The rain had been falling since morning and by night it had turned into a quiet rhythm against the glass the kind that made the air smell like metal and old wood
Kenji wiped the counter for the third time though it was already clean he did that when he waited it was his way of filling the empty space between breaths
Outside the sign flickered dim yellow light that read Night Oden and the steam from the pot rose in thin white threads that disappeared into the ceiling

He heard the sound of a diesel engine slow outside a heavy truck coming to rest by the curb
A moment later the door opened and a man stepped in shaking off the rain from his jacket he looked worn the kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep but from the miles behind you
Kenji nodded a small gesture of welcome the man nodded back

The stranger sat at the counter his hands were rough with grease under the nails and his eyes carried the long roads of America dry fields gas stations rest stops snow and silence
He didn’t look at the menu just said softly the set please
Kenji began moving without speaking he dropped fish cakes daikon egg and tofu into the pot the broth rippled gently

The smell of soy and dashi filled the air
The man leaned forward elbows on the counter staring at the steam like he was watching something only he could see
Kenji didn’t interrupt he never did the shop was a place for people who needed silence as much as soup

Minutes passed the man spoke again his voice low and even
You ever drive through the Rockies at night?
Kenji shook his head
You see the road twist and the world drop off into nothing the man said It’s beautiful and cruel same time one mistake and you’re gone

Kenji placed the first bowl before him steam rising soft against the man’s face
He ate slowly with a kind of reverence like each bite was both punishment and comfort
Kenji watched the way his shoulders lifted slightly after every swallow like he was testing if the warmth could reach his bones

The clock on the wall ticked quietly there was no music no other customers just the hum of the refrigerator and the soft simmer of broth
Kenji poured him tea the man accepted without looking up
You from Japan right? he asked
Kenji nodded again Tokyo long time ago
The man smiled faintly Never been sounds busy

Silence again then the man said I drive long hauls west to east mostly I like the nights fewer cars fewer people just me and the road
Kenji stirred the pot the ladle moving in slow circles You like it?
Used to the man said Now it’s just something I do can’t stop don’t know what else I’d be

Kenji knew that tone it was the sound of someone who carried a story they didn’t want to tell yet one that lived too close to the surface
He let the steam do the talking for him the way the broth shifted under the light always moving never restless

The man reached for another piece of daikon
Funny thing about roads he said they always look straight ahead but they’re built from curves you can’t see until you’re in them
Kenji thought about that as he cleaned the ladle again his hands steady Like life maybe he said quietly
The man looked at him for the first time really looked and nodded

Rain pressed harder against the window the light outside turned the wet street into a river of gold
Kenji added more broth to the bowl and said You can stay as long as you need
The man didn’t answer right away just watched the steam drift up between them I might come back next week he finally said If the road allows
Kenji smiled The broth will be waiting

When the man left he stood under the awning lighting a cigarette the smoke mixing with the rain
Through the window Kenji saw his reflection next to the trucker’s for a moment they looked like two shadows from different stories sharing the same night

Then the truck’s engine rumbled and faded into the distance
Kenji turned off the stove but left one small pot simmering he always did that after closing a superstition maybe or a promise that someone might still walk in from the dark

He sat by the counter for a while holding his tea both hands around the cup feeling the heat press against his palms
He thought of his wife Aiko how she used to hum while cutting fish cakes in the old kitchen back in Saitama
How she said the secret to oden isn’t the ingredients it’s patience

He watched the steam rise one last time before turning off the light
The night outside was quiet only the smell of broth lingered
and somewhere far away a truck kept moving through the rain