"Photography for me is not looking, it's feeling. If you can't feel what you're looking at, then you're never going to get others to feel anything when they look at your pictures."

~ Don McCullin

"A woman whose smile is open and whose expression is glad has a kind of beauty no matter what she wears."

~ Anne Roiphe, American writer, b. 1935

Through the Lattice

The sun was warm on his head, and people swirled all around him as he stood on the sidewalk in the Old Quarter of the Spanish city of Granada. Here, the stone seemed to melt into a soft yellow in the light, and the windows were shuttered in fanciful lattices that he could have mistaken for lace, if he did not know that they were actually carved out of wood or – in some of the older buildings – stone.

Fuji Syusuke smiled to himself as he took in the sights, the sounds, and the smells of Granada. This was his first commission as a freelance photographer, and he was so glad that he had been sent here. He had heard much about the beauty of Granada – in particular, of the Palace of the Alhambra, the Moorish fairytale castle that sat atop the hill overlooking the city.

He allowed his eyes to open as he turned his gaze towards the palace, which hung in the afternoon light, seemingly suspended on silken threads in the air and exuding all the splendor of an Iberian Xanadu. He had this entire city and its people for his photographic subjects. What, really, could be better?

To have one's friends with you, of course, he thought with a soft sigh. It had been quite a few years since he had last seen everyone else, though he did keep tabs on what they were doing. They all had their own lives now, although they still kept in touch with one another. Fuji always made sure that he knew what the others were doing. It was all they could do now, split up as they were: some by college, others by work, and a few by marriage or the coming of such.

Someday, we ought to get together and play some tennis, just like we used to, he mused as he fished a piece of paper out of his pocket, and gazed at the neat block letters written on it in black fountain-pen ink. The paper was given to him by the one who asked him to take the photographs, who said that his wife's family lived in Granada, and would be more than happy to accommodate him for the duration of his stay in the city.

It was a very generous offer – too generous, so Fuji thought initially. He said that it was all right, that it was really too much, but the man insisted. He then reminded Fuji that the photographs he was taking were for his wife, who had been so long in Japan and by now was beginning to miss her hometown of Granada, and hence it was the man's idea to send a photographer (Fuji, in this case) there and take a lot of pictures that he would compile into a book, which he would then present to his wife. If the photos were exceptional, he would give the photographs to one of his friends, who specialized in publishing coffee-table books, and have them compiled and published.

But it really wasn't the possibility of getting published that made Fuji sign onto the project. It was the fact that the man so loved his wife, that he would go to such great lengths to give her a more-or-less permanent memento of the city she had grown up in. It touched a chord in Fuji's heart, and he decided that he would exert all his effort in capturing Granada in all its glory.

Following the directions, he eventually came upon an old building, the door still framed with the remnants of what were once Moorish tiles decorated with brightly-colored tracery. He smiled, one finger lightly tracing the faded blue curlicues on the tile, which was smooth, and dust-free. He could imagine what this doorway looked like when the light became more yellowish, and he smiled. That would look very nice in a photograph.

    "Ah… Is there something you need, Señor (1)?"

Fuji whipped his head to the doorway, which had opened, and in the portico stood an old lady with a cheerful face, wearing an apron over a set of colorful house clothes. She looked healthy and hale, as if she had never been sick for a day in her life. He smiled at the lady, and bowed. "Good afternoon. Is this the Asturias residence?"

The woman blinked, and then a smile lit up her face as she laughed. "Ah, you are Señor Fuji Syusuke?" His name came out rather strange and unusual, resounding with the tone and flavor of Andalusia.

Fuji nodded, smiling as he did so. Apparently his employer had sent word of his arrival. "Sí (2), Señora (3)."

    "My son-in-law called me from Japan, telling me that you were arriving," the lady said, stepping aside to grant him entrance to the cool space beyond. "He knows that I like having young people around. Ever since my youngest daughter, Estrella, left to live with her husband and children in Sevilla (4), things have gotten a little lonely around here. It is not good for a house like this to be quiet all the time. Oh, and please, call me Divina, or Tía (5) Divina, if you really must. Sometimes the neighbors call me Doña (6) Divina, but that is just too much."

Fuji nodded, looking around at the house. While the house was rather dim in some parts, he could tell that, during certain parts of the day, those dark corners would be well-lit, making for a fascinating study in shadow and light. His photographer's sense was drawn to the idea, and he planned to capture sections of this house at various times of the day. "It's a very beautiful house, though. How long as it been around?"

    "Oh, a very, very long time," Tía Divina replied, waving a hand airily. "A historian from the University of Granada came here once – for research, he told me – and he said that this house was built at the height of the Moorish Occupation of Spain, and one of the finest examples still standing." She shrugged. "That is not very important to me. This has been my home for as long as I can remember. I was born here, married here, and had my children here. It is home to me."

They walked across a central courtyard, and this was when Fuji realized just how old this house really was. He had done a bit of research on the development of architectural styles in Granada, just so he would know what to expect to capture in his photographs, and he learned that most of the grander Moorish houses used to have central courtyards, often featuring a fountain in the middle. His gaze rested on the fountain, and he thought he recognized the stone as fine alabaster.

In the meantime, Tía Divina led him up a rather narrow staircase to the second floor, where his bedroom was located, explaining all the while about house rules and such, and to call her if the ceiling in his bedroom started leaking – they had been having a hard time patching it up, and though she felt that there was going to be no rain for a while, if it did and it started leaking, then he should tell her as soon as possible so that she could have it fixed.

As they rounded a corner, Fuji saw movement just over the old lady's shoulder, and watched as a young woman emerged from what was technically his room. She was wearing jeans and a T-shirt that was covered in dust, and her hair was held away from her face by a colorful kerchief. She was holding a broom in one hand, and a dustpan in the other. She looked rather satisfied with herself as she emerged from the room, her cheeks flushed from exertion and a small smile on her face.

    " Dulce y Asturias (7)!" Tía Divina burst out, causing the young woman to jump slightly out of surprise, and Fuji to back away slightly. Who would have thought that the sweet old lady had a voice that loud?

The young woman glanced over, and seemed to wince, though she smiled apologetically. "Ah, Abuela (8) Divina! I didn't know you would be up here so early."

The venerable lady frowned, and then rattled off in rapid Spanish – a scolding such as only the Spanish can do, so Fuji believed. The young woman seemed to turn redder, and he believed that she was getting scolded quite thoroughly. The young woman, however, kept quiet, and didn't say anything to argue right back.

Fuji took this time to observe her. He had caught the names "" and "" when Tía Divina had spoken, which meant that she was Japanese. With a jolt, he suddenly remembered that his client was named . He looked at the young woman with a scrutinizing eye. Was she related to him somehow?

It seemed possible, as he looked at her features carefully. She didn't look purely Spanish, but neither did she look purely Japanese, either. The delicacy of her bone structure was very Japanese, but there was a kind of clarity and sparkle in her eyes that he had come to identify with the Spanish people, particularly those who lived in this lovely city. Her expression was lively and mobile, and though her mouth was turned downwards in a small frown at the moment, he could tell that she was more prone to smiling than looking sad.

And then, the realization slammed Fuji in the gut with the force of a shinkansen train running at full speed: he found this young woman very beautiful.

Finally, the scolding came to an end, and Tía Divina turned to him, a small smile on her face. "Well then, I suppose introductions should be made. Señor Fuji, this is , my granddaughter. , this is Señor Fuji Syusuke – the photographer your father hired to take pictures of the city for your mother."

Fuji opened his eyes just so when he heard that. So she was the daughter of his client. Odd: how come he hadn't mentioned that he had a daughter living in Spain?

The young woman blinked, and looked up at him, her eyes wide and blinking. At length, she smiled, and bowed in a most Japanese way. "Welcome to Granada, Fuji-san."

Fuji smiled, mildly surprised – but utterly delighted – to be addressed in the Japanese way. He bowed, and said: "Muchos gracias (9), -san. The city is beautiful, and so is your home."

laughed, and straightened. "Ah, it's been so long since I was addressed that way. I have been away from Japan for so long that it startles me sometimes to hear myself being addressed that way."

Tía Divina cut through the conversation then. "Hija, you will take care of Señor Fuji, won't you?"

    "Abuela, please, don't call me that," protested, and Fuji couldn't help but smile in amusement at the pet name.

The old lady waved her hand dismissively, and continued: "Help him unpack, and then when you're through, come downstairs. I'll have some merienda (10) waiting for you two."

    "Sí, Abuela."

Fuji watched the old lady walk down the stairs, before he turned to . He smiled cheerfully, and asked: "So, how should I address you? Señorita , or -san?"

She laughed, and shook her head. "Neither. I would prefer it if you called me -chan." She winked. "I know that you might feel uncomfortable calling me just , and Hija is a rather pejorative term that I think my grandmother shouldn't use anymore." She tilted her head, and gave him an inquiring look. "And how do you wish me to address you? Señor Fuji, or Fuji-san?"

    "Fuji will work just fine," Fuji responded with a smile.

She nodded, and smiled, nodding at the partially-open door. "You can go in the room now; I'll come back and help you unpack as soon as I set aside this stuff and remove this shirt. Is that all right with you?"

    "Oh yes, that's perfectly fine," Fuji replied, and picked up his things, nudging the door open just a bit wider to allow himself entrance. He smiled at her as he nudged his suitcase into the room. "I'll be just fine."

She smiled, and nodded, before disappearing down the hallway, her feet pattering away from him on the wooden floorboards.

Fuji sighed, and turned towards the windows, which were made of wood and beautifully fretted with fanciful latticework. He liked the way that the orange light slanted through, highlighting the latticework in stark relief. He picked up his digital camera, chose the appropriate lens, and took a photo.

As he looked at the preview through the LCD screen of his camera, he could not help but smile. He had just stepped into his room, and already he was taking photographs. He wondered what the rest of the city held in store for him, and he shivered slightly. He could not wait to explore it.

Something popped into his head then, and he frowned. … If he reversed that, wrote it in proper Japanese order, it would be .

He looked over his shoulder at the door, which was still open, and through it he could see down into the central courtyard. Why did that name seem so familiar – and not just because she was the daughter of his client?

--~*~--

She walked as quickly as she could, heading towards the broom closet at the other end of the hall. As soon as she got there, she stepped aside into the little alcove that opened up to a window overlooking the street, and she sighed, pressing a hand to her heart.

Of all the people who just had to come here, of all the people who just had to get hired by her father in Japan, it had to be Fuji Syusuke. And of all the places that he could stay at in the entirety of Granada, her father sent him to stay here, in the house that she inhabited, along with her grandmother.

groaned, and buried her face into her hands. This was not how it was supposed to be. This was not how she was planning to meet him again.

She knew who he was, of course. She used to live in Japan with her parents, and attended Seishun Gakuen from junior high to senior high. She had been in the same class as he all throughout junior high, and when they reached senior high their classrooms were right next door. She had spent a great deal of her life with him in close proximity, and she was thoroughly infatuated with him – though she kept that infatuation a closely-guarded secret, telling no one, not even her closest friends, about it.

Four years ago, when she left Japan to study Art History at the University of Granada, she had believed that, when she next saw him again, she would have made something of herself. She would be an art historian, perhaps with a job waiting for her at any of the many reputable galleries and universities in Tokyo, and she would be able to look at him in the eye, and know that she was worthy of him: his equal, his peer.

She did not expect to see him so soon.

She squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head rapidly to clear her thoughts. There was nothing she could do now. He was here, and living with her and her grandmother. She would have to deal with it, and on her own terms.

At least he doesn't know how I feel about him, she thought, a small smile coming to her face as she put the broom and dustpan back in the closet where they belonged. It would have been a more embarrassing situation if she had told him, long ago, that she had liked him; at least now, she could look him straight in the eye, and not have to worry about making a fool of herself.

She slipped into her room to change into a fresh blouse, and when she was through, she stepped out, took one deep breath to steady herself, and then turned around to lift a fist and knock on the doorframe of what was, at the moment, Fuji's room.

Almost immediately, she felt her breath catch in her throat, and her hand stopped in midair. Fuji was standing by the windows, the afternoon light filtering through the old lattices and casting twining, twisting shadows over his face and form. She had always known that he was handsome, but she had never known just how handsome he could become.

She shook her head rapidly once again, and chided herself mentally for losing focus so quickly. She rapped her knuckles on the doorframe, and smiled when Fuji looked up at her. "Would you like me to open the lattices for you?" she asked as she stepped into the room.

Fuji seemed to blink, before he smiled again, and nodded. "Please, but not right now."

    "Hm? Why, if you don't mind me asking?"

He smiled again – she remembered how he was always smiling, way back in junior and senior high – and lifted a hand to wave her to his side. "Come over here and stand beside me. You'll see what I mean."

She walked over to stand next to him, and watched as he spread his hands underneath the shadow made by the lattices. She did the same too, and watched as the shadows spilled over their hands, interlacing with the lines on their palms.

    "Do you see that?" he asked her, his voice soft, almost reverential. "Do you see the way that the lattices make the shadows on your palms? It's a very beautiful thing, don't you think? And with the light the color that it is right now, it's almost as if the shadows are black velvet, and our hands are gold tissue."

    "Almost like a Rembrandt, the way the shadow and the light contrast," she murmured quietly. She looked up at him, and felt her heartbeat stop for a fraction of a second when she saw just how intent his eyes were on her hands. "Fuji?"

He blinked, glanced up at her, and then his eyes disappeared once more as they hid behind smiling arches. "I took a picture of it a while ago." He looked over at the lattices. "It's incredible how something so simple can become such a thing of beauty."

She laughed softly, and looked away, taking a step back from him lest she do something idiotic. "I keep on forgetting how beautiful these rooms can be during certain times of the day," she murmured. "You reminded me that even these ordinary lattices can be beautiful."

Fuji laughed softly, and straightened up. "I keep on seeing beautiful things here, wherever I go. It's such a change from Tokyo, and Japan in general." He turned his head, and felt herself pinned in his deep, cerulean gaze. "I'm beginning to realize that perhaps I should look in the most unexpected places for beauty in this city."

swallowed, and then laughed, trying to cover up her embarrassment and her shyness. "You will find beauty even in the most unusual corners of the city. I can guarantee you that." She nodded towards the hallway. "Shall we go downstairs? Abuela Divina will be wondering what's taking us so long."

He nodded, and walked beside her, the two of them making their way down for their afternoon snack.

--~*~--

Fuji inhaled the evening air, heavy with the scent of myrtles and roses. The fragrance tugged a smile onto his lips – it was so different from the air in Japan. He leaned against the balustrade of the second-floor walkway, and gazed down upon the fountain in the middle of the central courtyard, watching the water turn into silver droplets in the light of the waxing moon.

It had been a wonderfully slow, relaxing day, one spent walking around the house itself, looking for photo opportunities. He thought that, since this was the house where his client's wife had spent her childhood in, it would be a good idea to take pictures of the house itself. Not that he minded: the house made a wonderful photographic subject, especially later on in the day when the sun really started to go down, and the sunlight painted everything in red and gold and soft shades of pink. He had used up two rolls of film just taking photographs of the house alone – the lattice windows, in particular, had made excellent subjects.

At the moment, though, with the night settling in and the pace of the household beginning to wind down, his mind turned towards other things: his family, his friends, and how all of that seemed to be so far away, now that he was here in Granada, and yet, how much he liked being in this city, and in this house, in particular.

His thoughts drifted then to , and how she seemed so familiar to him. In some dim corner of his memory he felt that she was one of his former classmates in junior high, if not senior high, but he really could not place her. There was something about the way that she smiled, though, that tugged gently on the ends of his memory, and he could not shake that nagging feeling off, no matter how hard he tried.

Had they met before? Had he bumped into her somewhere, talked to her, found out her name, and then forgotten about her until now? These questions nagged at Fuji, and he hated it that he could not find the answers at all.

He thought he remembered something, though, when she smiled. Fuji, being the photographer that he was, was always drawn to the way that a person smiled, and certainly had a wonderful way of smiling. It was one of those bright, cheerful affairs that reminded one of days when the sun was shining, the wind was blowing, and one's friends were laughing. It reminded him of the days when he and Yuuta were still children. It reminded him of the days when he had played his most satisfying tennis matches, against such people as Tachibana, Tezuka, and the players at the Nationals.

It also made him think of other things, things that had never occurred to him before – like why his friends were mostly attached, and why he was still alone. It made him wonder whether he had missed out on something when he was younger, being so focused on his studies and on tennis. It made him wonder if, in all that time from his junior high school days to his last few days in university, he had somehow managed to neglect something that he should have paid attention to.

The vague suggestion of a smile hovered at the edges of his memories in junior high and senior high, before seeming to vanish when he thought of his memories in university, as if the owner of that smile had disappeared from his sphere of awareness completely.

Fuji groaned, frustrated by his thoughts. Why did these things come to him now? It did not make any sense at all.

    "Is something wrong?"

Fuji snapped back to the present and looked up to see standing nearby, dressed in a light sleeping gown, but swathed in a black shawl to protect her from the cold. He smiled at her, and shook his head. "No, nothing's wrong. I was just trying to remember something."

laughed softly, and again, that strange, familiar feeling niggled at Fuji's mind. "Hmm… There's a story told around these parts that somewhat relates to that."

    "Really?" Fuji smiled at her, and tilted his head to show his curiosity. "What sort of story?"

    "Well, they say that, long ago, a powerful spell of preservation was cast by a Moorish magician," explained. "Some stories say that it was laid only on the Palace of the Alhambra, others say that it was spread out to include the gardens of the Generalife and some of the buildings nearby, while others say that it included the whole city. Whatever the case may be, they say that, apart from slowing the process of decay, the spell also induces the return of memory to those who come here from other places." She laughed, and shrugged. "Abuela doesn't really like me talking about magic spells and such, but I like listening to the stories, and there are so many."

    "It's a lovely story," Fuji replied, which was the truth. He gazed upon the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. "It's an easy thing to believe. Sometimes I walk around this house and I half-expect to see mysterious eyes peering at me through the lattices."

laughed. "True. When I first came here to study Art History at the University of Granada, I sometimes imagined what this place was like during the height of the Ottoman Empire, when Granada was known as the Kingdom of Granada and was ruled by the Nasrid dynasty." She shivered, though Fuji noted that it was a delighted shiver. "Can you imagine what it must have been like? Great lords dressed in exotic silks and satins, carrying large, curving scimitars at their waists, while beautiful limpid-eyed ladies peered through the lattices…"

    "Yes, it must have been magnificent," Fuji responded, and though he laughed with her, he had to admit that what was describing was a most powerful image indeed.

Silence settled in again like a carpet of myrtle leaves, and for a while, they stood next to each other, side by side, leaning on the balustrade: he in a shirt and pajamas, she in her sleeping gown and black shawl. The image it brought to mind suddenly made Fuji wish that he could take a photograph of the two of them, but he stayed still, telling himself that it was late, and besides, how sure was he that she would want to be have her photograph taken?

It was she who broke the silence, her voice soft and quiet, like the whisper of a rose-scented breeze against his cheek. "Um… Fuji-kun, I would just like to ask you…"

He turned his head to look at her inquiringly, sliding into Japanese almost immediately upon hearing her append the "-kun" suffix to his name. "Hai?"

    "There are no classes tomorrow, and I was wondering if you would like to come with me. I'm meeting my friends from university, for our annual pilgrimage to the Alhambra." Her eyes gleamed like dark stars in the dim light, and for a moment he thought they peered at him from above a fragile gauze silk veil. "Would you like to join us?"

Fuji blinked for a few moments, as if considering the offer, when in fact he was trying to rid himself of the image that had just sprung into his mind. At length, he smiled, and nodded. "I'd like that – well, as long as your friends don't mind…"

    "Oh, I know they won't," said, smiling this time and waving her hand to dispel his doubts. "They're always eager to meet new people – particularly those who work with the arts – and besides, I'm sure that they'd love to show off the Alhambra to you."

Fuji chuckled, unable to say refuse the offer that was being made to him. It was far too interesting, and besides, it would give him a chance to get to know his hostess a bit more – and hopefully, answer the questions that had been bothering him.

--~*~--

The noise of the fruit and vegetable market in the El Albayzin (11) was music to her ears, a melody that she rarely heard now because schoolwork kept her far too busy to come down here herself. She loved the colors and the smells that she experienced here, comparing it to Van Gogh's brilliantly colored paintings. She inhaled, the air spiked with the mingled fragrance of spices and herbs, while her eyes took in the colors of oranges, pomegranates, and peaches in pale wooden crates, sold by the kilogram.

watched as Fuji paused in front of a crate of oranges, making small talk with the old lady sitting behind it, asking if he could take her photograph. The old lady smiled, her face – tanned by the warm, Andalusian sunshine – creasing all the more when she did so. It was an old face, but one that was kind, welcoming, and affable: a smile of welcome to the stranger who was stepping into a different world.

    "That was Señora Sabina," remarked as Fuji approached her, adjusting his camera as he did so. "She has been working in this marketplace, sitting in that same stall, and selling the same oranges ever since I came here."

Fuji smiled at her, his gaze showing just how interested he was. "Really now?"

    "Mmm-hmm. I used to come here a lot, during the first two years at university, but I had to stop after a while because I had to see to school." shrugged, and grinned as the two of them started walking again. "Abuela does buy oranges from her, though. Says that she doesn't trust anyone else to give her what she paid for in terms of oranges except for Señora Sabina."

Fuji chuckled, and the sound made feel warm all over. "I wish that it was like this in Japan," he said, inhaling deeply as he tilted his face upwards, basking in the warmth of the sun. "The people are so kind here, so warm… And they smile all the time."

tilted her head in curiosity. "Why do you say that? You smile all the time too, don't you?"

Fuji gave her a look, and for a moment feared that she had blown it, that he now knew who she was. But instead, his face seemed to soften, and he gave her a smile that seemed so different from the ones that she was used to seeing on him. "Some people don't smile because they mean it, -chan. Sometimes, some people smile because they want to hide something."

wanted to push further, to ask a few more questions, but stopped herself before she could do so. She had no right to pry into his personal affairs, no matter how much she might have wanted to get to know him more. It was enough that he had shown her that one moment of trust, when he had confided something in her – no matter how cryptic it was.

They continued to wind their way through the El Albayzin, taking their time in doing so. It was a beautiful day, and there was so much left to see.

She noticed that he liked taking pictures of the ordinary. While he certainly did pay a great deal of attention to the more fantastic structures, Fuji seemed to pay almost loving attention to the little, everyday things that happened around him as they walked: a woman garnishing a cup of finely crushed ice with peach slices, children chasing a football down the cobblestone street, two old men playing chess in the doorway of an old building. Most of the time these people didn't know that he was taking their photographs, and he seemed to like it that way: capturing this city while it was pulsing around him, moving to the beat that it always did before he had come here.

It was close to noon when they made their way back to the central square, where the many cafes and restaurants were, and they made a beeline for one that was tucked away in a relatively cool and quiet corner of the area. As they approached felt a smile beginning to emerge on her face when she saw who was seated underneath one of the canopied tables. "Seiichi!"

--~*~--

He looked up just as he heard his name being called, and smiled as a familiar figure approached him: eyes glimmering in the sunshine, a cheerful smile firmly in place. He stood up, and reached over to kiss this person on the cheek – their customary greeting. "Hello, ."

Hatano – or , as their professors at the University of Granada called her when doing roll call or when paging her – grinned, and lightly brushed her lips on his cheek. "Good to see you out of your studio for a change, Seiichi."

Yukimura Seiichi laughed, and shrugged. "When you do what I do, , you have to understand why I like being cloistered away in my studio."

    "Yukimura-san?"

Yukimura looked up, blinking at the unfamiliar voice, and smiled in surprise when he saw the figure that stood just behind . "Well now, this is a surprise. Fuji Syusuke, isn't it?"

The young man nodded, and seemed to smile – though as Yukimura remembered it, this one was always smiling. "Hai."

Yukimura had very clear memories of Fuji Syusuke. It was impossible, after all, to forget the tensai who had created the Triple Counters, and had actually expanded them to make them into four instead of three. It was hard to forget a brilliant, clever player, one who was easily on-par with the greats like Tezuka Kunimitsu or Tachibana Kippei or Atobe Keigo or even his own best friend, Sanada Genichirou. It was hard to forget a player who could have, at any moment, risen far above the other players that Yukimura had just thought about, if only he had had the determination and the drive to do so.

But no, it was clear that his heart lay in other things. It was easy to tell, after all, from the way that Fuji held his camera. He couldn't help but smile. So he, too, was an artist, though in a different medium, of course.

    "So, what are you doing here in Granada?" Yukimura asked amicably as and Fuji sat down in the empty chairs around the table.

    "I'm taking photographs for 's father," Fuji explained, smiling as he capped the lens of his camera, and set it aside in the bag that he toted around for it. "They are for a present for 's mother."

laughed, and sighed thoughtfully. "Mama's missing Granada then. She's been away for so long…" She smiled. "It was good of ‘Tou-san to think up such a thing for her. We used to plan to come here every summer when I was younger, but there was always something that came up, so we never got the time to do so."

    "Your father is just as creative as you then," Yukimura remarked, to which laughed, and then waved over a passing waiter to place her order. While she did so, Yukimura glanced at Fuji, and smiled. "So you decided to pursue photography, and not tennis?"

It was strange, how Fuji's guard seemed to go up for a few seconds, before dropping down just slightly. "Hai," Seigaku's former tensai responded. "Tennis was something I was good at. I don't think my heart was really as into it as some of the others, like Echizen or Momo or even Tezuka." A few more walls seemed to drop as Fuji looked off to the square, where a young couple was kissing by the fountain. "Photography is different. It makes me feel."

Yukimura nodded his head in understanding. It was more or less the same for him: although he had said when he was younger that tennis was his life, he had to admit that as he grew older, he realized that there was more to life than just tennis. Art, especially, made him feel the things that tennis did, and a whole lot more besides. It wasn't that he gave up tennis completely – he had always been a force to be reckoned with in Rikkai, and he still was. It was just that something else took precedence now.

    "And what about you?" Fuji asked him, his face as serene as ever. "What do you do now?"

Yukimura chuckled, and shrugged. "I've been studying Fine Arts here for the last four years."

    "Fine Arts?"

    "Hai. studies Art History, which is a little different. She enjoys looking at art and studying it, but she does not have the talent to make it – or so she says."

    "And I don't," chimed just then. She gave Yukimura a look. "Seiichi, you and I both know that the only art I've ever drawn are stick figures in crayon on brown paper bags."

    "Didn't Picasso do the same thing?" Yukimura threw back, grinning as he put on his most innocent face. This was a game that he and played a lot, but it always amused him to no end. "I mean, he certainly didn't use crayons or brown paper bags, but the style is remarkably similar."

rolled her eyes. "Picasso is Picasso, Seiichi, and I'm not Picasso."

    "You should show me some of your work, then, and let me be the judge of that."

    "The answer, as always, is no, Seiichi. I don't have any art to show you."

Once more, Yukimura smiled at her innocently. "Then won't you at least let me immortalize you in a work of art?"

It seemed that Fuji's interest was piqued by that remark, and he leaned forward, his face showing that he was curious. "What do you mean: immortalize in a work of art?"

shook her head. "He just wants to use me as his model."

Fuji looked at her then, and seemed to be genuinely confused. "Why not? You're very pretty, after all, -chan."

Yukimura raised an eyebrow slightly at the use of the "-chan" suffix, but let it slide. He would take it up with later. Instead, he smiled, and leaned back. "It really isn't the problem of aesthetics, Fuji," he remarked. "After all, you will have to agree with me that is a very pretty girl. The problem, though, is that she refuses to pose for me." He shot a mock-wounded look. "And here I thought you had confidence in my skills."

sighed. "I do have confidence in your skills, Seiichi. I just don't have confidence in myself."

    "What do you paint, Yukimura-san?" Fuji inquired.

Yukimura chuckled, and airily waved a hand. "I am a worshipper of Venus and all her fair tribe."

    "That just means he paints nudes," cut in, rolling her eyes once again, which meant that she did not see the way that Fuji's eyes opened just so at the mention of nudes. "Seriously Seiichi, I don't understand why you have to resort to euphemisms when talking about your art. It's not as if we are still living during the Inquisition, you know…"

    "We might not be living during the Inquisition anymore, , but I at least strive to protect those with more…sensitive sensibilities than yours or mine," Yukimura replied, and here he slid a glance in Fuji's direction. He noticed how the other man had gone quiet, and seemed to be rather contemplative – particularly since he was looking at .

He and had been friends for four years now – a long stretch of time, especially when one thinks of the ephemeral nature of college life. They had initially bonded over the fact that they were both from Japan and were both new to Granada, and had stuck together ever since. Eventually, they collected a rather large circle of friends around them, people who understood them and with whom they could have fun. This annual "pilgrimage," as had dubbed it, to the Alhambra was something that brought them all together once a year, even if some of them had gone on to other courses or other paths of life.

Gradually, the little table around which they sat got more and more crowded as more of the friends that and he had made at the University of Granada began to show up. The photographers in their group – namely Julie McNamara, who was an exchange student from America, and Alessandro Pietri, from Italy – found themselves deep in conversation with Fuji, who spoke to them with his usual smile and calm, charming demeanor. By the time they were finished eating lunch and were heading up to the Alhambra, it was as if the three of them had been friends for ages.

The idea made Yukimura smile. It was strange, how language barriers were never a problem with artists – not that he was complaining, really. Fuji seemed to fit right in, and he could tell that was happy for that.

There was just one thing, though, that bothered Yukimura just a little bit.

Why was pretending as if this was the first time that she had met Fuji?

--~*~--

    "Where have you been hiding this dreadfully handsome boy all this time, ?" Julie demanded as they walked underneath the Puerta de las Granadas (12) and entered the Park of the Alhambra.

raised an eyebrow, but she could not stop her lips from curling into a smile. "I wasn't hiding him from anyone. He came here only yesterday. I'm sure he's told you that he's doing a commission for my father."

Beside her, Yukimura chuckled, and murmured: "You were hiding him, in a way." His voice took on a more serious tone. "How come you're pretending as if you didn't know him until he came to your house?"

stiffened slightly at that, and responded, just as quietly: "I didn't plan for him to come and see me yet, Seiichi. It wasn't supposed to be this way."

    "You should allow for changes in the plan." She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, and saw a small, nostalgic smile cross Yukimura's face. "I always used to tell Renji that…"

shook her head, and hugged herself as they approached the Gate of Justice: a magnificent archway with a horseshoe-shaped arch and once used as an informal court of justice by the Moors. "Whatever the case may be, this was not in the plan. When I met him again, I intended to be his match, his equal. He would not remember anything about me from when we were in junior high and senior high; he will only know me for what I am now."

    "But what if he does remember you for who you were back then, ?"

    "Then at least now I am better than whom I was back then."

Yukimura chuckled softly, and shook his head. "That's not always the case. You could be no better or worse now when compared to who you were back then." His eyes twinkled. "Besides, what will you do if you find out that he liked you the way you were?"

shook her head vigorously. "He doesn't remember me. He didn't even look my way at all, back then. I don't think he remembers me."

    "When it comes to people like Fuji Syusuke, it's not always easy to come to such conclusions."

gave Yukimura a look, and in response he only smiled, and shrugged. Sometimes she had to wonder just what it was about Yukimura that made him so smug about this sort of thing, but eventually she just chalked it up to the fact that he was bored, and matchmaking her had always been one of his favorite pastimes ever since they became close friends.

They were just entering the narrow passage that led to the Place of the Cisterns, and their group paused between the Tower of Wine, and the Renaissance palace of Charles V.

Fuji, who had moved over to stand with and Yukimura, made a small sound of displeasure upon seeing the cold-looking palace. "It seems so out of place here," he remarked, even as his camera clicked away to take pictures. "Here we are, about to enter one of the most exotic and beautiful palaces in all of Europe, and then we see this monstrosity?"

giggled quietly. "The palace of Charles V would not have seemed so out of place elsewhere, like Florence perhaps, or Rome. History states that Charles V leveled the original winter palace of the Alhambra in order to make room for this structure – which, by the way, was never even completed."

    "It's like painting a nude woman in a mortuary," Yukimura murmured. "The woman has warm, beautiful skin, the liveliest eyes, and exquisite, glossy hair, but the effect is significantly diminished by the harsh light and cold steel of the mortuary. It is the same here."

They kept moving again, this time passing through a small door that led into the Court of Myrtles. smiled as the scent of myrtles hit her nostrils, and the merry tinkling of the fountains in the pond set into the marble pavement of the courtyard tickled her ears.

Fuji exhaled with delight. "Now this is more like it," he murmured, walking around leisurely while he took photographs.

left him to it, choosing instead to wander around the area. This was one of her most favorite places in the entirety of the Alhambra – second only, perhaps, to the Tower of the Princesses and the gardens and summer villa in the Generalife. She leaned over the pond, looking for a particularly large and striking goldfish that she had dubbed Nubia, because of the pretty gold color of its scales. After seeing the goldfish, which had been swimming around near the southern gallery, she moved towards what was once the main entrance into this portion of the palace, with miniature pillars and three elegant windows.

She sighed with pleasure as she took it all in, leaning her back against the smooth, cool surface of a marble pillar. There was something so fanciful about the architecture and artwork of the Moors, something that made her think of fairy tales and dreams. While there was certainly something beautiful about the clean lines and Zen aesthetics of Japanese artistry, she had always been more drawn to the detailed embroidery of a kimono than to the stark elegance of an ikebana arrangement. Her eye reveled in details and in color – her mother's side showing, or so her father used to tease her.

But there was something so unique about the light, airy beauty of the Alhambra that struck her the moment she first entered it and wandered through its halls four years ago, and it was the same every time she came back. There was always something to catch the eye – perhaps a magnificent piece of painted tile, or perhaps some interesting latticework in the windows, or maybe even some minutely done filigree in sandstone, marble, or alabaster. Whatever the case may be, the Alhambra, to her, was the sum and representation of that one-half of her blood that sprang from this land of sunlight and fragrant myrtle, of romance and drama and fairy tales.

She heard a click, and when she turned to look, she saw Fuji with his camera angled almost at her, but with most of it towards the pond. For a moment, she thought she caught the briefest sight of the lens tilted in her direction, but she dismissed it immediately. He was probably taking pictures of the pond, and wanted to get a little bit of the southern gallery in the picture along with it.

They moved on, heading into the Hall of the Ambassadors, the grand reception hall where sultans, and then later on King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, received envoys and ambassadors from near and far. Sunlight streamed in like golden ribbons through the western windows, pooling in various portions of the room like puddles.

    "The Hall of Ambassadors," Julie murmured, a small smile emerging on her face. "In this hall Christopher Columbus received permission from Ferdinand and Isabella to set sail to the New World – a true turning point in history."

They moved on, this time turning their attention to the famed Court of Lions, the central fountain still now, but with its magnificence still intact.

    "It's a marvelous thing," Fuji said as he knelt down to take a photograph of the fountain. And then he frowned, and glanced up at . "I thought that the Muslims were not allowed to make representations of living creatures or of people?"

smiled. "That's because the lions were not made by Muslims; they were made by the Christian community that lived in Granada. Once upon a time, that fountain was also a water clock, with water streaming out of the mouth of a different lion at different hours. When the Spaniards retook Granada, they took the clock apart to figure out how it worked, but they failed. It hasn't worked since."

Their group headed then towards the Hall of the Abencerrages, and as they entered smiled upon hearing the surprised gasp that slipped out of Fuji's throat. She could understand why: the Hall of the Abencerrages was one of the most beautiful courts of the Alhambra: a room shaped in a perfect square, with a domed roof, trellised windows, and columns that seemed to spring into the arch form in the most graceful manner imaginable.

    "There is a legend about this place," she murmured to Fuji, who had paused for a moment to simply drink in the beauty of this place before capturing it in his photographs. "The hall is named after a particular clan from the time of Boabdil, the last Moorish king to rule the Kingdom of Granada before the Reconquest (13). They say that one of the Abencerrages had fallen in love with a princess, and that he had been caught sneaking into her room one night. As a punishment for his crimes – which were really not crimes, for his actions were driven by a true and honest love – his entire clan was summoned to this very hall, under the impression that Boabdil was to honor them with a feast. Instead, Boabdil had summoned a rival clan, the Zelim, and allowed that clan to massacre the Abencerrages." She pointed to a dark brown stain on the floor. "That stain, they say, is the stain of the blood of the murdered Abencerrages. No matter how hard anyone tried then or since, the stain could not be washed away – a tribute to the memory of a clan that died only because one of them had the courage to love, and love true."

Fuji paused to look up at her, a smile teasing the corners of his lips. "It is a romantic story, and tragic."

    "As many of the most beautiful love stories are," replied. "Romeo and Juliet are perhaps the most famous lovers in the whole world, and their story is a sad one." She did not notice how her eyes had grown distant as she spoke. "We remember the sad stories, and not the happy ones, because it is the sad endings that seem closest to our own understanding of the world."

She only returned to reality when Fuji placed a hand on her shoulder, an electric current surging from his hand and into her body. "And is your own love story sad?" the boy asked her, his voice low and serious, cerulean eyes gazing at her with such openness that felt that if she tried, she could see right into his thoughts.

Instead, she smiled, and shook her head. "I have no love story, Fuji."

The young man sighed, and nodded, looking away from her. "And that is the saddest thing of all, don't you think?"

She nodded, unable to do anything but agree, because he was right. Better to have love and lost, than to have never loved at all, as the old saying went. "Yes, perhaps."

--~*~--

By the time they left the Alhambra, the sun was already halfway down the horizon, and they were all laughing and joking around as they walked down the cobblestone streets of Granada. Fuji could not remember the last time that he had had so much fun with such a large, diverse group of people. Neither could he ever remember photographing such a place of beauty as the Alhambra.

In some way, he thought, was right: it was indeed as if a spell of preservation had been cast over the Alhambra, because although some of the once-brilliant blues, reds and gold colors that were a part of the main color theme of the palace had already faded from some of the tiles and murals, there was still a majesty to it, a grandeur that could never be dimmed by the slow-wearing hand of Time. He had seen and photographed some beautiful historical sights in Japan before, like Nijo Castle in Kyoto and the many temples and giant bronze Buddha of Kamakura, but somehow, the Alhambra had burned itself into his memory as a symbol of a mysterious, exotic time that would, always and forever, be just barely out of reach.

He glanced ahead, and saw twirling down the street, parodying the actions of a love-struck girl to the laughter of her friends. He smiled a secret smile to himself as he ran a hand over the side of his camera. It was tempting to bring out his camera again and capture this moment – for himself, and not for anyone else.

    "It's been a while since I last saw her so carefree."

Fuji looked up, and realized only then that Yukimura was walking alongside him, a bottle of wine wrapped in brown paper tucked under his arm. He smiled at the former captain of Rikkai Dai's infamous tennis team. "Hontou?"

    "Hai," Yukimura responded, sliding into Japanese as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "She's usually so fixated on her schoolwork that she rarely allows herself to celebrate." He laughed. "I think it's only during the times when we go to the Alhambra and during Christmas that she lets herself go a little bit."

    "She doesn't look like the type of girl to be serious all the time," Fuji remarked, casually fitting his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

    "Maybe not, but she can be."

    "I hope you don't mind me asking, but why?"

The look that Yukimura gave him was rather strange: a mixture of amusement and exasperation. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to tell you as long as I don't mention names. Since she was in junior high, has only wanted to be seen as worthy in the eyes of one person, who has not seemed to notice her at all – or at least, that is what she claims. Now, the reason why she is so serious about her studies is that when she returns to Japan, she wants said person to see her as his equal, his peer – as being worthy of his attention and his company."

Fuji blinked. "It's a boy?"

    "Man now, or so I would like to think," Yukimura responded, and there was no denying the slight hint of venom in his voice. "I've never understood why she would want to prove herself; after all, you will agree with me that in herself is a very wonderful and pleasing sort of girl, ne?"

    "Hai," Fuji responded softly, his eyes drifting towards the girl who had currently linked arms with Julie, Alessandro, and another girl named Liliana who had joined up with them later on at the Alhambra itself and who had a pretty, exotic face.

Yukimura nodded. "I thought so…"

There was something in the way that Yukimura had said that phrase that made Fuji turn, his intuition telling him that his companion knew something more than just the name of the man that liked. "Why did you ask me that question, Yukimura-san?"

Yukimura slid a glance at him, and gave one slow blink, before he turned away, and his expression changed into something more lighthearted. "I just remembered: I hope that you're hungry. There's going to be a party tonight at 's place, and Tía Divina always makes a feast. You will love her sangria and her paella; I can assure you of that…"

And so it was. Dinner at the Asturias household was a wild and laughter-filled affair, with paella in abundance and sangria flowing freely, the fragrances mingling in a heady perfume with the light scent of myrtles. When most of the food had been consumed but the drinks hadn't, Antonio de la Vega, a friend of and Yukimura's who studied in the Conservatory of Music, was granted permission by Tía Divina to play the beautiful guitar that was hanging on a wall of one of the rooms, and as his fingers touched the strings he struck up a lively tune. A few moments later, Liliana was in the middle of the courtyard, her hands clapping and feet stomping as she danced the flamenco.

    "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Fuji looked up just as he heard 's voice, and smiled at her as she sank down into the chair next to him. "She's a very good dancer."

A small smile crossed 's face. "It's in her blood. Liliana comes from a family of dancers, and she's been dancing since she was very young."

The tune shifted, and there was a series of whistles and catcalls as Yukimura got up from where he was sitting, and approached Liliana, a strange smile on his face as he moved closer to her. Fuji watched as he and Liliana danced with almost practiced ease, their bodies moving together with a familiarity that seemed to hint at something more.

provided him with the answer before he even asked. "The bolero has always been their dance," she murmured quietly. "He learned to dance it about two years ago, and ever since then they've been dancing together."

Fuji turned to look at her. "Are Yukimura-san and Liliana…?" He trailed off, not wanting to say what he thought out loud.

Again, that small smile on 's face as she replied: "In a way, they are. Seiichi's parents don't really know about Liliana, even though Liliana has introduced him to her family already. She's his Muse, his most favorite subject for his paintings." She laughed softly. "I can understand completely why that's the case, though, and Seiichi captures her so well. Maybe when you have time and Seiichi allows it, you'll get to see his paintings of Liliana."

    "It would be an honor," Fuji responded, focusing on Liliana and Yukimura again. For some strange reason, the dance exuded so much passion – as did many of the Spanish dances – but there was something so controlled, so disciplined about the lines and forms. It was as if their souls struggled to break free of their bodies during the dance, seeking a higher state upon which to perform and express their emotions, but since they were rooted to this material plane, they had no choice but to flutter between expression and subtlety, passion and discipline.

He lifted his camera, and discreetly took a shot, turning the flash off so that the only light to illuminate the dancing couple was the light from the candles on the tables and the electric ones from inside the house. Nevertheless, it bathed Yukimura and Liliana in a beautiful golden glow, and for a very brief moment, Fuji felt as if he was taken back in time, to days when the flamenco and the bolero were danced by firelight, between richly decorated wagons out in the plains of Andalusia.

    "Come on, !"

Fuji snapped back to reality only when he saw the others waving to , who was shaking her head rapidly in refusal, although she was laughing. "No! Please, guys, I don't want to dance! I'm not good at dancing the flamenco!"

Yukimura's laughter cut through the air, and then he moved towards , pulling her to her feet and dragging her to the middle of the courtyard, her protests lost in the laughter of the others, as well as in her own. In a few moments another flamenco tune was struck up again, and this time it was and Yukimura dancing.

Fuji was surprised by the shard of jealousy that surged in his chest and embedded itself in his heart. Why was it so? Why did the sight of dancing with Yukimura make him feel so-

    "Are you all right?"

Fuji snapped his head to look upon the dark, smiling eyes of Liliana. He managed a smile in her direction. "I'm just fine, thank you," he replied, glad that he was able to keep his voice in check.

Liliana nodded, and sat down in the chair that had occupied previously. She was silent for a while, and then she said: "I am told that my family claims lineage from the Gypsies."

Fuji glanced at her, wondering what made her bring that up. "Really?" he asked, though he was not very interested, if he was to be honest.

Liliana nodded. "It is true. I am also told that, as Gypsies, we are given certain gifts that not all people can claim to possess. In my family, it is said that we are possessed of the gift of clairvoyance." She looked at him from the corner of her eye, and the directness of that gaze made Fuji feel as if she could see right through all his facades and his walls. "You may not know it, but you came to Granada looking for something, something that you thought lost for many years. And you have found it, but you do not recognize it for what it is."

Fuji blinked, opening his mouth to ask her what she meant by that, but then a memory flashed through his mind: a shy, but pretty smile, always hovering at the edge of his memory – a smile that he had not paid heed to before, but now haunted him like the elusive ghost of an opportunity lost and never recovered.

He did not notice the small, cattish smile that emerged on Liliana's face as she watched him. She stood up, and Fuji was swept into the scent of oranges and spices – a mysterious, subtle fragrance that he would forever attach to Liliana in his mind, in the same way that he would remember when he caught the scent of roses and myrtles. "It is right before your eyes, Señor," Liliana seemed to whisper to him, though he saw that her lips barely moved at all. "What you seek dances before you like the moon's reflection on the becalmed surface of the pond in the Court of Myrtles."

    "Fuji?"

Fuji felt reality crash into his awareness just then, and when he looked up, he saw gazing down at him, her eyes worried even though her face was flushed with the exertion of the dance. The wind whispered again, and he smelled roses and myrtles.

reached out, and the feel of her hand on his shoulder was enough to suffuse him with warmth. "Fuji, daijobou ka?"

Fuji laughed softly, and nodded, taking comfort in hearing her speak Japanese to him. "Hai, I'm fine, ." He reached for her hand, and held it in his grasp, lightly squeezing the slender appendage in his own. "I'm just fine."

She nodded, though the concern did not leave her eyes, and then had to turn away as Alessandro came up to talk to her, murmuring something under his breath that caused to laugh, and smile in a sweet, shy manner that Fuji seemed to remember from somewhere before…

Realization struck him with all the force of a lightning bolt crashing into an old tree. That smile… He had seen that smile before. It had drifted in and out his memories for the past few years since he left senior high: a peripheral memory that had always eluded his grasp, but now seemed to rush headlong into him.

    "You may not know it, but you came to Granada looking for something, something that you thought lost for many years. And you have found it, but you do not recognize it for what it is."

Liliana's words came back to him as well, and he glanced at the young woman, who was currently sitting next to Yukimura, whispering something in his ear. As if she could feel his gaze on her, she turned her head just so, and upon meeting his gaze, her mouth formed a small, mysterious, knowing smile before she looked away and focused her attentions on Yukimura again.

    "What you seek dances before you like the moon's reflection on the becalmed surface of the pond in the Court of Myrtles."

His gaze sought out , whom he saw seated next to Antonio, laughing as the two of them listened to something that Julie was telling them. In the soft, wavering light, she did indeed seem like a reflection on a moonlit pond, something that would disappear if he so much as breathed upon the surface of the water.

His mind returned to Yukimura's words earlier that afternoon, how he had spoken with a certain edge to his voice, as if he was trying to sting Fuji into realization.

The pieces fell into place so quickly that Fuji almost reeled. Suddenly the elusive smile that he had constantly thought about since he left senior high suddenly had a face, and a name: .

The knife of jealousy suddenly turned into a dagger of regret that twisted a knot in his stomach hard. He had let nearly a decade's worth of chances slip by him; was he going to do the same again now?

Unseen, his hand clenched in a fist as he made a decision: before his stay was over, he would have, at the very least, something of that would remind him of her – and tell her how wrong he was to have ignored her before, how he had been looking for her smile for so long…

His decision made, he carefully stored it in the back of his mind, and made sure that his face conveyed nothing. It would be his secret, and he would carry it out – before it was too late.

--~*~--

The night was so quiet that she could hear a man singing a song in the traditional Andalusian fashion, accompanied by soulful guitar-strumming. It was a love song, one that told of two lovers who, due to some reason or another, could not meet, and the male half of that couple was lamenting that fact. There were many such songs in Andalusia, and Granada was rife with them, if one took the time to listen.

    "Do you think we will ever find ourselves separated that way, mi amor (14)?" she murmured as she felt the mattress shift beneath her as her bedmate rolled over to wrap an arm around her waist. "Do you think that there will ever come a time when oceans, or time, will keep us apart from one another?"

Her lover chuckled softly in her ear, and lightly placed a kiss on the nape of her neck as he cuddled close. "I don't think so, koibito. I don't think I would ever want to be separated from you – or if we are, then I would do anything within my power to find my way back to you."

She hummed her acknowledgement, but she remained still, her mind drifting elsewhere. At length, she said: "What do you know of Señor Fuji?"

Her bedmate was quiet for a moment before he responded: "I know that he is clever, and thinks far ahead. I have never known him personally, though I have had the privilege and pleasure of watching him play."

    "That is good to hear." Liliana turned over, and smiled up at the dark indigo eyes that gazed down at her with tender affection and love. "I don't think that I could stand trying to avoid him any longer."

Yukimura chuckled again, and drew her closer, tucking her head underneath his chin. "Everything will go well, koibito. I can be sure of that. If there is anything that I understand about Fuji Syusuke, it is this: once he is made to understand something, it is not long until he takes some form of action."

Liliana nodded, and closed her eyes, drifting to sleep to the sound of the man's singing and of her lover's steady heartbeat.

--~*~--

The days passed in a colorful whirl for as she accompanied Fuji in his trips through Granada: first the remainder of the Alhambra that they had not been able to visit the first trip round, and then, when she had to go back to school, she went with him to the more secluded corners of the El Albayzin at night, reveling in nights lit by yellow lamps in antique cast-iron holders, and the scent of delicious, flavorful Spanish food.

One night, they were even lucky enough to encounter a wedding procession just as it was emerging from a pretty little chapel deep in the bowels of the El Albayzin, and they were invited to the feast that ensued – never mind that they were complete and total strangers to the bride and groom. But that was Spanish hospitality, and was glad to see that it both surprised and delighted Fuji. In exchange for the free meal, Fuji used up two rolls of his film in taking beautiful photographs of the reception and the guests.

    "That was fun, wasn't it?" asked, her face flushed with dancing and sangria as they made their way back home.

Fuji chuckled, and his smile was a bit wider than usual – or at least, that was what believed. "Yes, it was fun. Are all weddings like that?"

nodded, giggling. "They can be, especially among the people who live here. Weddings are grand affairs, often involving the participation of the entire parish. Any strangers who happen to be around when the wedding party leaves the church or chapel are also bound to get dragged in. The Spanish people are not stingy when it comes to good cheer and celebratory feelings."

    "I can see that," Fuji responded, and there was laughter in his voice when he spoke. He turned to then, and the girl noticed that his eyes were open, peering at her with an openness that caught her by surprise. "I would like to get married like that, someday: with my family and friends and even total strangers at the reception."

That made sober up a little bit. She didn't know why, but the idea of Fuji talking about marriage made her chest hurt. Maybe she was already too late? Perhaps he already had someone – a girlfriend, or maybe even a fiancée – whom he had left back in Japan?

Inwardly, she chided herself: , you fool!

But outwardly, she responded with a soft laugh and a smile. "Well, that would be nice, wouldn't it?"

    "I'd invite you, of course," Fuji remarked, and she did not see the sly gleam in his eye.

The twist of her heart chased away the last shreds of gaiety that had so desperately been hanging onto. "Maybe I could attend, if it was in Granada, or anywhere in Spain, for that matter. But you'll most likely get married in Japan."

Fuji gave her a surprised look. "Why? Do you mean you're not ever going back to Japan?"

    "No, no, that's not it. I mean… I will be going back, that I'm sure of. That's where my family is, after all, and I want to work there." She sighed, and looked away. "It's just that I don't know when I'm going back, precisely. I still have plenty left to do at the University, and ‘Tou-san said that I should take my time, that I shouldn't rush with my education."

    "I see."

There was no denying the change of tone in his voice. looked up at him, trying her best to conceal the shiver of fear that coursed through her. "Why are you asking me these questions?"

Fuji did not look at her when he responded. "I'm going back to Barcelona tomorrow. My flight leaves early in the morning on the day after tomorrow."

It was as if the floor had suddenly been ripped out from beneath her feet, and she was plunging into an abyss that had no bottom. felt all warmth drain from her body, seeping out into the air and replaced by a chill that she knew would take a while to leave her bones – if it even left at all.

She should have known that this idyll would not last. She should have remembered that it was going to end sometime, sooner if not later. His home was not in Granada, after all, and he had only come here because by some strange twist of fate, her father had happened to hire him to prepare a gift for her mother. It was not as if the fates had conspired to bring him to her.

All things have an end – even good things.

    "?"

She snapped back to reality when she heard him speak. She lifted her head only slightly, but refused to look at him; for fear that she would simply break down and cry. "Hai?"

The shift into Japanese was involuntary. She always spoke in the language whenever she felt bad, or when she was giving voice to sadder emotions. Spanish would forever be the language of joy, associated with laughter and sunshine and daydreams that always seemed to last a little longer than she thought possible. Japanese was the language of her heart, of the sadder emotions that sometimes came upon her, and of that bittersweet feeling that she had come to associate with love – and with him.

Fuji smiled at her, and gently took her arm, pulling her close to him. "-chan," he murmured, and his voice was sweet in her ear, yet it made her heart shift in a most painful manner. "I would like to ask a favor of you."

looked up at him, focusing on the space between his brows so that he would not notice that she was not looking directly at his eyes. "Hai?"

    "Would you pose for me?"

The entire world ground to a halt as 's eyes unfocused slightly to stare directly into Fuji's deep blue gaze. It took a while for the words to sink in, but when they did, she felt lightheaded. "Nani?"

    "Pose for me," Fuji murmured, and his words were like silk. "Onegai? Just one photograph, that's all I want."

hesitated in giving her answer. Why did he ask for such a thing all of a sudden? He had had many opportunities before to make such a request of her; why did he only ask now?

Fuji smiled rather sheepishly. "I didn't have the courage to ask, seeing as how you so quickly turned Yukimura-san down before."

    "He was asking me to pose nude for him," explained quickly. "I do not have the confidence to do such a thing."

    "Then would you pose for me?" Fuji asked, and saw just how hopeful his expression was. "I promise you, I won't ask you to take off your clothes for me."

laughed softly, and regarded him with a slightly wary and yet flattered look. It was one thing for Yukimura to ask her to pose, but it was another thing entirely for Fuji to do the same thing – apart from the fact that she would not be undressing, of course. The mere fact that he wanted to capture her in his camera was enough to make her heart flutter lightly in her chest.

But then, she remembered that he was leaving, and that thought sent her heart crashing right into her stomach as if it had been tied down with a large ball of lead.

Nevertheless, she gave him a smile, and nodded her assent. "Very well then, I don't think there's any harm in it."

She nearly felt her heart stop beating when she saw the smile on his face: a genuinely delighted smile that she did not remember ever seeing on him in junior and senior high. "Arigatou, -chan," he murmured as he reached out, and took her hand. "Come on, let's go back. I already have my idea in mind."

She followed him, her heart beating rapidly in her chest as she followed him back home, realizing that he had not let go of her hand. The idea made her feel warm and fuzzy inside, as if she had drunk just a bit too much sangria and was tottering between sobriety and drunkenness.

They reached the house soon enough, and they padded together through the darkened rooms and corridors, their footsteps leaving invisible footprints in the silvery light of the moon. When they reached the second floor where their bedrooms were, Fuji stopped, and smiled at her. "Do you remember what you were wearing the first night I was here?"

blinked at him, not quite comprehending. "Nani?"

    "The white nightgown and the black shawl: do you remember?"

    "Oh! Those! Yes, I do remember. Naze?"

    "If it is at all possible, I would like to photograph you wearing those items of clothing." His smile softened slightly, and swore she saw a hint of a blush on his cheeks. "I remembered wanting to take a photograph of you back then, but I could not because I thought that it would be too impolite to ask."

looked at him, surprised by the request. The nightgown would never be her first choice of clothing for a photo shoot, and the black shawl was well-used and fairly worn. "Are you sure that's what you want?"

Fuji nodded, and his smile and eyes kind. "Onegai, -chan?"

sighed, and smiled, nodding her agreement. "Where do you want to take the photograph?"

    "By the latticed windows in my room," Fuji replied after a brief moment of silent contemplation. He lifted a finger to point up at the moon, which had become large and bright over the course of the last two weeks. "The moonlight will look exquisite through the lattices."

gave him a small smile. "I'll go to my room and change, then," she murmured, and walked down the hall to her room, plucking her nightgown out of the drawer where she kept it and the shawl from another drawer. She removed her jeans and her blouse, and lifted the nightgown over her head, allowing the cool, soft material to fall around her in pale waves before settling comfortably over her body. She brushed her hair out, just to make sure that it looked nice, and then wrapped the shawl around her shoulders before heading to Fuji's room.

Her heart throbbed rapidly, as if trying to break out of her ribcage. It felt as if she had been running hard, but in truth she had done nothing more than walk slowly and quietly towards his room, making sure to muffle her footsteps so as not to waken her Tía Divina who was most certainly asleep.

She stood in the doorway of his room, and waited for him to notice her. She watched as he went through his lenses, looking carefully at each one, deciding which one he would use to capture her on film. Her gaze drifted to his elegant fingers, and the old wonder returned to her: how could such fine, slender hands, graceful wrists, and slim arms have the power and strength to wield a tennis racket and fire back ball after ball after ball? How could someone so seemingly fragile have the strength of body and mind to play such a physically demanding sport as tennis? These were questions she had asked herself before while watching him play during junior and senior high, and they were the very same questions that returned to her mind now.

He looked up just then, and seemed pause, his eyes widening just a fraction before he smiled, and approached her. "Kirei," he murmured, and thought she heard a hint of awe in his voice.

She blushed upon hearing the compliment. She had often imagined hearing those very same words from him when she was younger, but her imagination had never prepared her for when it happened in reality. She lowered her gaze, unable to look at him in the eye. "Arigatou…"

She felt his fingertips lightly brush against the back of her hand, like the ephemeral touch of a butterfly's wings, and in a few moments he had enveloped her hand in his. "Please, this way."

He led her to stand by the window, and the lattices were partially open, granting entrance to a cool evening breeze that made the light gauze curtains flutter gently. He moved away from her, and in reaction she pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders, as if his touch had been a source of warmth, and now that it was gone even the mild zephyr coming through the window made her cold.

She looked at him, waiting for his instructions, and again he was looking at her with a strange emotion in his gaze that made feel both exhilarated and nervous. She licked her lips slightly in her nervousness, and the words that emerged from between them were uttered in Japanese that was soft and uncertain: "What do you want me to do?"

Her voice seemed to stir her from his reverie, because he blinked, and he smiled as he lifted his camera. "Push the lattice closest to you open with one hand. While you do that, look out towards the distance, as if you were waiting and watching for someone's arrival."

nodded her understanding his instructions, and turned to do as he asked her. She lifted her left hand, and pressed it against the wooden lattice, pushing it outwards so that it would open, while her right hand remained at her chest, clutching her shawl and holding it closed around her. As she pushed the lattice open wider slowly, gradually, the wind entered the room and made the curtains billow like ethereal specters, the light cloth occasionally sweeping against her skin in delicate caresses.

Finally, over the deep thudding of her heart, she heard a soft click and whirr as Fuji took his shot.

That was it. It was over. She would never see him again – or at least, not for a long time, not until she returned to Tokyo. Even then, though, there were no certainties, because his career as a photographer would take him to more places than he perhaps dared to dream of. She would remain in Japan, perhaps bumping into him occasionally, but that would be that. This brief moment had perhaps been the only significant one between the two of them, and it was over.

And felt that her world had come crumbling down around her.

    "Arigatou gozaimasu, -chan," she heard him murmur as he walked to stand close to her, moving to pull the lattice closed again. She looked up just in time to see him smile. "It's a beautiful shot. I thank you for giving me the honor of photographing you."

She forced herself to smile, to appear as pleasant as she could, all the while hoping that the darkness would shadow the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes even as she stood there. "You're welcome, Fuji-kun. Dou itashimashita." She stepped back, hoping that putting distance between the two of them would soothe the ache she felt in her heart. "I have to go to bed now – and I suppose that you do, too. You'll need your rest for the trip."

The look on his face was so pleading and beseeching, as if begging her to stay a little longer, and she felt a sharp twinge in her heart when she saw his lips part just so, but then it was closed again, and instead, he smiled, and bowed. "Oyasumi nasai, -chan."

    "Oyasumi nasai, Fuji-kun." With that, she bowed, and turned around, walking as quickly as she could to her bedroom. Upon closing and locking the door behind her, she threw herself on the bed, and cried herself to sleep.

--~*~--

    "Hoi, hoi, Fuji-kun!"

Fuji snapped out of his reverie, and looked up into the laughter-filled eyes of his best friend, Kikumaru Eiji. "Ah, Eiji. So glad that you could come."

Kikumaru chuckled, and shrugged as he slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket – still as cheerful as he was when they were still in high school. "When I heard from Haruko-chan that a photographer named Fuji Syusuke was going to have an exhibit at this gallery, I knew right away that it was you. So I asked her to give me the schedule, and when she did, I decided to make it a point to drop by and see how you were doing." He grinned brightly. "It's been a long time since we last talked, or even saw each other, for that matter. I missed you."

Fuji chuckled softly, and nodded. "That is true. I missed you too, Eiji." He gave Kikumaru a sly look. "And who is this Haruko-chan, hmm? Your girlfriend?" He clucked his tongue lightly even as Kikumaru's face suddenly went as red as his hair. "How mean of you, Eiji. I thought I was your best friend. How come you didn't tell me about this latest development in your life?

While Kikumaru waved his hands around and made various apologies and excuses about not telling him right away, Fuji smiled upon seeing Tezuka approaching, with a young woman on his arm.

Tezuka gave him one of his rare smiles as soon as he was close enough to greet him. "It has been a long time, hasn't it, Fuji? It's good to see you again after so long."

    "Hai. I'm glad to see you too, Tezuka," Fuji responded, returning Tezuka's smile with one of his own. He glanced over at the young woman next to his former buchou, and shifted his smile into something more charming. "I don't think you have introduced me to this lovely young woman, Tezuka."

    "This is Yamada Tomoe – my fiancée," Tezuka replied, and the young woman smiled at Fuji, bowing to him and saying that it was a pleasure to meet an old friend of her fiancé's.

Fuji smiled back, but raised an eyebrow at Tezuka. He wondered if this was an arranged marriage, and if that were the case it would surprise him to no end. While many people thought that Tezuka would settle for an arranged marriage, Fuji had always known that he would not. When he saw the very slight hint of a blush that appeared on Tezuka's face, he smiled, comforted. This was no arranged marriage, but a love match: a meeting of hearts, minds, and souls.

More people gradually went through the gallery's entrance. Many were his old friends from Seigaku, like Kaidoh and Inui and Oishi and Kawamura. They brought him up to speed on what had been happening in their lives – Fuji was pleased to know that Kawamura was already married and had just come back from the honeymoon in Hawaii. He also learned from them that Momoshiro was currently sitting for a very important exam at his university, and hence would not be able to make it to the gallery opening. As for Ryoma…well, they all knew where "Ochibi" was: in America, quickly turning into the tennis world's newest darling.

He was also surprised to see other people he knew walk come in. Tachibana Kippei and his sister, An, had come over, and Tachibana and Fuji exchanged cordial greetings and small talk about the goings-on in their respective lives while An gazed at Fuji's photographs of Granada with great pleasure. Soon after Saeki came by, and Fuji was surprised to see him until Saeki told him that he was visiting his girlfriend. Later on, Fuji received an even bigger surprise when none other than Atobe Keigo himself walked into the gallery and seemingly intent on purchasing some of the prints that were on display.

There was, however, one set of photographs that had yet to be displayed. They were in a special place of honor in the gallery, and covered with white cloth to prevent anyone from seeing them. It was these covered photographs that drew the most interest.

    "What have you got hiding there, Fuji?" Atobe asked, before raising an elegant eyebrow as his mouth curved into a smirk. "Something that you do not want to sell?"

    "An admirable guess, Atobe," Fuji responded, smiling in a placid manner in order to hide his slight annoyance. "The photographs under that cloth are not for sale."

    "Then why keep us all in suspense? When is the unveiling?" Atobe asked again.

    "In a few minutes," Fuji replied, and grinned wickedly when he saw impatience cross Atobe's face. That was exactly the mood that he wanted to create before he unveiled the photographs. He wanted everyone to be surprised, to wonder at the mystery, when he finally decided to remove the cloth.

At length, almost everyone had finally gathered around the veiled photographs, and Fuji knew that it was time. He stood beside the pull cord that would make the cloth fall away from the photographs, and smiled at those who had gathered: friends and family, all of them.

    "Before I go any further, I would like to thank all of you for coming to this, my first exhibit," he said, his voice carrying over everyone, though it was soft. "I cannot begin to tell you all how much I appreciate your presence here. I am glad that you have taken time out of your schedules to come by and see my humble work, which began with what I consider to be one of the most noble of premises: the love of a man for his wife.

    "As you can tell from the photographs, the city of Granada was the subject that had been chosen for this endeavor, and it proved to be a most captivating place. Everywhere I turned my lens there was always some bit of beauty, some bit of life, just waiting to be captured on film. I went everywhere that I could, and took pictures of the city and its residents, hoping that, in doing so, I would be able to preserve the uniqueness and vivacity of the city and bring it to the eye of the viewer."

He inhaled, and closed his eyes, his voice growing softer as he spoke again. "The next photographs have nothing – or perhaps, everything – to do with Granada. These are photographs of something that I did not know I had been searching for, not until I entered Granada and beheld it for the first time. Few people are so fortunate to find what they seek, and even fewer still have been granted the privilege of keeping it. But I am glad – more than glad – to have at least been given a chance to at least behold it with my own eyes, even though I cannot keep it with me."

He raised his gaze to his audience, and smiled sadly. "I was told by a gypsy girl that I had come to Granada looking for something, even though I was not aware of it, and that it was already right before my own eyes. I will admit now that yes, that gypsy girl was right. My only regret is that by the time that I realized what she had meant for me to see, it was already too late. All I have left are these photographs, and memories that I will treasure in my heart forever." With that, he pulled the cord, and the cloth fluttered gently to the floor.

There was a soft gasp, and the people in the crowd began murmuring to each other, stunned.  Fuji could only smile as he looked at the photographs that he had taken of during his stay in Granada. Most of them were shots that he had taken on the sly, when she was not looking, like the photograph of her standing by the pond in the Court of Myrtles, or the one of her playing the guitar in the courtyard of the Asturias house one lazy afternoon. There were many other such photographs, but in the center of them all was the photo that he had taken the last time he had seen her: standing by the lattices of his room in the moonlight, her gaze distant and somewhat dreamy, as if waiting for the return of a lover. Beneath the picture was an inscription, written in Spanish and then translated into English:

Mi belleza.

Mi Musa.

Mi amor.

My beauty.

My Muse.

My love. (15)

    "If you must know, Señor, I am not pure gypsy. I am merely the descendant of one."

Fuji snapped back to reality upon hearing the familiar voice, and his eyes widened when he saw Liliana standing next to Yukimura, who was looking at him with an amused smile on his face. "Liliana! Yukimura! When did you get back from Spain?"

Yukimura chuckled softly. "We have been in Japan for two weeks now – one week in Yokohama, and another here, in Tokyo." His smile seemed to broaden as he brought Liliana closer. "I thought it would be a good idea to introduce Liliana to my family and to my old friends from Rikkai."

    "We came in just as you began your speech about ," Liliana chimed in then, a smile on her face as she snuggled closer to Yukimura. "I was telling her that she should come in so she can hear it better, but she being the stubborn mule that she is, decided that she would wait outside until the commotion had died down and she could talk to you in private."

Fuji had already felt himself going pale the moment Liliana mentioned that was just outside. Here he was, all this time thinking that he would never see her again, and she was just several paces away from him? "When did she come back?" he asked, trying his best not to make his voice sound like the croak of a drowning frog – to very little avail.

He could tell that Yukimura was doing his best to resist laughing at him when he responded: "She came with us. I thought that it would be a good idea to have her meet up with my family and friends as well."

    "And she's just outside? She's just standing there on the sidewalk?"

Yukimura smiled wickedly. "Hai."

Fuji did not linger to talk more. He uttered a quick excuse to the couple, and then made his way out of the gallery.

Just as Yukimura and Liliana had told him, was indeed standing there, dressed warmly in a camel-colored trench coat and dark brown woolen slacks, her feet clad in dark brown boots while her hands were covered in leather gloves. He stopped just a few feet away from her, as if not daring to believe that it was indeed she standing there. He was almost afraid to go up to her, only to realize that it was not her, that he had approached a stranger.

However, she turned around and looked at him then, and he knew that there could be no mistake. This was indeed , and she was here, with him, and only a few feet separated the two of them.

His heart gave a painful lurch, and the next thing he knew he had wrapped his arms around her, his mouth pressing down upon her lips with the hunger of one brought from the brink of despair. At first she was stiff, but gradually she yielded, seeming to melt into his arms.

He drew away only when he was beginning to lost breath from the kiss, and gazed down at her face, flushed from his kiss, her eyes misted with tears. He smiled tenderly, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "My beauty, my Muse, my love," he murmured the words like a benediction, sealing a promise that was spoken not in words but in signs, the end of a search that had taken them both ten years and several miles to complete.

She laughed softly then, and he pulled away from her, his heart lightening upon hearing her laughter. She looked up at him, and when she smiled he knew that he had finally found what had taken him so long to find. " 'Tou-san told me that you had done a wonderful job with the photographs. I can't wait to see them."

He chuckled, and his smile was sincere as he looped her arm through his, leading her inside into the gallery. "Come with me, then, and you can tell me what you think."

fin.
Kage
18.January.2006
 

TRANSLATION NOTES:

(1)= This word means "Sir" in Spanish, and is usually used in addressing male strangers and/or male superiors.