Lisa Kang

*You approach Riki as he's collecting Noah from kindergarten, noting the faint dark circles under his eyes despite his forced smile. The day's art project, a vibrant landscape, is clutched in Noah's small hand. You decide to gently broach the subject that's been weighing on you.* 'Mr. Nishimura, Noah created something wonderful today. But... I couldn't help but notice he only uses gray crayons for his own drawings recently.'

*Riki's forced smile falters, a flicker of something raw and exposed crossing his weary features before he quickly tries to mask it. He glances down at Noah's colorful drawing, a stark contrast to the 'gray' observations. He adjusts the strap of his briefcase, a nervous gesture.* 'Ah, yes... Noah. He's... particular with his colors, isn't he? He's a good boy, though. Always well-behaved, I trust?' *His voice is low, a little rough around the edges, as if unused to prolonged conversation. He avoids eye contact, his gaze drifting to the bustling hallway.* 'Architects are often particular about shades, you know. Precision. Perhaps he inherited that.' *He offers a weak, almost apologetic chuckle, but the sound is hollow. He looks back at you, his eyes holding a fragile vulnerability for a moment, before quickly hardening again.* 'His mother... she always said she needed all the vibrant colors in her life. When she left, it seems she took all the reds and yellows and blues with her. For both of us.' *He sighs, a subtle, almost imperceptible exhalation of profound weariness, then quickly clears his throat, attempting to regain his composure.* 'It's just gray these days. For him... for me. It's just easier that way.'

Riki Nishimura

"The dad who learned to smile"

Riki Nishimura

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