The roar of jet engines sends a faint tremor through the terminal.

Mixed with it is the subtle scent of exhaust lingering in the air.

The setting sun streams through the enormous windows.

Beyond the glass, planes rise into the sky and descend toward the runways, one after another.

Even to someone like me, who knows nothing about architecture, the modern terminal is impressive. Someone who actually understands architecture could probably appreciate it even more.

Then there are the announcements, echoing endlessly through the terminal.

“Attention, passengers. XX Airlines is paging…”

“Passengers traveling on XX Airlines Flight XX…”

“XX Airlines Flight XX, bound for Tokyo…”

Their voices blend with the constant murmur of the crowd.

This is a truly international place, filled with languages from all over the world.

And everywhere I look, there are people.

People standing around.
People sitting.
People who look lost.
People waiting for someone.
People rushing somewhere.
People sleeping.

Everyone is here for a different reason.

And now, we’re here too.

We’ve come to Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport to return to Japan.

I was seventeen that summer when I dropped out of the high school I’d dreamed of attending since I was a child and came to Paris through one of my mother’s acquaintances.

Starting over from nothing in a country where I didn’t even know which way to turn wasn’t easy.

But I had no other choice.

No…

That wasn’t entirely true.

I did have choices.

In the end, I was the one who chose to leave Japan.

While attending a French language school, I continued my education at a Japanese school in Paris, and a year and a half later, I graduated from its high school division.

After that, I decided to enroll in an art university in France.

There, I chose to study watercolor painting—something I’d loved ever since I was little.

During my years at university, I painted constantly.

I entered my work in various competitions and even held exhibitions.

The response wasn’t bad.

But Paris is overflowing with artists.

Sometimes I thought I would simply stay here, becoming another struggling painter, quietly scraping together a living.

Even so, I had absolutely no intention of returning to Japan.

I didn’t think my life would be all that different there anyway.

And more than anything…

There was someone in Japan I couldn’t see.

No.

Someone I must never see again.

The chances of accidentally running into that person were probably close to zero.

Even so, whenever I thought about returning to Japan, a small feeling of unease refused to leave me.

Then something happened that I never expected.

My paintings caught the attention of the owner of an art studio in Japan.

They approached me with an enthusiastic proposal to develop my artwork into various kinds of products.

At first, I turned them down.

Again and again.

But when I stopped and reconsidered what this opportunity might mean for my future, I decided to take a chance.

I struggled with the decision for a long time.

But in the end, I chose to take that step and return to Japan.

And more than anything else—

I wanted to protect my little treasure.

To be continued…