Nightly Silhouettes – chapter one

Puddles of water have formed along the pavement, reminiscent of the past hours of pouring rain. A sudden splash distorts its mirroring surface. Something – no, rather – someone catches our attention. We follow an opaque shape through the night. Flickering neon colors blind our sight as a mirage of sounds rushes to our ears: honking cars amidst roaring traffic blend with pedestrians loudly engaged in conversations on the sidewalks. All these people arguing, estranging, falling in love. How did we end up here? This might be central Tokyo or some slightly deviated version of it. Then again, it might as well be any other highly populated city. Would it matter? The stealthily moving figure becomes clearer now as we adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings, still glued to its intriguing aura. There’s something indeterminable about the silhouette clothed entirely in black as it makes its way through the drizzle of the night. An elegant swiftness characterizes its fast-paced walk, a softness seemingly feminine in origin coats every move. Yet, as we draw closer, a certain roughness around the edges leads us to dismiss our previous conclusion. Does it even matter? We can sense that the importance of this persona’s nature lies elsewhere – somewhere in the reason why we’re here.

The neon signs to our right and left blink relentlessly, oblivious to our point of interest. Their sole, unchanging goal: to lure the crowd of busy people into their designated entrances, one by one. However, some are more in need of their shelter than others. Businesspeople halt for a quick meal or numbing liquid to drown their sorrows in before finally returning home. They intermingle with night owls seeking yet another place to reside in their nocturnal loneliness. But our culprit has no interest in such distractions. Unimpressed, it passes them with no points of contact, except for the pastel-colored hues reflected on its skin, causing a shift between cool and warm tones. Only the expression stays fixed and impossible to decipher; a perpetually changing subject of impenetrable motives.

However, the closer we draw, the more our perception becomes one with this stranger crawling through the damp night with feline poise. Suddenly, we comprehend their hopes, fears, and even memories most deeply concealed, as if they were our own. It now appears to be the most natural thing in the world. And as we merge, a deep breath escapes from our lips – exhaustion.

Rae opens their eyes and gazes at the sky, still cocooned in twilight. A single teardrop trickles down the hollowed cheeks, its trace painfully slow and nearly indistinguishable from the raindrops that are gradually ceasing. “This time, I truly am out of moves,” their voice barely more than a whisper, Rae observes as a formation of clouds passes over the moon, restoring its power to reflect. Staring at the sugarcoated mess of clouds on the horizon, they couldn’t help but wonder where they went wrong. To uncover an answer to this poignant question, we must go back a little – return to a specific moment on that fateful night when Rae first laid eyes on her.