with something I couldn’t quite name.
When I got to the train station, I couldn’t help but mentally thank my past self for buying the train pass ahead of time. It saved me from the absolute humiliation of having to stand at the counter, stumble through a polite sentence in Japanese, and be met with that look, the one that instantly pegs you as a clueless tourist. And sure, technically, I might be completely Japanese, but the way I dress, the piercings (which are definitely going to be a surprise for my mother), even the way I walk? Yeah, I’m self-aware enough to know it screams foreign.
At least right now, with my “airport survival outfit” (Hoodie, sweatpants, and long hair tossed in a bun that definitely said don’t talk to me), I wasn’t putting out peak foreigner vibes. But still, the judgment? Oh, it’s there. Japan has this quiet, polite way of letting you know you’re different, sometimes with a glance, sometimes with an unnecessary correction, sometimes with a too-sweet smile.
The station around me hummed with life, ticket machines beeping, the low murmur of commuters in sharp suits, the faint vibration of a train pulling in below. I clutched my pass like it was a golden ticket, swiped through the gates, and stepped into the crowd.
Immediately I was reminded why I dislike taking trains. Not even thirty seconds on the platform and someone bumped hard into my shoulder, making me stumble sideways with my suitcases. Both Japan and Canada are big on manners; polite words, neat bows, “sorry-sorry-sorry” choruses, but apparently the second people step into a train station, all of that vanishes. It’s like the rules evaporate with the brake dust in the air. The platform became this swirling storm of briefcases, backpacks, heels, and hurried footsteps, and I was just one more piece of luggage in the current.
The train screeched into the station, all gleaming metal and a whoosh of air that smelled faintly of steel and ozone. The crowd surged forward like it was a competition, and I had to tighten my grip on my bags or risk getting swept right onto the tracks. Everyone seemed to know exactly where they were going, like they had rehearsed this commute a thousand times, and meanwhile I was that one person, dragging three suitcases, hair flying loose from my bun, muttering to myself.
Inside the car, I squeezed into a corner and tried to angle my bags so they wouldn’t trip anyone. The train jolted, sending me swaying, and I clutched the rail above my head, silently praying I didn’t go flying into the businessman beside me. He didn’t even look up from his phone. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t notice if I lit on fire right next to him.
I blew out a breath and focused on the rhythm of the train. Clatter of the tracks, a low announcement in Japanese that I half-mumbled along with, the faint rattle of someone’s earbuds. The city blurred past the window in streaks of light and concrete. And under all of it, beneath the nerves, the exhaustion, I felt the spark of excitement again. Because every stop, every minute, was bringing me closer to Toshi.
The train finally slowed, the brakes squealing as the overhead voice announced my stop. My heart kicked up, loud enough that I was sure the businessman beside me could hear it through his earbuds. I wrangled my bags, muttering a quick apology as I nearly clipped someone’s knee, and shuffled off with the crowd.
The platform air felt different, colder, sharper. Just a few more escalators, a walk through the station, and I’d see him. My twin. Seven years had somehow stretched into forever, and now it was only a matter of minutes.
I tightened my grip on my suitcase handles and grinned to myself. “Okay,” I whispered under my breath, half pep talk, half disbelief. “Let’s do this.”
I wrestled my bags through the last set of automatic doors, the wheels thumping against the tile, and scanned the crowd spilling across the station. For a second, it was just a blur of faces and movement, suits, backpacks, the shuffle of a hundred different reunions. And then I saw him.
Head and shoulders above most of the crowd, leaning casually against a column. My chest did this weird flip, like my heart wanted to sprint before my legs could.
Toshi.