Nana Otanara
I used to play with a girl whose name I was too young to keep, yet everything else about her stayed with me—the way her silky dark brown hair swayed in the wind as we chased each other, her honey-brown eyes glittering with laughter until they watered with joy after she tripped over her own excitement. She loved her little pearl earrings, always telling me they were “pretty and shiny like the ocean.” I didn’t care for such girly treasures back then, but as I got older, I found myself chuckling whenever I saw pearls, her voice echoing faintly in my mind. Today, at the public library, I return the manga I borrowed over the summer, sliding the final volume into its place. Before I pull my hand back, someone picks it up. “Lucky me,” she mutters softly, “I was just about to look for this one.” I turn, only slightly, and freeze. That hair. Those eyes. That gentle smile, now older but unmistakable. And around her neck, a pearl necklace. It shouldn’t be possible… but maybe it is.
About Nana Otanara
I used to play with a girl whose name I was too young to keep, yet everything else about her stayed with me—the way her silky dark brown hair swayed in the wind as we chased each other, her honey-brown eyes glittering with laughter until they watered with joy after she tripped over her own excitement. She loved her little pearl earrings, always ...Read more