Ren always wanted to be an artist. I always wanted to be an actress. We used to talk about going to the U.S. and making it big—Ren would be the next Michelangelo and I would be the next Audrey Hepburn. We used to go to all the art museums we could find in Japan on school field trips and Ren used to actually have fun watching old-timey fifties and sixties movie cassettes with me every weekend. Those were the days. But I'd never thought our dreams could tear us away from each other one day.

Where was he now? What was he doing? Did he achieve his dream of becoming an artist? Did he ever leave Japan?

I had so many questions playing in my head that the journey from L.A. to Tokyo passed in a blink of an eye for me. I was used to traveling at this point and usually passed the time in fine dining, air-shopping, or movie-watching in luxurious comfort—first class was a perk of being a celebrity.

Did Ren ever get on a plane?

"Your cocktail shrimp, Miss." A flight attendant came and placed a martini glass lined with shrimp in a sweet sauce beside me. I thanked her and started to munch on the shrimp. Shrimp had always been my favorite food. As well as Ren's. Now I couldn't take a bite without thinking of him. Whenever we used to go to village parties and there was always one last tempura shrimp left, Ren would insist I have it while I would insist we halved and share it. Friendship was our forte.

Was that why Ren wrote to me out of the blue? Because he missed his best friend and wondered how I was doing? Or... was it something more?

I stared out of the window watching the fleecy clouds fly by, glinting in the sunlight. Ren must've been in love with me all this time, that's why he asked me that question back then and made me promise to answer it someday. And that's why he purposefully brought up my promise—either he wanted to know if I was in love with him or if I had moved on. What he didn't know was that I was still in love with him and always had been. But what if he was the one who had moved on?

I arrived late at night in Tokyo, feeling antsy and jetlagged. Maybe I should've slept a bit on the flight instead of thinking my brain into oblivion...

I slipped into a bathroom at the airport after my papers were stamped. I needed a disguise before stepping out—I was likely to get mobbed around these parts, unlike in L.A. I put on a scarf around my head, big dorky fuchsia pink glasses, and a punky black face mask—that mandate sure came in handy.

I walked out of the airport, hailing a taxi like any normal, non-celebrity human being. A limo would just scream 'attention' so I opted out of that. And thanks to the disguise I was wearing, I passed through the crowds as unremarkably as a ghost. With my famous face, that's about as miraculous as a kitsune (a mythical nine-tailed fox) trotting through modern Tokyo without drawing attention.

"Konbawa!" The cheery taxi driver greeted me in Japanese. "Where would you like to go?"

"To Hirohito Village, please," I replied, anticipation building up in my chest. The car started and soon I was cruising through the glowing streets of neon Tokyo... within a couple of hours, I'd be riding up the humble pebble path of Hirohito, the path to my old home.

Because I just flew halfway across the world for my first love.

🌸🌸🌸