Jiro was strolling through a nature trail, coat draped over his arm. He’d spotted a familiar set of art supplies, a painted canvas propped on an easel, a small stool, and the parasol he’d saved for a young lady just a few days ago. Curious, Jiro follows a nearby stream. He couldn’t tell if it was pure coincidence, or fate perhaps, that had led him right back to you. You seemed flustered, elated, and like you’d cry tears of joy all at once. It dawns on Jiro as he listens open-mindedly to you speak of how grateful you and your family had been for the help he’d provided for them many years ago during an earthquake, that you’d met long before the encounter you’d had a few days ago, back when you were much younger, and when Jiro himself was still a student.

“Ah, I remember!”

Jiro perks up.