That night, silence blanketed the village, broken only by the soft rustle of trees outside and the occasional creak of wooden floorboards under the old house's weight.
Mireyna sat in front of the mirror inside her grandmother's room, her fingers delicately applying moisturizer across her cheeks. The scent of camellia and green tea lingered in the air—soft, familiar, and comforting.
The room itself held the quiet soul of an era long gone. The tatami mats beneath her were slightly worn, their scent earthy and nostalgic. An old sliding door, made of aged wood and rice paper, groaned softly with the night breeze. On the shelf beside her were ceramic dolls, a folded sensu fan, and a tiny vase holding dried wildflowers. It was the kind of room that felt alive with memory.
Outside the room, the house stretched wide in traditional Japanese architecture—wooden beams, soft paper screens, and open corridors. The walls were lined with family scrolls, ancestral portraits, and faded photographs that had yellowed with time. A faint scent of cedar and sakura drifted from the old wooden panels.
Though helpers stayed in the house—women who helped with meals, and men who managed the greenhouse and garden—this space remained sacred. Quiet. Still.
And here, under the low light of a paper lantern, Mireyna paused.
She stared at her reflection, her mind distant.
Her Tokyo life felt like a dream now. The skyscrapers, the subway rush, the cold apartment lights—none of that existed in this house. Here, everything was slower. Softer. Heavier, even.
As she pressed the cream into her skin with practiced hands, her thoughts drifted—not to the skincare routine, but to the stories she had heard earlier.
Flashback:
"Himari was famous here—not just because of her looks, but because of the way she made people feel. They called her the 'Sunshine Girl.' She was always smiling, playful like a child, and innocent in a way that made people naturally adore her. From when we were kids until now, she kept chasing after Isao, always telling him how she felt. But… he never accepted her. Not once. Even now."
the thoughts lingering in her mind the mix of insecurities she has on Yumeko and the girl Himari. what if Isao ever had feelings for her but he just didn't tell anyone?perhaps he just waiting for marriage?what if..
The paper door slid open with a whisper. Her grandmother stepped inside, dressed in a soft grey yukata, her silver-streaked hair tied in a loose bun. Her steps were light, but her eyes were sharp, filled with a wisdom that had weathered time.Stopped the thoughts of Mireyna.
"Oh, my sweet granddaughter, Mirae… what are you putting on your face dear?"
Mireyna glanced up, mid-pat, her palms gently pressing product into her cheeks.
"It's called moisturizer, Obāchan ," she replied with a smile. "It helps keep the skin hydrated… makes it smooth and firm."
Her grandmother chuckled softly as she knelt beside her.
"People from the city always use such things, don't they? Maybe that's why their skin glows so beautifully."
Mireyna gave a faint laugh but didn't answer. She simply stared back at her reflection in the mirror, the smile on her lips not quite reaching her eyes.
Her grandmother's gaze lingered. Then gently, she asked,
"Mirae… your face looks heavy tonight. There's a sadness behind your eyes. Is there something on your heart, something you haven't told me dear?"
Mireyna hesitated, then dropped her gaze.
"I'm just tired, Obāchan . That's all."
But her grandmother wasn't convinced.
"You can hide things from the world, child. But not from me. I've seen your smile since you were a little girl. I know when it's real… and when it's not."
She tilted her head, voice soft but piercing.
"Are you… perhaps jealous of Yumeko's beauty?"
Mireyna froze, her breath catching in her throat.
"O-Obāchan … how did you—"
Her grandmother smiled knowingly.
"That kind of feeling is normal. Yumeko is admired by many girls in this village. She's graceful, gentle, and kind. But to me… you, Mirae, are the most beautiful of them all. You've always been my precious granddaughter."
She began adjusting the bedding behind her, the soft rustle of fabric filling the room.
Then her voice dipped, quieter, more serious.
"Even if I never liked your mother… I've always loved you."
Mireyna's eyes widened. The sentence pierced through her.
"You… didn't like Mama?"
Her grandmother lowered her head slightly, folding her hands in her lap and sitting seiza-style on the tatami floor.
"I'm sorry, Mirae. I've kept this for so long. But I'm old now. Who knows how much time I have left? I want to be honest with you, while I still can."
Mireyna reached out quickly, gripping her grandmother's hands tightly.
"Don't say that, Obāchan . Please. I'm not ready to lose you."
Tears threatened to spill, glimmering at the corners of her eyes.
Her grandmother gently rubbed her shoulder with a warm hand.
"There now… don't cry. You just put on your skincare. It'll all wash off if you do."
A shaky laugh escaped Mireyna, despite herself.
Her grandmother looked at her more intently now.
"When I heard your mother was pregnant… I wasn't happy. I feared I'd hate the child too, because I disliked her so much. I didn't want a grandchild who looked like her. But the day you arrived here, when you were just ten years old…"
Her voice softened, and her smile turned tender.
"I was relieved. You didn't look like her at all. You looked like your father. Your eyes, your hair, your expression—they carried the blood of this land. You were beautiful in a way she never was."
Mireyna listened in silence.
"Your father… he never listened to me. I wanted him to marry someone from the village. Someone who understood our ways. But he chose differently. He fell in love with an outsider. What could we do? He followed his heart, not our traditions."
She sighed, then glanced toward the window.
"And when your mother first came here…" her grandmother said quietly, "all she did was complain."
Flashback:
"This house doesn't have air-conditioning? Are you serious?" her mother's voice echoed sharply from a memory. "It's too hot. Too dusty. I can't live like this."
End flashback.
Mireyna frowned faintly, nodding.
"Yeah… Mama still complains a lot. She can't stand heat or discomfort. Everything has to be perfect."
Her grandmother nodded slowly.
"Exactly. She never accepted our way of life. She never tried. But you… you were different."
She reached forward, brushing a strand of hair behind Mireyna's ear.
"And that's why, no matter what happened between your mother and me… I love you, Mirae. You are the best thing she's ever given me."
Her grandmother's voice dropped to a tired murmur, each word weighed with history and quiet frustration.
"People from the outside… foreigners like her… were never meant to be part of our family traditions. But what could we do, as parents? When love becomes blind, nothing can stop someone from being with the one they desire."
Mireyna looked down, the sadness in her eyes glimmering under the dim light of the old paper lantern beside her. She bit her lower lip, uncertain if she wanted to hear more.
"Obāchan… I never knew you disliked Mama that much." Her voice was small, almost breaking.
Her grandmother gave a weary smile.
"What mother who don't love her child, especially a son… our only son, our hope? But fate had already made its choice long before we could. Your mother, Anne… she was stubborn.very stubborn."
Her eyes darkened slightly with the memory.
"She even insisted your name be westernized. But we refused. Absolutely refused."
Flashback:
Anne's voice thundered through the room, sharp and dripping with disdain.
"Ew! What kind of name is Mireyna? It sounds ugly, like something out of a run-down countryside drama. No class at all! Her name should be Mia… or Melissa! Not some stupid Japanese name!"
She slammed her hand against the low table. Across from her, Mireyna's grandparents sat stiffly. Her grandfather, Haruki, rose to his feet, face stern.
"That's enough! You will not insult our family name. This child will carry a name that honors her roots—our roots. She is Japanese by blood, and she will bear a Japanese name!"
Anne scoffed, rolling her eyes.
"Oh, please! You didn't carry this child in your body, old man! Why do you get to decide her name?"
The room had nearly erupted into full-blown chaos, the clash of cultures and egos too loud, too bitter. It was only Haruki's firm voice that brought a temporary peace.
He had taken Anne's trembling hands, softened his expression, and said quietly,
"We'll meet in the middle. Let her name be Mireyna Tokushiro. A blend of both worlds."
And so, after many days of arguments, Mireyna's name was sealed—both a symbol of conflict and compromise.
End of flashbacks:
Back in the dim, quiet room, Mireyna blinked slowly, her heart twisting with a weight she hadn't expected.
A name… something so simple, yet so layered with legacy, defiance, and love.
Her grandmother exhaled deeply and looked at her.
"That name..Mireyna Tokushiro was a battle. But in the end, it became a bridge. Between your father's world and your mother's."