## Chapter 356 — The People in the Room On Saturday morning, 21 August, the wedding notes contained two names and a problem Thomas had not expected to appear so quickly. **Kanno — if possible** **Matsuda — if possible** He had written both after the conversation during Tanabata week, when he and Isha had first decided that they wanted a small Earth ceremony rather than registration alone. At the time, two names had looked like the beginning of a guest list. Now the blank space beneath them had begun to look like a question about everyone else. The notebook lay open beside breakfast. Thomas had not brought it out specifically to discuss the wedding; he had wanted the page behind it, where he had written the next correspondence estimate and the list of things that did not need attention before September. Isha saw the names while reaching for the jam. “Saitō,” she said. Thomas stopped with the knife above his toast. “Yes.” The answer came so easily that neither of them added anything for a moment. Rain from the previous night still clung to the balcony rail outside, though the morning had already turned bright. The paper hanging near *Fold No. 6* moved slightly in the air conditioner, its smoky-blue loop still twisted around its thread. Thomas put down the knife and drew the notebook closer. “Do you want her at the ceremony itself?” “Yes.” Isha spread jam over her toast with the back of the spoon. “Not because she lives next door.” “I know.” “She is part of our life.” Thomas looked at the two existing names. Kanno had become the friend who knew both their lives. Matsuda belonged wholly to Earth and still mattered enough that distance had changed the shape of friendship rather than ending it. Saitō had entered through a power outage, meals and criticism, then stayed through birthdays, moving boxes and Thomas learning that cooking for people did not require earning a place at their table. He wrote **Saitō** beneath Matsuda. The third name made the space below it harder. “Miyake,” Thomas said. Isha looked towards the wall beyond which 204 sat farther down the corridor. Miyake had not entered their life as deeply as Saitō, but she was no longer merely the woman whose parcel had been misdelivered to 202. They knew the sound of her small press through the wall at night, the irregularity of her library shifts and the dry way she handled photographs, repairs and neighbours’ attempts to turn hobbies into obligations. “I would be glad if she were there,” Isha said. “So would I.” Neither reached for the pen. The building had other names. Yoshimura had coordinated the outage and both moves, kept the residents’ committee functioning and remembered who required help without treating the list as ownership. Arakawa had carried shelves, watched drains and supplied maintenance opinions with the durable authority of a retired railway worker. Fujii had measured anything willing to remain still long enough. Mrs Nakahara had hugged Isha when they announced the engagement. The unnamed student from 401 had carried boxes and applauded once too loudly when they told the building. Thomas had not imagined the wedding as a ranking exercise. Isha ate half her toast before speaking again. “If we add each person because we would be sad to exclude them, the ceremony stops being small.” “That does not mean they do not matter.” “I know.” Her gaze settled on the notebook, not on him. “I am trying to decide whether I want them in the room where we marry, or whether I want to celebrate with them because they are our neighbours.” Thomas turned the pen between his fingers. A wedding could apparently acquire categories before it acquired a date. “I think Saitō is in the room,” he said. “Yes.” “Miyake?” Isha considered longer. “I don’t know yet.” Thomas wrote no question mark. They finished breakfast without resolving the building. Thomas put the jam away, Isha washed the cups, and the notebook remained open until he returned from the kitchen with the dish towel over one shoulder. “Should we ask Saitō before we build anything around her being there?” he said. Isha dried her hands. “Yes. She may dislike weddings.” “She has not given that impression.” “She has given opinions about other people’s food, clothing, storage, cleaning and household organisation. I do not remember a wedding opinion.” “That is an unusual gap.” Isha closed the notebook and carried it to the cabinet. “We can correct it.” Saitō answered their knock in soft house trousers and a short-sleeved blouse, without her outdoor cane. The television was on quietly behind her, showing a morning programme about summer vegetables. She looked from Thomas to Isha, then at the absence of any container, folder or object in their hands. “You have arrived with nothing,” she said. “That makes me suspicious.” “We want to ask you something,” Thomas said. “That is worse. Come in.” Her air conditioner was working harder than theirs. A thin towel had been placed over the back of the chair nearest the balcony, and a bowl of small tomatoes sat on the low table beside a newspaper folded to the local pages. Saitō did not offer tea before they sat, which told Thomas more clearly than her expression that she expected the question to be brief. Isha went first. “We have decided we want a small ceremony when we marry. We do not have a date or place yet. Kanno and Matsuda are the two people we had already chosen.” She paused, her ring hand resting on her knee. “We want you there too, if you want to come.” Saitō stared at her while the television moved from vegetables to a weather map. A presenter pointed at temperatures across Tōhoku as she continued looking between them. “You came next door to ask whether I would attend your wedding.” “Yes,” Isha said. Saitō looked from the ring to Thomas, then towards the muted television as if the missing date might have appeared on the weather map. “Without a date.” “Without a date,” Thomas confirmed. She reached for the remote and muted the television. “Good. I was worried you had created a date and forgotten to tell me.” Thomas laughed before he could stop himself. Saitō’s expression softened. She reached across the table and took Isha’s left hand, turning the dark-green sapphire once beneath the morning light. “Of course I will come,” she said. “If I am in hospital, you may complain. Otherwise I will come.” Thomas felt the sentence more strongly than its tone asked him to. Isha closed her fingers carefully around Saitō’s. “We have not chosen what the ceremony looks like,” Thomas said after a moment. “It will be in Sendai if we can make that work.” “Make sitting easy.” Saitō released Isha’s hand and shifted her own knee before settling back. “I can stand. I can use stairs. I do not want to spend your wedding proving either.” Thomas reached automatically towards the phone in his pocket, then stopped. Saitō saw him. “You were going to write that down.” “Yes.” “You may. It is a useful thing to remember.” He took out the phone and added **easy seating / no necessary stairs** beneath the wedding note. Saitō watched him finish. “Now you have accessibility requirements before a date.” “We also have three guests.” Thomas put the phone away. Saitō picked up her tea and regarded both of them over the rim. “You have more than three people who will expect food eventually.” “That is part of the problem,” Isha said. Saitō looked towards the shared wall, then towards the door as if the rest of the building might be standing outside it. “Ah.” Thomas did not need to explain Miyake, Yoshimura or anyone above them. Saitō had lived in the building longer than either of them and understood the shape immediately. She picked up one of the tomatoes from the bowl, examined the skin and put it back. “A ceremony can be small. A meal does not have to be the same size.” Thomas had considered that and distrusted the convenience of it. “Would that feel like inviting some people properly and everyone else afterward?” “It depends on how badly you behave.” Saitō’s answer came without ceremony. “If you hide the wedding from the neighbours and then summon them for leftovers, yes. If you tell people you wanted a small ceremony and later eat with the building because you live here, they are capable of understanding two events.” Isha looked towards Thomas. He did not take out the phone this time. Saitō continued only because neither had objected. “Do not choose today. You have no date. You have asked me, and I have said yes. That is enough work before lunch.” The boundary was familiar enough that Thomas accepted it. They stayed another fifteen minutes because Saitō did make tea after all. She wanted to know whether Matsuda had been told he was a definite guest. He had not; Thomas and Isha still had no date to ask him to reserve. Kanno knew only that they wanted a small ceremony, not that her attendance had already become non-negotiable in the notebook. “You are making secret guest decisions about people who know you are engaged,” Saitō said. “We are avoiding asking them to keep every weekend free until we know one,” Thomas replied. “That is sensible. It is still funny.” Before they left, Saitō told Isha to bring the ring back under daylight at some point because the corridor light made the sapphire look black. Isha pointed out that Saitō had already inspected it twice. Saitō said this was not a limit. Back in 202, Thomas opened the notebook and added a small tick beside Saitō’s name. He did not add Miyake. --- The hotel had been on Isha’s mind since the restaurant, but by early afternoon she had decided what she wanted from it: very little. Thomas was at his desk reviewing the arrival pilot’s Friday notes when she came to the office doorway. The room held the mild disorder of weekend work he had not been asked to do: one personal book, his archery notebook and a printed copy of the shared-table proposal he had brought home because he wanted to think about it once, not because anyone expected an answer before Monday. “I am going to walk past the hotel,” Isha said. Thomas looked up. She had changed into light trousers, a black sleeveless top and walking shoes. Her hair was tied back higher than usual against the heat. She carried only her phone, wallet and a small bottle of water. “Do you want me to come?” “No.” She leaned against the doorframe. “I do not intend to go inside or ask for him. I want to see whether being there tells me anything when he is not standing in front of me.” Thomas glanced towards the locked drawer where the private chronology sat. “If the hotel is open.” “If it is open.” He thought about asking whether this was wise, then discarded the question because he could not identify a meaningful risk beyond the ordinary heat and traffic. Isha was proposing to walk along a public street in daytime. “Message if you decide to do more than walk past it.” “I will.” Thomas returned to his paper. Isha remained at the doorway for another second. “You are not worried.” “I am interested.” He looked back up. “Those are different.” Isha nodded and left him to the four dates. The trip west felt shorter when she knew the route. She did not make the wrong turn that had brought her to the hotel the first time. Instead she followed the direct street, crossed beneath the shade of taller office buildings and passed the junction where she had previously checked the map. Saturday traffic was lighter than Friday evening traffic and heavier than the quiet Thursday afternoon of their second meeting. The hotel appeared at the end of the block. For a moment Isha thought she had mistaken the building. The two planters had been moved away from the entrance. White temporary panels covered part of the lobby windows, and the shallow canopy carried a strip of protective sheeting along one edge. A small service truck stood in the former taxi space with its hazard lights on. Two men in work clothes were carrying lengths of wrapped material through a side door held open with a rubber wedge. The automatic entrance doors were switched off. A bilingual notice had been fixed to a stand in front of them. **TEMPORARY CLOSURE FOR FACILITY RENOVATION** **21 AUGUST – 10 SEPTEMBER 2027** **REOPENING PLANNED 11 SEPTEMBER** A smaller paragraph apologised for inconvenience and mentioned building-services renewal, lobby work and replacement of guest-area equipment. Isha read the dates first. The hotel had closed that morning. On 12 August, when the English man had stepped through those doors and nearly walked into her, it had been operating normally. A drill started somewhere inside the building, loud enough to make one of the workers pause before speaking to the other. The sound came through the temporary panels in short bursts. A contractor’s sign near the service door carried a company name and the day’s access instructions. Isha stood on the opposite side of the pavement long enough to read the notice twice. She felt nothing unusual. That fact interested her for perhaps three seconds and then became another fact whose meaning she did not know. The hotel itself had never produced the feeling. The street did not. Neither result told her where the English man was now, whether he had checked out before the closure, whether his employer had moved him to another hotel or whether his work in Sendai had already ended. She took one photograph of the notice. A worker emerged carrying a flattened cardboard carton and glanced at her phone. Isha lowered it immediately, making clear she was photographing the public sign rather than the work area. He paid no further attention. She crossed at the next light instead of walking closer to the entrance. The paper shop lay only a few minutes away. Isha considered going there, then realised she had no material she needed and continued east instead. Buying paper merely because the walk had brought her close would turn the second hanging into an excuse. At a vending machine beside a small parking area, she bought cold tea and drank half before moving on. The hotel disappeared behind the next block. --- Thomas had moved from the office to the LDK when she returned. The arrival-pilot pages were back in his bag, and he was cutting a peach over the sink with a small knife. “Closed,” Isha said from the genkan. Thomas waited until she had removed her shoes before asking anything else. She showed him the photograph at the dining table. He enlarged the dates once. “From today.” “Yes.” Thomas looked at the photograph again, checking the printed range rather than enlarging anything else. “So it was open when you met him.” “It was.” He handed the phone back. “That answers where he isn’t.” Isha sat opposite him. “Assuming he has not been given a room behind the temporary panels.” Thomas looked at her until she added, “That was a joke.” “I was deciding how much renovation logic I needed to explain.” “None.” He returned to the counter and brought the peach with him on a small plate. Isha took one slice while he opened the private notebook. The four existing entries ended with the restaurant on 20 August. Thomas added a fifth beneath them. **21 AUG — hotel closed for scheduled facility renovation, 21 Aug–10 Sep; operating at 12 Aug encounter. No further inquiry.** He turned the notebook towards Isha, who read the wording and nodded. “Add that I felt nothing there.” Thomas held the pen above the page. “Do you want that recorded as evidence?” “No. As observation.” He added **No unusual feeling during visit to location.** The sentence looked more scientific than the walk had felt. Thomas underlined nothing. “Do you want to ask the hotel where guests were moved?” he said. “No.” Isha ate another peach slice and looked at the closed notebook between them. Thomas gave the question one more practical shape. “Do you want me to search the closure notice or company information?” “No. If I meet him again, I meet him again. I do not want to create the meeting.” Thomas closed the notebook. The peach was ripe enough that juice had gathered at the lower edge of the plate. He pushed the last two pieces towards Isha because she had eaten the first three faster than he had. She took one and left him the other. The System message stayed in the correspondence file, and the hotel photograph stayed on her phone. Neither changed during dinner. --- On Sunday afternoon, Miyake caught them at the lift. She was returning from the library with a canvas bag containing two books and a packet of something rectangular enough that Thomas suspected repair board. Her reading glasses were folded into the front pocket of her blouse. Isha and Thomas had been taking flattened cardboard down to recycling after a delivery and were carrying nothing that justified occupying the lift alone. Miyake held the doors while Thomas and Isha stepped inside. “Thank you,” Thomas said. Her gaze went immediately to Isha’s left hand. The sapphire showed a narrow green line beneath the lift light. “It is still darker than the photograph,” Miyake said. “You have seen the photograph.” “I had not seen the ring under bad fluorescent lighting.” Isha lifted her hand enough to give her a better angle. “Is the bad lighting useful?” “For this, yes.” The lift descended one floor and stopped for no one. Miyake’s bag rested against her knee. Thomas thought of the unopened guest question in the notebook and disliked that his attention had changed the shape of an ordinary lift ride. Miyake was standing beside them because she lived in 204, had finished a library shift and happened to reach the lift at the same moment. She had no idea that her name had occupied breakfast the previous day. Isha glanced at Thomas and knew he was thinking something. At the ground floor, they moved together towards the recycling area. Miyake held the inner door while Thomas carried the flattened cardboard through. Outside, the covered bicycle area trapped the afternoon heat beneath its roof. Miyake shifted her canvas bag higher on her shoulder. “Are wedding plans advancing, or are you still engaged in principle?” “We decided we want a small ceremony,” Isha said. “We have not chosen a date.” “That sounds like progress.” “Kanno and Matsuda will be there if they can. We asked Saitō yesterday.” Miyake’s expression changed only slightly. “She said yes.” It was not a question. “She did,” Thomas said. Miyake nodded and looked towards the recycling store. “Then she has probably already chosen which shoes she will criticise.” “She asked for a chair,” Isha said. “That is more sensible.” Miyake did not ask who else was invited. They reached the point where her route turned towards the street and theirs continued to the recycling bins. She raised one hand in farewell and walked away with the canvas bag against her side. Isha watched her for a few steps. “I would be glad if she were there,” she said again. Thomas set the cardboard into the correct bin. “So would I.” They walked back towards the entrance without deciding what that meant. Upstairs, the notebook still lay inside the cabinet. Thomas did not retrieve it until after dinner, when Isha was sitting cross-legged on the floor beneath her unfinished second paper hanging. The new piece had acquired the pale grey strip at last. It crossed behind the cream loop and in front of the darker green one, creating a different shape depending on where Thomas stood. One of the threads remained too long. Isha had decided this was currently intentional and might later decide she had been lying. Thomas sat on the sofa with the wedding notebook on his knee. “Saitō is definite,” he said. “Yes.” “Miyake is still not a question mark?” Isha looked up at the hanging rather than at him. “She is a person I want there. I still do not know whether I want the ceremony to include everyone I want to celebrate with.” Thomas considered the wording. “Those may be two different lists.” “Probably.” He wrote no heading for either. The wider building community returned as soon as they imagined a meal: Yoshimura, Arakawa, Fujii, the Nakaharas, the student from 401 if the student was still living there when they married. Thomas could imagine Saitō objecting to being treated as representative neighbour for everyone else. He could also imagine a ceremony growing until the smallness they had both wanted existed only in the notes. Isha attached a clip to the lower end of the grey strip and watched its weight change the curve. “We do not need to solve the building before we have a date,” she said. Thomas looked at Saitō’s tick and the blank line beneath it. “No.” “Miyake can remain where she is.” “Which is?” Isha adjusted the clip by a finger’s width. “Someone we want. Decision later.” Thomas wrote exactly that beside no name and closed the notebook. The grey strip slipped out of the clip and fell onto Isha’s lap. She looked down at it. Thomas kept his mouth shut. “Good,” Isha said. “You are learning.”