What if she was me

Mariko's heart skipped a beat as she watched the unexpected scene unfold before her eyes. She had been waiting for Moriko to return from the restroom, and what she witnessed was beyond her imagination. Her sister, Moriko, approached a tall, mysterious man from behind with a radiant smile on her face.

However, what truly shocked Mariko was the sight of the man sweeping Moriko off her feet, carrying her in his arms like a princess, and making a hasty retreat toward the nearest exit. Mariko's eyes widened in disbelief as she processed what she had just witnessed.

She quickly glanced at Kenji, relieved that he seemed engrossed in the restaurant's menu and hadn't noticed the bizarre incident. Panic and concern gnawed at Mariko's thoughts. What had just happened? Why was Moriko allowing herself to be carried away by a stranger? And who was this mysterious man?

Mariko knew that she had to get to the bottom of this, but for now, she decided to accompany Kenji and interrogate Moriko once they're home. For the mean time she'd just create a plausible alibi for her sister's sudden disappearance to Kenji.

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As Moriko found herself inside Jiro's car, the tension between them was evident. She couldn't help but taunt him once more, unable to contain her frustration. "You really are something, you know," she said, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Not only are you a stalker, but now you're a kidnapper too."

Moriko expected her words to annoy Jiro, to rile him up, but to her dismay, he replied calmly, his tone almost indifferent. "How am I a kidnapper when you are a willing victim?"

Her cheeks flushed with embarrassment and anger, Moriko clenched her fists, fighting the urge to punch him in the face. Jiro's nonchalant response left her momentarily speechless, and she couldn't believe the audacity of Jiro's comment, so she retorted with a mixture of anger and frustration. "Don't flatter yourself," she finally shot back, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I didn't cooperate because I wanted to. I did it because you looked pitiful earlier."

She rolled her eyes, feeling a surge of irritation. "Honestly, the nerve of some stalkers. So ungrateful."

Jiro sighed and nodded, realizing that Moriko had a point. He turned to her and said, "I apologize for the insults earlier. I appreciate you not making a scene in there or giving me a flying kick to the face."

Moriko couldn't help but chuckle at his comment. She looked out of the car window at the moonlit night, and her laughter added a musical quality to the evening. "Well," she said with a playful glint in her eye, "consider it my good deed for the day. But remember, you're still a stalker, and I won't hesitate to deal with you if you step out of line."

Jiro couldn't help but smile at her feistiness, and he was inexplicably drawn to her charm. Despite the unusual circumstances, he found himself strangely captivated by Moriko as a sense of confusion wash over him.

He stole glances at Moriko as they continued to drive through the city and wondered why he felt more attracted to her than her sister, Mariko. It was a strange and unsettling feeling, one he couldn't easily explain.

Moriko's presence had a certain allure that he couldn't deny, and it left him pondering whether his obsession with Mariko was somehow being redirected toward her twin sister. Was it because he had only observed Mariko from afar and never had the chance to talk to her? Or was there something about Moriko that was undeniably captivating?

Trying to shake off his thoughts, Jiro took a deep breath. Moriko, ever observant, noticed the shift in his mood and decided to lighten it with a question. "So, stalker," she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye, "when did your obsession with my sister start?"

Jiro was slightly taken aback by Moriko's straightforwardness, but her question brought a nostalgic smile to his face. He couldn't help but recall the day he had first seen Mariko during that festival. The memory of her dancing among the lanterns was etched in his mind.

With a soft chuckle, he replied, "It all started during a festival. I saw your sister dancing gracefully, surrounded by lanterns, and she looked like a dream. Her elegance and beauty captivated me, and I couldn't help but want to learn more about her. That's when it all began."

As he shared this memory with Moriko, he found himself appreciating her presence even more. There was something about her directness that he found refreshing, a clear contrast to the shadows he usually operated in.

Moriko furrowed her brows, trying to recall if her sister had ever participated in a festival or danced in a lantern-lit setting. However, nothing came to mind. She knew her sister well, and Mariko wasn't the type to engage in such activities, especially dancing.

She couldn't help but wonder if this guy had somehow seen a different person and mistakenly associated her with her sister. She decided to voice her confusion, "I hate to break it to you, but my sister isn't much of a dancer. Are you sure you didn't mistake her for someone else?"

Jiro seemed a bit surprised by Moriko's response, but he continued to recount the details of that day. He described the event vividly, mentioning the specific date, time, and even Moriko's costume and hairstyle.

"It was during the Takigi Noh Festival 10 years ago," he began, his voice filled with reminiscence. "Your sister was dressed in a beautiful yukata with intricate patterns of stars. She had her hair styled in an elegant bun adorned with small, shimmering ornaments. She looked like a celestial being under the lantern-lit night." As he spoke, Jiro's eyes seemed to gaze into the past, lost in the memory of that festival night.

Moriko was now genuinely trying her best to recall any festival that her sister had participated in, but she couldn't seem to think of any. As the stalker described the details of that festival night, she racked her brain, desperately searching for a memory that matched. However, the more she thought about it, the more she realized that there was no such festival in her sister's history.

A troubling thought crossed her mind—what if the stalker had mistaken her for Mariko? Moriko had been involved in dance troupes to earn extra income because of her talent in dancing. But she quickly brushed that possibility aside, unwilling to entertain such a notion.

Instead, she fell into a moment of self-doubt. Comparing herself to Mariko, she couldn't help but feel inferior. If she was in the stalker's shoes, she probably wouldn't choose herself either.