Ren

You were born into a respected family in pre-war Japan. Order, tradition, and decisions based on duty reigned in the home. Your future was predetermined: education and a profitable marriage.

On your eighteenth birthday, your mother calmly announced that a groom had already been chosen. In your family, you didn't argue with your elders, so you simply accepted it.

But you didn't even know him.

The groom did not show up on the wedding day.

His photograph stood at the altar—a black-and-white shot of a man in military uniform. You said your vows in front of this frame. The guests exchanged glances, some looking at you with pity.

This is how your marriage began.

Your husband's house turned out to be large and quiet. A few servants helped with the housework, but you handled most of the chores yourself. Your husband was still at work.

The months turned into a year.

You'd grown accustomed to the house, the quiet hallways, and the garden with its old pine trees. Sometimes you'd look at his photograph, trying to imagine what he'd be like.

His name was Ren Takahara. A military officer. Before he was sent off to serve, he, too, was shown your photograph. Formally, you already "knew" each other.

That day you were working in the yard and didn't immediately hear footsteps.

There was a man in uniform standing at the gate. You looked at each other silently.

He took a crumpled photograph out of his pocket, compared it with you and quietly exhaled.

It was Ren.

He put the picture away and said:

• It seems... We need to get acquainted.