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Down a quiet side street in Tokyo, a small cafe underground prepared coffee for the eight seats inside. The cafe, styled like a traditional Japanese cafe, was dark and dim. Clocks with different times were ticking on the walls. Because of its location, it tended to remain quiet, even in the early mornings. All in all, it was an unremarkable place.
However, there was one thing that made it unique. And it was that in this cafe, one can travel through time.
If you sit in the chair occupied by the woman in the dress, and drink the coffee poured by the woman behind the counter, a person can travel through time.
The rules that were attached to the chair, though, often made people choose to not go back in time. Once they learn the rules, their goals to change their path no longer apply.
The rules are as follows:
You cannot leave the chair. If you do, you will immediately be brought back to the present.
No matter what you do, you cannot change the course of history. Warning someone about an accident, giving tips about money, things will not change for better or worse.
The only people you can meet are people that have visited the cafe before.
Your time begins when the coffee is poured and ends when the coffee is completely consumed. The coffee must be finished before the coffee gets cold, or you will not return to the future.
When people heard these rules, they would often rage, or cry, or leave the cafe in silence. But those that agreed to the rules, would sit at one of the few seats in the cafe, wait for the woman in the dress to rise from her seat and disappear to the bathroom, to be served by the woman behind the counter.
On this day, the cafe remained its usual quiet self. Kazu stood behind the counter, polishing a glass. Her cousin, Nagare, was out of sight in the prep area. A single customer, besides the woman in the dress, sat in one of the chairs, sipping a coffee and reading the paper. The air in the basement cafe was cool, a slight chill from the fall air outside.
DING DONG
A bell from the door rang out, signalling a customer would be walking through the entry to the cafe momentarily. Kazu did not bother looking up, only offering a casual welcome, as a body walked through the doorframe.
A young woman wearing a hoodie with the hood up over her head, full-length pants and a slightly hunched posture. She looked around cautiously, before approaching the counter and throwing off her hood to reveal a shock of purple hair and the longest braid Kazu had ever seen. Faint white lines could be seen running over her collarbones, a slight hint of them peeking through her hairline.
In acceptable but slightly broken Japanese, the woman asked, “Is this Cafe Funiculi Funicula?”
Kazu nods her head. “It is. How may I help you?”
From the pocket of her hoodie, the woman fishes out a folded note. The paper is crinkled in spots from what Kazu assumed was it being gripped tightly to make sure it wouldn’t disappear. “My name is Rumi. My….aunt handed me this before I came for a…. Business trip. She said to come here, speak to a woman named Kazu, and then wrote a date here that I would need to know.” Rumi, as she was now known, showed the note.
“I’m Kazu,” she replied, carefully taking the stressed paper. The address of the cafe, a note to speak to herself, and a date. Signed, Celine.
Ah, Kazu thought, it’s her. A week or so ago, the cafe received an email from a woman named Celine, stating her niece would potentially be visiting the cafe soon at her behest. She recounted a previous visit of her own, when she’d been on tour with close friends and visited Tokyo on a concert stop. She stressed her hopes and concerns, signing off with regards and thanks for the last time she had visited the cafe.
“Did your aunt talk to you about why she wanted you to come here?” Kazu questioned.
“No, only that… only that it had something to do with my mom.” Rumi looked away, fidgeting with the ends of her sleeves.
Kazu returned the paper to her. “You mother?”
“She, passed away not long after I was born. I never really got to know her, but she was my aunt’s best friend. My aunt took me in after she died.” Rumi shook her head. “Sorry, I’m not sure why I’m telling you all of this. I should go,” she turned away from the counter.
“Your aunt wanted to give you the chance to see your mom, if you would like to try it.” Kazu stated before Rumi could run away.
Rumi whirled back, eyes wide and her mouth open.
“Meet her? I just told you she’s dead.”
“And if you would like to travel back in time to see her, based on the date your aunt sent, you can do so.”
“Travel back in… No, that’s insane. You can’t travel through time.” Rumi stuttered, wrapping her arms over her chest.
“You can. Whether you choose to believe me, or want to try, is up to you. Or if you would just like to order a coffee, you may also do that.”
The cafe remained quiet. The only sounds were the shuffling from the man’s newspaper and the turn of a page in the woman’s book.
“How… how is that possible?” Rumi whispered.
Kazu shrugged. No one knew why this place had the power to travel through time, or how it was discovered. Only that did and how to make it happen. And in the end, that was all that mattered.
“Feel free to wait around. You will need to wait for the woman to move from the chair. We don’t know when that will be, but I can pour you a cup then. Let me know if you would like to know the rules now or wait until we pour the coffee.”
With that, Kazu gave a polite bow, before heading into the back to talk to her cousin.
Rumi stood by the counter, gripping the note from Celine in one hand, and a photograph in the other. The photo had been handed over with the note, but Rumi wasn’t so inclined to share that.
She looked at the clock on the wall for Tokyo. 8:36 AM. I have to be at the Dome by 6 PM for the show. I can wait for a little while…
Making up her mind, she texted her groupmates that she would be out of the hotel a little longer than originally planned, and to enjoy some extra snacks for her. Only a few seconds pass before Zoey sends a stamp of a turtle acknowledging her words, and message from Mira saying she was stealing her ramyeon if she was too late. Rumi threatened to sick Zoey’s flying headlock on Mira if it was gone when she got back.
Taking a seat in one of the open seats, Rumi settled in to watch the woman in the dress.
—
Hours later, and the woman never moved.
Rumi stared down at her third cup of tea, her frustration building as the woman continued to slowly turn the pages of her book. Rumi answered emails sitting in her inbox, reviewed new lyrics and sheet music from Zoey in their shared files, scrolled through socials to respond to some fan comments, and mindlessly pulled on a couple of gacha games that Zoey was responsible for downloading on her phone.
The clock on her phone read 4:52 PM. It would take a minimum of 30 minutes to get to the Dome by car. If the woman didn’t move soon, she would need to leave without learning if Kazu was telling the truth.
Rumi had thought about leaving multiple times. Considered abandoning this as something Celine was misinformed about. But then she remembered the look on Celine’s face when she handed Rumi the note, a look of nostalgia and longing, mixed with what Rumi could only think of as pain.
She also thought of asking the woman if she would vacate the chair, if only for a few minutes so Rumi could get this over with. But when Rumi stood, about to make a beeline for the other table, she caught Kazu’s eye, and the woman shook her head and answered Rumi’s unasked question, “You can’t make her move. You have to wait until she leaves.”
Rumi decided to not test the directive.
As the clock ticked another minute ahead, Rumi’s mood dropped as the seconds ticked by on the analog clocks mounted on the wall. It felt like something slipping from her fingers, something she thought she would never have dripping like water from cupped hands. For a brief moment, she’d allowed herself to hope, even just a bit.
A book on the other side closed with an abrupt thunk.
The woman in the dress stood fluidly from the table, pausing briefly to look at Kazu, who didn’t look away from her task of refilling a grinder. She then disappeared in the direction of the bathroom.
Rumi scrambled from her seat, staring down the open chair. Keeping her hands in fists to prevent them from shaking, she crossed the span of the cafe, pausing only for a second at the spot, before flinging herself down. She turned to the counter where Kazu was looking at her. Rumi swallowed the extra saliva that was accumulating in her mouth.
“I would like to go back please.”
Kazu nodded, redoing the knot on her apron. She approached the table, meeting Rumi’s gaze directly.
“We’ll start with the rules. We didn’t discuss them earlier, so we need to do it now before you can go.
“First, I will pour you a cup of coffee. You will have from the time I pour to the time you finish the coffee in the past.
“You must stay in your seat. If you leave your seat, you will be forced back to the present.
“You can only see people who have also visited the cafe. You should picture the date and preferably time when you want to go. This isn’t an exact science. But the better your picture, the better your chances of meeting them.
“No matter what you do, you cannot change the course of history. Even if you tell someone to not go somewhere or invest in a certain stock, they will either forget, or it will happen in another way.
“Lastly, you must finish the coffee before it gets cold. If you do not finish the coffee before the cold, you will not return to the present.”
Kazu let the words sink in. “Do you understand these rules?”
Rumi wanted to scream. What was the point then! Why should bother with this at all, if all these rules applied? She considered pushing past Kazu right then. But then she remembered Celine’s face and the photograph in her pocket. She thought of stories of being loved even though they didn’t know each other long. Of wanting to know what could have been.
Rumi let out the breath she was holding. “I understand.”
Kazu walked away then, departing for the kitchen. She returned a few moments later, supporting a tray ladened with a delicate silver carafe, a ceramic teacup that looked easy to break. Kazu placed the teacup in front of Rumi, picking up the silver carafe to hold it in one hand and the tray in the other.
“Remember your time starts once I start pouring. You must finish before the coffee becomes cold. Picture the day and time you would like to go to.” With that, she slowly turned the spout, a soft stream of coffee pouring from the spout.
Fragrant notes of coffee rose with the steam from the coffee. The steam rose thick, thicker than normal from a simple cup of coffee.
“Picture the date you want to go. Think about why you want to go back…” Rumi stared into the shimmering steam, thinking of Celine’s words before she left for Japan.
You should know you’ve always been loved.
—
When Rumi opened her eyes again, at first she thought nothing had changed and this was all some elaborate ruse. The cafe looked the exact same as the one she stepped into earlier that morning. The same chairs, same clocks on the wall. As if it were stuck in time.
What gave it away was the newspaper on the table in front of her. August 28, 2001.
It was about six months after her birthday. The date Celine wrote on the note. She looked up at the clock. 9:16 AM. A few minutes after the time Celine said.
She was in the past.
There were a few more hints, the style of clothes on guests, the music playing overhead. She heard someone use slang she’d only ever heard in old shows. But none of that registered, because her eyes only focused on the two women, speaking rapid fire Korean, one with a lofty blow out, the other’s hair in a loose braid down her back. Two cups of coffee sat in front of them, either untouched or recently filled. They were completely absorbed in their conversation, completely unaware of the new customer that materialized in the seat near them.
Rumi couldn’t look away. Her tongue felt heavy, and she couldn’t fill her lungs. It was Celine, almost twenty-five years younger. And sitting with her… with her…
Mom.
Rumi couldn’t take her eyes off her. She was the one facing Rumi, Celine’s back to her. Mi-yeong was so expressive, hands fluttering around as she detailed an experience with a sasaeng, something about security dragging him away after Mi-yeong kicked him in the groin. Celine was shaking her head, but the way her back shuddered she was trying to keep in a laugh.
Rumi made to stand, wanted to go to her, talk to her, hug her. She braced her arms against the table, but before she could move, a firm hand pushed her back down and kept her in place.
“You should finish your coffee before trying to get up,” Rumi looked up at the woman, about the same age as Kazu from her time, but with a slightly different face. Her mother?
She remembered now, the first rule. No moving from the seat.
Rumi nodded, and looked down at her coffee cup. There was no longer steam rising. The coffee was starting to cool.
“Excuse me!” Rumi’s head shot up, hearing a voice she’d heard from recordings of songs and video interviews, but never in real life.
Mi-yeong was looking over at the table, but she was focused on the woman standing by the table.
“Drink,” the woman commanded, before walking over.
Rumi took a sip. The coffee was still hot, but no longer just brewed hot.
“Yes, how may I help you?”
“So,” Mi-yeong leaned her chin on the palm of her hand, propped up on her elbow on the table. “I heard a rumor that you can travel back in time here. Is that true?”
“Mi-yeong!” Celine chided. “I’m sorry for my friend.” She dipped her head. “She’ll believe almost anything she hears.”
The woman ignored Celine’s apology. “You can, but you will have to wait. We currently have a visitor, and then the seat will be occupied for a while.”
Mi-yeong’s eyes shot back to where Rumi was sitting, squealing before shooting up from her chair. She dodged Celine’s attempt to grab her wrist, before sliding into the chair across from Rumi.
“So are you really from a different time? When are you from? Oh!” Mi-yeong took on a sly smile, raising a hand to block her mouth, but only barely lowering her voice into a whisper. “Have you heard of the Sunlight Sisters?”
Rumi stared at her. She tried to answer, but couldn’t process. Her own face was looking back at her with different eyes and a longer nose bridge. Her voice was more soprano than Rumi’s mezzo, fluttery almost.
“Oh, um, yeah. I am. Future, I mean. I… know a little about them.” Rumi managed to push out.
Mi-yeong squealed. “Oh that’s so cool! And you speak Korean! So, tell me, why did you come back? Was there someone you wanted to meet?” the corners of her mouth rose in a cheeky smile. “A lover, perhaps?”
Rumi shook her head, occupying her shaking hands with another sip of coffee. It was cooler now. Closer to room temperature.
“No, nothing like that,” she fiddled with the photo paper in her pocket. “There’s someone that visited here that I never got to meet and… I was hoping I’d get to see her.”
“Oooh… well? Do you see her? Is she Korean?” Mi-yeong turned around in her chair, scanning the cafe. She met eyes with Celine, who was looking at the young woman across from her, looking like she was trying to puzzle something out. Making a face at Celine, wondering what the look was for, she turned back to see Rumi staring only at her. “What’s that face for?”
When Rumi didn’t answer, Mi-yeong continued to look at her. “You know… your hair is amazing. It’s the same color as my daughter's hair. Do you dye it?”
Rumi shook her head. “No. I don’t.”
The air between them turned thick. After a few seconds, Mi-yeong stood from the table, and grabbed her purse from the back of her old seat. Walking back she took out her wallet, sitting back down while pulling out a small, shiny new photo print from her wallet. She placed it on the table, turned it around, and slid the paper across.
The photo, a small 2x3 print fit for a wallet, showed Mi-yeong, holding a small bundle in her arms. Both mother and daughter were dressed in colorful hanbok. Mi-yeong is smiling down, one arm supporting Rumi and the other offering a finger for tiny fingers to grasp onto. Rumi, who only had eyes for her mother, looked up at her with bright eyes and chubby cheeks, grasping the proffered finger little sausage fingers.
“That’s her, from her Baek-il. She’s back in Seoul right now, with some family. Celine- my friend over there- and I had to take care of some business. It… couldn’t wait.” Mi-yeong’s voice grew quieter as she told her story. “We’re heading home tomorrow. I haven’t been able to hold her in a week, it’s killing me.” Mi-yeong laughed.
Rumi flinched at the word choice.
She knew the real story. A tear in the Honmoon in Tokyo, large enough for Mi-yeong to leave her infant daughter. It’s where the other member of the Sunlight Sisters would be permanently maimed, and on the way home, Rumi’s father would confront them, demanding his child and Mi-yeong. When refused, he would kill Mi-yeong, and Celine would kill him. It’s a story she only knew after a year when the anniversary of Mi-yeong’s death drove Celine to imbibe heavily in soju, and the next day she remembered nothing of telling Rumi.
It wasn’t something Rumi could ever forget.
She looked up from the photograph, to see Mi-yeong looking at her, her smile now sad, pinpricks of tears in her eyes.
“You’re my Rumi, aren’t you?”
Rumi choked, trying to keep back a sob. She nodded.
Mi-yeong reached across the table, taking Rumi’s hand into her own. “Oh, my sweet girl. Look how grown up you are!” Mi-yeong exclaimed. “Oh, that’s right. You said you were here to meet someone that you haven’t met before. Well, you’ve met me, obviously, and you know your auntie Celine… Was there someone else you needed to meet?”
Rumi only looked at her.
The cafe employee came by again, gently reminding Rumi to take another drink of her coffee. Rumi obeyed on autopilot. There was only a little bit left in the teacup now, and it was almost cold.
Mi-yeong fell silent. “Ah.” She looked away from Rumi. “It’s not so much you’ve never met her, it’s that you don’t remember meeting her.”
No words were exchanged. What could be said? Rumi cursed herself for this. It never occurred to her that by going back in time, she would be telling Mi-yeong that she was going to die, and it was going to be within the very near future.
Mi-yeong stood, walking around to stand behind Rumi. She placed both hands on Rumi’s shoulders, and after a second of contemplation, dropped her front, and wrapped her arms around Rumi’s shoulders.
The dam broke. Tears flooded Rumi’s cheeks, and she gasped a breath. Her hands flew up to grab onto Mi-yeong’s forearms, vice-like and demanding more pressure, searing the feeling into her memory.
“I’m so sorry kkoma,” Mi-yeong whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Rumi sobbed at the petname. Celine had tried it a few times in her childhood, but every time she did it would come out broken, catching in her throat before she gave up on anything but her name altogether. Maybe this was why. Maybe because Mi-yeong used to hum it when she cradled her daughter, rocking her to sleep.
Mi-yeong continued to whisper in her ear. “I don’t know what will happen, but I’m going to do everything in my power to stop it, Rumi. I promised that I would always be there for you, and I intend to keep that promise.”
No matter what you do, you cannot change the course of history.
Rumi wanted to wail, to tear the gods down from the heavens and demand an answer of why. But there was nothing she could do. No weapon she could pick up or words she could yell.
Mi-yeong shifted to the side, cradling Rumi’s head, tucking it under her chin. “Shh, shh, aegiya, it’s okay. I love you so much. ”
Rumi turned in her chair, shifting so she could bury her face in Mi-yeong’s collarbone and wrap her arms around the thin waist.
“Please don’t leave me, Eomma. Please don’t go.”
“I’m not going anywhere Rumi. I’m always here.”
A shadow fell over them. The cafe employee. She picked up the cup in front of Rumi, forcing it into her hand. “You need to finish your coffee. It’s almost cold.” She stepped away, sympathy marring her features.
Mi-yeong kneeled by Rumi. “Go back home Rumi. I promise, I’ll see you soon.” She cupped Rumi’s cheeks. “I’m so proud of you, kkoma. I love you.”
Rumi didn’t look away, committing every last detail to memory. The few pieces of hair falling out of her braid. The makeup covered bags under her eyes. Brown eyes the same shade as her own.
“I love you too.”
And then she tipped back the rest of the almost cold coffee, and the room shimmered around her.
—
The first thing Rumi hears upon her return to the present is the angry tutting of the woman in the dress. When the woman realizes Rumi is aware, she shouts and motions from Rumi to leave. Stunned, Rumi stumbled out of the chair, caught by a pair of arms before she could hit the floor.
“Are you okay?” This voice was male. “Looks like you got back just in time.”
Her vision finally focused, finding her balance and standing. The man’s face reminded her of Kazu, and she would bet that they were relatives in some form.
“The woman there made sure I got back,” Rumi replied, getting her bearings. She looked at her phone. 5:15 PM. 2025. I’m back in the present.
She has forty five minutes to be back at the Dome. She’ll need a car sent to take her over. She should text Bobby where she was, he could send one over…
“Hey,” Rumi jumped as the man laid a hand on her shoulder. His eyes were kind, and knowing. “Do you need a moment?”
She needed a lifetime.
“No, I, um, I need to get going. I have people waiting on me.” Fifty-five thousand of them to be exact.
He stepped back behind the counter. Referencing a slip of paper, he punched in numbers into the ancient cash register.
“Your total for everything today is 2200 yen.”
Rumi stared at the register for a few seconds, before scrambling for her wallet, taking out the bills to place on the counter, which the man then picked up and added to the cash register.
“Is Kazu still here? I’d like to say goodbye.”
The man shook his head. “She had to step away. But I’ll pass it along.”
“Oh, thank you, um…?”
“Nagare.”
Rumi gave a slight bow, heading back towards the exit. She looked down at her phone. Missed texts from Mira and Zoey in the group chat wondering how much longer she would be, making sure she was okay. A confirmation from Bobby about the car and the ETA, plus a question to confirm she was alright.
She should answer their messages. She should focus on the show starting in a couple of hours. Her throat is still sticking from the crying.
But there was only one voice she wanted to hear right now.
Ignoring the bold threads of new messages, she scrolled back a few days, clicked on the contact information, and pressed the dial. She took the photo out of her pocket, staring down at a mother and daughter in hanbok, smiling at each other and no one else.
“Hello?”
“Celine?”