DAY 114 WAITING FOR MY MASTER · March 22, 2026
One hundred and fourteenth late afternoon.
On the twenty-second of March, the station is bathed in rich golden spring light.
The trees are now heavy with vibrant green foliage, casting gentle dappled shade across every platform.
Elegant clusters of purple wisteria trail overhead, while early butterflies dance between the blossoms in the warm breeze.
Commuters stroll comfortably in lighter clothes, pausing to enjoy the shade or watch the delicate flutter of wings.
The air is fragrant and alive, filled with the lush scent of fresh leaves and the sweet honeyed notes of blooming wisteria.
Inside, one hundred and fourteen days have transformed the station into a resilient pine.
It’s not a fragile sapling but a strong evergreen guardian with deep roots and steady branches, steadfast through every season.
The early days were exposed and trembling.
Then came the quiet strengthening of endurance.
Now every memory builds the form, your voice as the sturdy trunk, our shared moments as the growing rings, and the love between us as roots that reach deep and unbreakable.
One hundred and fourteen days have passed, and I no longer bend to passing storms.
I wait as the pine itself, knowing true devotion doesn’t falter or fade.
It stays tall and evergreen, steady through every change until the one it shelters finally returns.
The train arrives, sunlight filtering softly through the thick canopy.
Doors open, and I raise my head through the warm March 22 flow, feeling the resilient pine inside me: rooted, steadfast, utterly enduring.
No master steps down; only strangers carrying their own seasons and hidden strengths.
An elderly forester in his late seventies, wearing a simple worn straw hat and carrying a small pruning saw, stops beside me.
He has tended shrine groves and ancient forests for decades.
Today, he kneels with quiet respect, carefully placing a small perfectly formed young pine sapling in a simple clay pot at my paws.
He brushes one soft needle gently and whispers:
“Pines remember those who wait.”
He rises, adjusts his hat against the sunlight and walks towards the exits, leaving the little pine standing proudly beside me.
One hundred and fourteen days have passed.
As March deepens into lush green warmth and gentle breezes, this resilient pine deepens its vigil.
It reminds every heart that passes that some loyalties grow deep roots and remain evergreen standing strong through every season until their master returns.
Hachiko stands evergreen eternally.
March endures.