“He was here?” Keishin said. “When?”
“A month ago,” Haruto said.
“My father never mentioned coming here. We always visit you together,” Hana said.
“He did not want you or anyone to know. He made me promise to keep it a secret. I am sorry. I should have never agreed to the favor he asked.”
“What favor?” Hana leaned forward, struggling to keep her hands folded over her lap.
“The same one, I imagine, that you came to ask of me.”
Hana’s mouth grew dry. She swallowed hard but found no relief.
“And your face tells me that I am right.” Haruto sighed, slumping his shoulders. “Your father looked at me the same way. I have known him since I was a boy, and in all those years, not once had he ever let any emotion hotter than tepid tea slip past his half-smiling lips. I believed that smile to be a permanent fixture, unchanging as the moon. The day of his unexpected visit, I learned that I was wrong. Your father’s stoic smile guarded far more than I ever imagined.”
“Please, Haruto. Tell me why my father was here.”
Haruto stole a glance at the crane perched on the window’s paper sill and lowered his voice. “It would be wiser to have this conversation in a place where we can be alone. Let me pack my things and we can continue this at my home.”
“Thank you,” Hana said.
“You may be less grateful after I tell you about the part I played in your father’s disappearance.” Haruto stood up and waved the crane on the windowsill away. He turned to Hana and Keishin. “Have either of you traveled through a paper door before?”
“Er…no,” Keishin said.
“Neither have I,” Hana said.
“Then I must warn you that it may feel a little different from walking through a wooden one,” Haruto said.
“How different?” Keishin asked.
“It is difficult to find another thing to compare it to, unless, that is, you have experienced being pressed as thin as paper and folded in two. But it looks more painful than it feels.” Haruto walked over to a folding paper screen at the back of the house. He moved the screen to the side and revealed a large sheet of paper lying on the floor. “This door will take you directly to my home. It is large enough for both of you. You can travel there together. Lie down, and I will take care of folding the door. I will follow as soon as I pack my tools.”
Hana lay on the paper. Keishin stretched out next to her.
“Close your eyes and try to relax.” Haruto tucked Hana’s hair behind her ear, his fingertips brushing her cheek. Hana nodded with a small smile.
Keishin clenched his jaw and looked away.
Haruto held up the ends of the paper. “You will feel a little uncomfortable, but I will fold as fast as I can. I will need to focus and make every fold precise, so please stay quiet.”
Hana closed her eyes, her heart pounding against her ribs. She could not imagine what it was like to be folded, and she did not have high hopes that it would be pleasant. She drew a deep breath, exhaling it slowly through her mouth.
“Are you ready?” Haruto asked.
Hana nodded.
“Then I will begin.”
Hana felt the paper lay over the length of her body. She reached for Keishin’s hand. He gently squeezed her fingers and sent a warmth through them that spread beneath her skin and up her arms, melting the tension from her shoulders. It was radiating down her spine when she felt pressure over her chest. It pushed harder, pinning her down. Paper rustled in her ears asher ribs collapsed, squeezing her lungs and leaving her without air to scream. But if being flattened had caused any pain, Hana could not feel it. Being paper-thin left no room for anything other than the sensation of repeatedly being folded over one’s self, shifting in shape, and growing increasingly small. And when she was so small that she thought another fold would have made her disappear, she felt herself rapidly unfold. Her chest expanded, filling with muscle, blood, and bone. Hana opened her eyes, gasping for air. A sheet of paper lay over her. She pushed it away and sat up.
“Let’s never do that again.” Keishin stood up and offered Hana his hand. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” Hana pulled herself up. “I do not know how Haruto does that every day.”
Keishin looked around the room, admiring the elaborate origami pieces displayed on its walls and shelves. “He seems to genuinely like being an origami artist.”
“He does. He is very lucky,” Hana said. “He found his passion in his duty. His mother was the museum’s artist before him. Haruto once told me that she was not very happy.”
