Mazome Soap De Aimashou Page

She’d laughed and kissed his cheek.

Above them, the faded sign creaked in the evening wind:

Yuki looked at the soap, then at him. For a long moment, neither spoke. Then she did something that broke the last of Kenji’s composure: she smiled. Mazome Soap de Aimashou

“Excuse me,” she said. Her voice was soft but clear. “Is this the place that… mixes soaps?”

Kenji’s throat closed. He looked at the photograph, then at Yuki’s face. He saw the same small mole above the left eyebrow. The same way of tilting her head when nervous. She’d laughed and kissed his cheek

Kenji reached into his bath bucket and pulled out a lump of greyish-white soap, misshapen from use. He held it out to Yuki.

The sign outside the bathhouse said, in faded, hand-painted letters: Let’s meet with mixed soap. Then she did something that broke the last

Kenji blinked. “The sign? That’s just old advertising. They don’t actually—”

“Let’s meet tomorrow at Sakura-yu,” he’d said, stupidly romantic. “We’ll use the soap together.”

“I know,” she interrupted, then flushed. “I mean. I’m looking for someone. They said to meet here. A man who uses the mazome soap.”