He touches the towel. Still damp. Still warm from the dryer. He holds it for a second too long. He finally pushes her door open without a word. Shiori is sitting on the floor, knees to her chest, holding a small glass jar. Inside: a single glowing coal — the last ember from the barbecue they’d shared three months ago, the night their parents announced the remarriage. That night, they’d sat side by side, not looking at each other, as the fire died.
“Yeah. But now the fire’s back.” The next morning, the dish holds ash and one blackened leaf. But on the kitchen counter, two mugs sit side by side — both chipped. Hers from yesterday. His from last year. In the sink, they share the same water. -EMBER- Gimai Seikatsu - 03.mkv
“You left your towel on my hook,” he says. He touches the towel
“Why?”