Kenji closed his eyes, thought of his country, his distant family, the years of cold negotiations, all the places where he’d been welcomed for his money, but never for his person. And for the first time in a long time, he felt profoundly alone. That night, neither of them slept, and the world continued to turn, indifferent to the hearts that silently broke.
The next morning dawned gray, with low clouds and a sticky heat that foreshadowed a storm. Julia hadn’t slept. She had barely moved from her bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying what had happened. On her cell phone, there were no messages, no calls, only the silence that usually follows a public humiliation.
After noon, she forced herself to get up, washed her face, made coffee, helped her mother with her medications, did everything automatically, with a feigned calm that only hid the emptiness. She went to the market. She walked with her head down. No one in her neighborhood knew what had happened, but she felt the weight of each step, as if everyone was watching her.
When she returned, she found something at the door, an envelope. It had no return address, only her name written in handwriting. Inside, a simple white card, with a single sentence in broken Spanish. “Thank you for seeing me. I want to understand. Can I buy you a K Yamasak?” Julia felt her chest tighten. The handwriting was clumsy but firm.
There was something deeply human in that gesture. It wasn’t insistent, it wasn’t condescending. It was a question from solitude. A door barely ajar. She didn’t know how he’d gotten her address, but something told her there was no danger, that there was sincerity. She hesitated for hours until she responded by email with a simple sentence.
Yes, but first, I need you to understand something. That same afternoon, they met in a discreet café in downtown Guadalajara, far from the party rooms, the suits, the murmurs. Kenji was already there when she arrived, a notebook on the table and an electronic dictionary at his side. He stood up when he saw her and bowed slightly.
Julia didn’t smile, but sat across from him. She looked him in the eye. “I wasn’t humiliated just for dancing with you,” he said in Japanese. They humiliated me because they don’t accept that someone like me would dare to do something out of line. Kenji listened to her silently. Then she took a folded piece of paper out of her purse. It was an old certificate, wrinkled, but still legible.
Certificate of Japanese Language Proficiency, Upper Intermediate Level. I earned it four years ago. I studied at a public university. I was on a scholarship. I wanted to be a translator. Kenji frowned slightly, confused. And why? My mother fell ill. There was no money, no time. I dropped everything, I worked a bit of everything.
Now I clean houses, I serve at weddings, and I try not to dream too much, but sometimes I still understand words that no one expects me to understand. Kenji lowered his gaze and pressed his lips together. Julia continued in a firm voice. I don’t want him to think it was out of pity. I asked him to dance because I, too, know what it’s like to sit at a table where no one speaks to you, because having no power doesn’t mean having no dignity.
Kenji looked at her with a different expression, a mixture of deep respect and shock. Something was breaking inside him, and it was noticeable. In Japan, he said with difficulty, there are also silences that weigh heavily, but I didn’t know they hurt just as much here. Then, from his inside jacket pocket, Kenji took a sheet of paper folded in four, slid it toward her, and Julia opened it.
It was a letter signed by a director of an international foundation. Mr. Kenji Yamasaki is an active member of the foundation for cultural exchange and training of young translators. He is currently seeking talent in Latin America to join scholarship and professional training programs in Asia. Pulia didn’t understand. She looked at him. Kenji nodded slowly.
I didn’t say it at the party. I didn’t want to seem like the Savior. I’m afraid of not being seen as a person, too. But you—you’re already a translator—you just need someone to remember that. Julia squeezed the letter between her fingers. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t know what to say. That day, in that no-frills café, a silent revelation occurred.
She was never invisible; she was just in a place she insisted on not looking at, and someone had finally seen her. In the following days, Julia’s life split into two halves. The outside world, where she continued to work shifts, carry trays, and take care of her mother, and the secret world where, without knowing how, she had begun to recover parts of herself she thought were lost.
Kenji kept his word. Su didn’t offer her a miracle or an instant way out, but he connected her with a distance learning program run by the foundation, sent her books and materials, and put her in touch with a Japanese mentor. Everything was still informal, without written promises, but for the first time someone had opened a door for her without asking her to bend down.
Julia studied at night while her mother slept. She went back to practicing writing, reading, and grammar. She was afraid of getting her hopes up again, but she couldn’t help it. However, what happens in silence sooner or later becomes loud. One afternoon, while she was collecting glasses at a minor event, Álvaro approached her with a cold expression.
So now you think you’re important, she looked at him in confusion. “They told me you’re talking to the Japanese guy again, that he’s looking for you. What’s this? A movie story?” Pulia didn’t respond. Álvaro smiled cynically. “Look, I’m telling you this for your own good. People like you don’t end well when they’re playing league changers.”
And if you keep having these fantasies, you won’t last long here. The threat wasn’t direct, but it was clear. That night, Julia walked to the hotel where she knew Kenji was still staying. She hesitated to go up, hesitated to knock, but she did. Kenji greeted her with the same calm as always. He was reading, without a tie, without any pretenses.
Seeing her nervousness, he put his book aside. “Is everything okay?” She sat down opposite him. She didn’t smile. “Why are you doing this?” she asked almost in a whisper. Kenji didn’t answer immediately, because I saw something in you that can’t be ignored. And what did you see? He stared at her. Someone who doesn’t ask permission to do the right thing. Someone who has gotten up many times without help.
Julia looked down. She didn’t want to cry, but she was tired, very tired. “I’m nobody, Kenji. I didn’t even finish college. I’m not even good at serving drinks. My boss hates me. My coworkers see me as if I were crazy. You, you could have helped anyone. Why me?” Kenji replied in a soft, almost fatherly voice.
See more on the next page
Advertisement
