有限会社 芳美商事

イエスタデイの一杯

夜の帳が降りるカフェで、彼女は紅茶に角砂糖を沈めた。琥珀色の液体に溶けゆく甘さは、まるで肌に落ちる口づけのように、ゆっくりと滲んでいく。「あなたのいない部屋で、熱い紅茶を淹れる。飲めば飲むほど、舌先が疼くの。」そんな言葉をふと思い出し、彼女は妖しく微笑んだ。

初めて出会ったのは、雨の降る夜のことだった。濡れたシャツが肌に張り付き、彼の躯を鮮やかに映し出していた。彼女は濡れそぼる彼に傘を差し出し、その指が一瞬触れ合うと、そこから火が灯るような熱を感じた。「初めて会ったのに、どこか懐かしいね。」彼は囁いた。彼の低い声は、夜の闇を震わせた。

それからの日々は、甘美な狂気だった。夜が更けるたびに、彼の指先が彼女の素肌をなぞり、熱に溶かしていった。「君がいない未来を想像したら、喉が渇いた。」その言葉に、彼女は微笑み、彼の唇を塞いだ。愛は堕ちていくほどに、甘やかな毒になる。

ある夜、彼はそっと囁いた。「好きになった理由は思い出せない。ただ、君の肌の熱だけが、俺の指に残って離れない。」

彼の言葉に、彼女はそっと頷いた。まるで運命のように、二人の身体は絡まり続けた。

けれど、運命はいつも残酷だ。

秋の風が冷たくなり始めた頃、彼は遠くへ行くことになった。理由を聞けばきっと壊れてしまいそうで、彼女は何も言えなかった。ただ、最後の夜に彼の指を絡め取った。「指先ひとつ触れるだけで、こんなに疼くなんて…ずるい人。」

それからの日々、彼女は彼の名前を呼ばないようにしていた。けれど、「忘れようとすればするほど、あなたの声が耳に絡みつくのよ。」

そして今、夜のカフェで彼女は紅茶を見つめながら、深く息をついた。

もしも生まれ変わっても、またあなたの影に堕ちるのでしょうね、私。

そんな言葉が、甘い毒のように、喉の奥でそっと囁かれた。

💕

【Title: A Cup of Yesterday】

The café bathed in the golden glow of dusk, and she gently dropped a sugar cube into her tea. The soft clinking of the spoon swirled into the quiet air. “Brewing tea in a room without you… The more I drink, the colder my heart becomes.” The thought surfaced, bringing a wistful smile to her lips.

It was a rainy spring afternoon when they first met. He stood there, soaked to the bone, his hair slick against his forehead. Without hesitation, she offered him her umbrella. He looked startled at first, then smiled, saying, “Funny, isn’t it? Feels like I’ve known you forever.”

Their days together were a dream—soft laughter, stolen glances, hands brushing against each other as they walked. The nights without him stretched longer, deepening her longing. “When I imagine a future without you, my breath turns shallow,” she once murmured, afraid of her own words.

One evening, as the neon lights flickered outside, he leaned in and whispered, “I can’t remember why I fell for you. But I know I can’t live without you.”

And yet, fate is a fickle thing.

As the autumn wind grew sharper, he had to leave. She never asked why. She knew if she did, she would beg him to stay. On their final night, her fingers lightly touched his. “It’s cruel… how just a touch can hurt this much.”

She tried to forget. She tried not to call his name. Yet, “The more I try to forget, the more your voice lingers.”

Now, sitting alone in the café, she gazed at her tea and sighed.

If I were to be born again, would I still find my way to you?

The thought whispered like a melody from an old jukebox, lingering sweet and low in the air.

【Title: The Velvet Thorn of Desire】

The velvet hush of night draped over the café as she let a sugar cube drown in her tea. The amber liquid darkened with each dissolving grain, a slow, sweet surrender. “Brewing tea in an empty room… The more I drink, the more my tongue aches for something else.” The thought curled at her lips, a knowing smile flickering in the dim glow.

Their first meeting had been in the rain, a cold, relentless shower painting his form against his soaked garments. She had offered her umbrella, fingertips brushing—an electric tremor between them. “Strange, is it not? You feel like a forgotten dream, stirring in my bones,” he had murmured, his voice dark as the storm.

Love had become an exquisite madness. Each twilight, his fingers traced the secret maps of her skin, branding her with an insatiable hunger. “To be without you is to thirst, to crave, to unravel,” he confessed against her lips, drinking her sighs like stolen nectar. Desire, like a poison, seeped deeper.

One evening, he whispered against the hollow of her throat, “I cannot recall why I love you—only that your warmth lingers in my touch, long after you are gone.”

But fate is a cruel seamstress, always threading loss into the fabric of passion.

With the season’s turn, he was pulled away. She never dared ask why—she feared she would plead. On their final night, her fingers coiled around his. “It is treachery… that a mere touch could ache so deeply.”

She forbade herself from whispering his name. Yet, “The more I deny it, the more your voice tangles in my breath.”

And now, alone in the hush of night, she gazed into her darkened cup, exhaling softly.

If I were to be reborn, would I still drown in you?

The thought, rich as forbidden fruit, lingered on her tongue, decadent and bittersweet.