15/3/2025 Ryo
It’s already been two months into 2025.
As I get older, the feeling of time passing seems to accelerate with each year.
And my second life in Asagaya is now half a year has passed. The first time was over 20 years ago, in the winter of 2003, when I moved to this town.
After returning from studying abroad in America, this was the first place I lived with someone other than my family.
At that time, my partner and I, with a combined take-home salary of about 160,000 yen, found that living apart from our parents and maintaining a comfortable lifestyle made “living together” — something that usually sounds sweet and romantic — a very pragmatic choice.
One of her favorite things was the hot cocoa at a café along Nakasugi Street.
It was a coffee shop run by an elderly gentleman, who appeared to be an expert, offering a dedicated, artisanal coffee experience. As a fledgling bartender at the time, I found the way he brewed coffee with such care and skill to be quite cool — very much the image of a master craftsman.
However, during Japan’s deflationary period, when a bowl of beef bowl cost just 300 yen, coffee served at more than double that price felt like a luxury to me, and I couldn’t visit often enough to be considered a regular.
So, when I did have a bit of extra money, I would go there a few times, and she would always insist on coming along.
Since she couldn’t drink coffee, she would always order the cocoa at that shop.
I remember feeling awkward, almost irritated, wondering why she’d come all the way to a coffee shop just to drink cocoa, when she could have had it anywhere else. Back then, I was still young and didn’t fully understand.
Our life together, in the end, didn’t last long due to the differences between her and my work-driven lifestyle.
Visiting Asagaya again after 20 years, I found that while the area under the train tracks had been developed and had a new face, somehow, the atmosphere still felt unchanged from those days.
And the coffee shop,
“Café Deuxoise,”
was still there, as if time had stopped, remaining exactly the same as it was back then.
Stepping into the shop for the first time in 20 years, I suddenly craved that cocoa.
Prepared with the same graceful technique as before, the cocoa had a deep richness and was incredibly delicious.
But the sweetness wasn’t as much as I remembered, and I couldn’t help but think that the cocoa, which my ex-partner once found so delightful, might not have been to her taste, given that she used to say even a convenience store latte was too bitter.
Looking back, I wonder if for her, coming along to the café, even though she didn’t drink coffee, was a rare opportunity for a little outing. Perhaps that was the most she could hope for in the midst of our life together, which was often devoid of traditional dates.
I’ll never know how she truly felt while drinking that cocoa.
As I sipped the slightly bitter cocoa, I selfishly wished for her happiness, and emptied my cup on that cold afternoon.