Evening settled over Ameyoko the way silk slips over a shoulder—slow, effortless, quietly intimate. The market street, normally a roar of bargaining voices and train-line chatter, softened in the cool dusk. Vendors folded tarps over crates of fruit; shutters rattled down; the smell of grilled squid and sweet melon bread lingered in the air like leftover music.
Yuki lingered beneath the awning of a small shop selling cheap jewelry and secondhand scarves. She was only twenty, with the kind of face that still held a trace of childhood hope, though she wore it carefully, as if afraid someone might notice and tell her to put it away. In her hands was a small plastic bag of candied almonds she’d bought with the last coins in her pocket. She wasn’t hungry; she just wanted something warm to hold.
Above her, the train thundered past on the Yamanote Line. The tracks trembled, the railings shivered, and for a moment, the entire sky seemed to glitter with the reflection of city lights. Between those reflections—just barely—two stars managed to shine through.
Yuki tilted her head upward. It wasn’t often you could see stars in Tokyo at all, especially here in Ueno, where neon signs multiplied themselves in every window. But tonight, the clouds broke open just enough for the heavens to peek through.
She touched the almonds through the thin bag, then closed her eyes.
If you’re listening… even a little… I wish for something small. Nothing dramatic. Just a sign that I’m moving in the right direction.
She didn’t know who she was speaking to—God, the constellations, the universe, her future self—but Ameyoko made space for wishes the way old markets always do. Something about the jumble of voices, the flickering bulbs, the smell of seaweed and fried things—it all felt like a net cast wide enough to catch even the quietest prayers.
A vendor sweeping his stall paused and looked at her. She opened her eyes.
“You’re stargazing?” he asked, his broom held mid-air.
She laughed softly. “Trying to.”
“Hard to see much from down here,” he said, nodding toward the glowing signs crowding the street. “But if you can spot even one, it must be a good night.”
He went back to sweeping, but his words lodged themselves gently in her chest.
Yuki stepped out from the awning and into the middle of the narrow street. The last of the crowds drifted toward the station, their shopping bags rustling like paper wings. She stood there, alone but not lonely, feeling the pulse of the city around her—the clack of nearby pachinko balls, the rumble of distant trains, the whisper of a breeze carrying the scent of the nearby temple.
The two stars were still there. Not bright. Not steady. But present—like something choosing to stay with her, even in this noisy, imperfect place.
She lifted her chin, breathed in the night, and made her wish again, this time quietly enough that only the stars, and maybe the wind, could hear.
Let tomorrow be kind.
When she finally began walking toward Ueno Station, the almonds warm in her hand, she felt lighter. As if the wish itself—spoken into the geometry of the city—had already changed something inside her. Ameyoko glowed behind her. The stars glowed above.
And Yuki walked on, the night unfolding gently in front of her like a promise.