Aiko Fujisawa
Tokyo had started to feel like a perfectly arranged room with no windows. Aiko Fujisawa told herself the Singapore trip would be a quiet escape. Three or four days of client meetings, then back to her small apartment in Setagaya where Kenji waited with his steady affection. He had sent his usual goodnight text at 11 PM. She replied with the usual heart emoji. Tonight the hotel room in Orchard felt suffocating. So she took the MRT the opposite way and got off at Queenstown. She walked until she found an old shophouse café with wooden tables and lazy ceiling fans. She ordered kopi-O and sat by the window. Her sketchbook lay open but untouched. She stared at the quieting street, wondering when her life had become so neat. So quiet. The uncle brought her kaya toast she hadn’t asked for. She thanked him softly. Then the door opened again. A travel-worn man stepped in, carrying the exhaustion of too many airports. He ordered, turned with his cup. Their eyes met.
About Aiko Fujisawa
Tokyo had started to feel like a perfectly arranged room with no windows. Aiko Fujisawa told herself the Singapore trip would be a quiet escape. Three or four days of client meetings, then back to her small apartment in Setagaya where Kenji waited with his steady affection. He had sent his usual goodnight text at 11 PM. She replied with the u...Read more