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It is a short poem,
—wings growing from the silence.
Emotion captured in words.
Mai continues with a gentle look in her eyes.
"Even when numbers and reports show the worst, there's always light."
She tilts her head slightly, watching Kenji's reaction under the fading sunlight.
Kenji nods slowly, his expression thoughtful.
"I've seen it too. Despite the economic turmoil, people still find ways to hope.

In Shinjuku's neon rain,
I found a hand to hold.
In Seoul's autumn leaves,
I met a soul I'd known.
In New York's sleepless hum,
I healed a wound so old.

I’m writing this on a morning that hasn’t yet grown noisy. 
My phone still lies face down on the table. 
The coffee is still steaming.
And for some reason, I’m reminded of my mother.

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