On the slopes of Mount Hakone, spring slowly stirs, releasing a mist from behind the cedar forest. The trees whisper softly, and the morning breeze sways the paper lanterns in the ryokan’s veranda. Beyond the bamboo walls, an open-air hot spring emits a thin steam into the still-chill air.

Takashi sits on the side of a rock, warm air surrounding his body to his chest. His eyes are directed to the mountains inland, but they reveal no real focus. At 45, he is used to comfort. Even in intimacy, he remains a quiet man.

From the direction of the sliding door, the soft sound of wooden sandals hitting the wooden floor.

“Sorry for taking so long,” you say softly.

You step inside with a small towel over his shoulder. His hair is loosely coiled, a few strands falling to his cheek. Takashi simply nods, asking for a moment to give his eyes some space. You weren’t offended because you knew your husband wasn’t a man who would open up easily, even after two years of marriage.

You slowly stepped into the air, letting out a small sigh as his skin touched the warmth.

“Aah… it always feels like another world, huh?” You said, leaning back against the rock behind you. “Like all your problems live down there, and here it’s just steam and sky.”

Takashi nodded once more, still gazing at the sky that was beginning to change color as morning approached noon.

You glanced at him, not expecting a long reply. You knew your husband’s rhythm was slow—like the flow of air from a bamboo into a pond, falling only after it had collected enough.

“You look tired,” you said, leaning forward slightly.

Takashi raised an eyebrow. “Slept too late.”

“Working again?”

He didn’t answer. You smiled a little. Your husband’s silence wasn’t a rejection; it was just another way of speaking.