It was a soft and gentle kiss, one not meant to lead beyond itself. I would probably not have kissed Midori that day if we hadn't spent the afternoon on the laundry deck in the sun, drinking beer and watching a fire, and she probably felt the same. After a long time of watching the glittering rooftops and the smoke and the red dragonflies and other things, we had felt something warm and close, and we both probably wanted, half-consciously, to preserve that mood in some form. It was that kind of kiss. But as with all kisses, it was not without a certain element of danger.
The first one to speak was Midori. She held my hand and told me, with what seem like some difficulty, that she was seeing someone. I said that I had sensed as much.
"Do you have a girl you like?" she asked.
"I do," I said.
"But you're always free on Sundays, right?"
"It's very complicated," I said.
Excerpt from Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami, 2000.
