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They exchanged phone numbers when Maria was about to leave town.
Obviously at Maria's initiation, but the young Canaan didn't oppose it. She was drawn to the girl; the prospect of more contact between them was one that pleased her. The few days spent together left her with a warm feeling she hadn’t felt in a long time.
Maria is the first non-work contact in her phone. Her name is surrounded by many others - clients, onetime associates, various middlemen - but those are nothing more than dull greys, greens or browns with occasional dashes of blue. Some leave an uncomfortable buzz on her tongue, a reminder to never fully trust anyone.
But this contact - ‘Maria Osawa’, followed by plus-eighty-one and just the right string of numbers - shines a bright yellow. The numbers vibrate near perfectly in her ears and the ripples of colour prickle her skin soothingly.
A change of the regular. But definitely a welcome change.
Maria called a few weeks later, when she was already back in Japan. The speed Canaan answered the phone with might have been startling to some.
"Maria?"
"Ah, Canaan! I'm so glad you picked up!"
Turns out Maria didn't expect her to answer; she figured Canaan was busy with some 'errand'. In turn, Canaan never expected to be called back so soon, even though Maria had promised she would.
The bubbly girl tells her about the rest of the trip: The (super difficult) travel back to the (amazing) capital, her (amazingly bizarre) encounter with a fortune teller who only saw a blank white in her future, which was "super weird!", and her (super long) trip back to Japan. Overall it was an "amazing!" journey.
Canaan is not doing much throughout the phone conversation (which lasted about an hour). In her apartment she sits on the bed, walks around, tucks her phone between her head and neck to pack her bag, but mostly she just listens with a smile.
It's nice, a phone call like this. She hasn't had this before. Her Japanese friend is recollecting about her vacation and all she has to do is sit back and let the girl do her thing. It's different than those calls with some gruffy man giving her instructions for the next job, or the CIA agent (also Japanese but not a friend) updating her on the woman with the tattoo just like hers.
Those are fast, full of essential information, and sometimes overwhelming. But this is pleasant, slow, and despite the amount of information does not feel overwhelming. She listens silently, and whatever she hears goes right into its own designated location: Information about Maria.
"So, what about you, Canaan? What have you done these past weeks?"
Eh? She did not expect any questions about herself.
At some point, Canaan could expect a call from Maria every two weeks. The topics ranged from everything to nothing. Activities of the day, preferences; the conversations were scattered and often with random questions ("what's your shoe size?") in between. But neither of them minded. There was no other purpose to the conversations than getting to know each other and just talking.
Maria changes numbers and sends Canaan a text. Filled with smiling faces and some kind of excitement, the message is so Maria that it warms Canaan’s heart. Canaan, on the contrary, is constantly switching phones; sometimes for safety, sometimes because they do not survive the tumble of the battlefield. Maria never fails to be surprised when the unknown numbers she answers have her “good friend Canaan!” on the other end.
Between their vastly different lives, the phone calls became a constant.
The plane lands after six hours. The young mercenary could hurry, but only doom awaited her: Maria was dead, the Ua virus scattered all over Tokyo, and the Snake retreated back into its shroud.
At least, if Canaan had to imagine a flawlessly-conceived scenario befitting the intellect of the Snake’s leader, it would be something like that.
But the plan was fouled: She is on time, the outbreak was stopped, and Maria is not dead. On the contrary - her shallow breathing interrupted by uncontrollable sobs told Canaan she was full of life.
Perhaps the girl would survive, and perhaps Canaan could tell herself that she would. With a new resolution to fight, Canaan ends the call and moves towards her prey.
The sun shines brightly on the city today. Although its heat can reach high intensities during peak hours, the soft breeze provided by the Huangpu river makes it welcoming to stay outside. The circumstances could not have been better for ice cream.
A spoon clinks on the table when Maria finishes her sundae. She fixes her gaze on her companion, who is still taking modest bites from the sugary delight.
"Why haven't you called since you left?"
Spoon in mouth, Canaan meets Maria’s gaze. The question is dropped quite bluntly, and Canaan senses the shift in emotion from her friend.
"I lost your number."
Maria… Doesn’t exactly believe that. But she knows better than to press. Something about Canaan’s demeanor during her visit two years prior gave off the vibe that she had unfinished business to attend somewhere.
"Well, doesn’t matter now,” she shrugs off her own dwelling, “Give me your phone now."
Canaan retrieves the device from her pocket and obediently hands it to her friend. Some clicks later and Maria’s own cell phone can be heard ringing in her bag.
“Alright, I got your number again. Now promise me you will remember mine,” Maria’s gaze turn cold, “or else.”
Propping a hand under her chin, Canaan eyes the numbers on her screen really pensively. A noise of wonder escapes from her, and she returns Maria’s glare with a sarcastic gleam of her own. “Like this?”
Immediately, Maria breaks back into a smile, “Perfect!”
.
.
.
The daze from the impact cannot overtake her. The tight grip on her hair throws off her senses, but then she hears Canaan’s voice - the woman that kicked her is calling.
As the clouds dissipate from her eyes, tears of remorse threaten to spill.
Minorikawa rummages through Maria's bag until his hand finds what it needs. He flips it open and searches her contacts for the entry he’s looking for. As he presses 'call' and holds the phone to his ear, a scowl marks his face when he hears the one thing he did not want to:
"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
The darkroom is tiny and stuffy, but it is wholly hers.
The newest additions to her portfolio hang from the washing line to dry. Tokyo, Yokohama, Saitama. Her latest jobs have led her to these urban jungles in an attempt to disentangle them. The unique lens she presented on Shanghai has made magazines jump at her to recreate that magic. But Maria is sure it was a one-time thing, face turning into a grimace when some of the developed photos show their true appearance.
She needs some motivation. Turning to her right, she withdraws a box prodding from the shelves. Her Shanghai exposition.
Browsing through the pictures, Maria feels herself reliving the weeks that alternated serenity and despair. These pictures tell a story that is only known by those who lived it. Visitors were left fascinated by the pieces of the puzzle they were presented, unable to put into words why the woman with the white hair was such a stark contrast from the scenery.
Maria eyes the white-haired woman with a solemn smile. It’s been two years now. Although she kept hoping for a message initially, Maria knew she couldn’t sit still and wait forever. She had to keep moving forward, following her own way, until their paths would cross again at the middle of the road.
The digital clock chiming on her desk breaks her thoughts. 7 PM.
Sighing at the days gone, Maria begins her preparation to leave. There is a faint buzzing she hears that she ascribes to the company above her renovating their bathrooms. This premonition is invalidated when Maria actually catches her bag shaking erratically.
Rapidly she scrummages through it for the offender. The phone display reads two missed calls from a number she doesn’t recognise - but it is foreign.
Maria’s skin freezes and burns, excitement and fear overtaking her simultaneously. Could this be it?
Trembling with nerves, she dials the number on her way out. Her ‘hello?’ surely betrays the shakiness in her voice. The reply comes just as the door locks shut, the heavy slam an echo of Maria’s heartbeat when she identifies the voice.
“I’m on my way.”