ᴡɪɴᴅ ʙʟᴏᴡs ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴄʜɪᴍᴇs|| h. haganezuka

ⓒⓗⓐⓟⓣ.④|| 𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋

It's a wonder you're not dead yet.

Nothing has been making sense these past couple of hours, staring wistfully at the ceiling of the small dark room you lay in.

1909.

The year is 1909.

In inky black characters, written in a tattered and aged journal entry to an American diplomat, was 1907. Peculiar.

You thought Kiyoko collected old journals with derelict writings of the past. Except, the journal wasn't tattered- nor old. It wasn't derelict or aged; the ink had dried with no consequence on a clean, pressed journal page.

Okay, we just like addressing shit to people in 1907, no big deal. Except, it was a big deal. Your brain couldn't ignore the fact that there were no telephone lines. No roads. Not even evidence to suggest you were living in any age of technology. Even religious communes that swear off electricity have little whispers of the past, an old tire here, a broken toaster there. There was nothing in this village.

It was when you sat with Kiyoko in the library a few hours prior. She was oddly quiet, taking in your presence. Of course, it's hard to ignore someone staring. You could almost hear the whirlwind of thoughts behind that mask. Maybe she was also confounded by your presence here. You scanned the bookshelf all the same, fingertips brushing the dusty clothen covers of pages. That's when you spotted it.

A blue journal. It was in English, which caught you very off guard. The journal documented an exchange between diplomats in 1907. It was weird, you thought, and you sat down to ask Kiyoko why she had it.

It was all so surreal. Kiyoko just nodded, and when you pointed to the year, she happily gave you more entries. A gentleman's agreement on immigration reform was not the most riveting material, yet it finally hit you. This was about THE gentleman's agreement of 1907, your US history class touched up on this. And so, amazingly, this journal also contained a small Japanese-to-English dictionary. You raced over to Kiyoko with the books in hand and began to scribble out a question on your mind. The small, nagging voice ringing alarm bells since you got here. The clothes, the food, even the journal.

So you wrote in sloppy, inky characters, "What is the date?"

Your heart was hammering in your ear as she read it, picked up the brush, and wrote her response.

"The petals have just turned, so spring 1909."

You can't be serious.

This is all playing out like the stupid isekai manhwa you used to read. And the glaring, real possibility that you would never make it home bared its teeth at you, knawing on your nerves like a hungry beast.

It's hard to recall what happened after the library. You don't seem to remember giving the books back to Kiyoko in your barely contained shock, or eating the dinner the staff provided for you, or changing into the clothes Kiyoko left, or bidding the older woman goodnight. All you can remember are the 4 numbers drilling into your brain. 1909.

It's kind of cool that you're a time traveler. You loved your history classes. And sure, you might never see your family again, or realize all the hard work you've put into saving for art school, and yeah maybe you are alone here, but there is something so surreal about lying down on a bed from a hundred and fourteen years ago. Staring at a bamboo ceiling that will crumble many decades before you would be born.

You reflected on what you should be doing, how to get back home, and your next move—a plan. It slowly took shape; it weaved through plenty of opportunities and uncertainties. Honestly, there wasn't much you could do. You sat up in your futon with a sudden epiphany. That's right! These people did save your life. Surely, they can offer you a job for now, free boarding and food, and you could bide your time. There has to be some solution that hasn't presented itself yet, and you were nothing if not an opportunist.

The sun peaked through the horizon beyond your window; a sudden conviction filled your veins. It's all about hard work, right? That's all you have been doing your entire life, and you could work hard at this too.

For one moment, you let yourself be naive. The sweet smell of breakfast started wafting through the room, eggs and something salty. The mountain breeze rustled the shrubs outside your window, and the sound of a village waking up drifted into your room like a faraway song.

"It's kinda like a vacation.", you thought.

.

.

.

You're an idiot for thinking this was like a vacation.

The day has been a blur of loud and fast. That's all you can describe it as, anyways. People were shouting at you to probably "Move! Outta the way!" as you scurried through hallways with a cleaning bucket and mop tucked under your arm. A gift from Kiyoko. That nasty woman. You could practically see the smile she had on her face as she shoved them into your arms and led you down the hall, outside, down the stone paths where the baths were.

And so began the scrubbing.

It was still early in the day, you were alone with nothing but your thoughts to keep you company as you raked the broom over the floor. No one really had any pension for baths at this time of day it seemed. The spring air was crisp and refreshing, and even though your limbs burned from the exertion, you still felt at ease with your new purpose.

It pained to admit it, but, you felt relaxed. Truly, and wholly relaxed.

After she arrived to inspect your work, deemed it satisfactory with impressed grunts(?). Kiyoko dragged you to the kitchen where you peeled snow peas and listened to the kitchen staff talk amongst themselves, happily conversating about who-knows-what. It felt domestic in a way that made you feel comfortable. Like you were helping your mom cook again, or working in the old restaurant back home.

You could almost fool yourself that this is home. Almost.

After your exhaustive first day, Kiyoko led you back to the veranda after dinner, for the lessons you assumed. She was strict and grumbled a lot, but you felt yourself learning. When it was just the two of you, you took your given mask off, metaphorically and physically, and slowly, you eased yourself into the idea of life here. For now.

So when you stared at the ceiling that night, when you looked upon the one hundred and fourteen-year-old wood and nails, instead of seeing an unthinkable situation, a bleary and unacceptable truth, you saw a future.

It's a wonder you felt so helpless before.

.

.

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(a/n: in the month since I've posted I have graduated hs, got accepted into asu!!, moved outta Florida (thank god that stinky ass state is behind me) moved into my new apartment, and am balling. I also rewrote this chapter like 3 times so it contributed to this taking forever I'm very sorry :') the next chapter is in the works hopefully I'll actually be happy with it and also Kiyoko has my whole heart I love her.)