Loving Dazai

THE SECOND CONVERSATION

The restaurant was the kind of place Emily had only seen in movies—grand, low lighting reflecting off crystal glasses, quiet murmurs of conversation drifting between the tables. She hesitated at the entrance. It looked so expensive.

Dazai, as always, seemed unfazed. He led her to a table near the window, and she sank into the plush seat, feeling a little out of place.

She glanced around, taking in the sophistication of the restaurants. It was a place for him not her. Not a surprise that he could bring her here, a painting of his could go for hundreds of thousands. She looked at him to find him looking at her.

She smiled. “What?”

He took off his coat and placed it on the arm of his chair neatly. He looked back at her with a curious smile “I just realized that we don’t know each other’s names.”

Emily scoffed “So much for being a gentleman,” she said with a smile.

“What is your name?” He almost cringed at that. Not like it was intentional, at first, he wasn’t curious to know her name but now he was. Tonight, she didn’t look like the ordinary Bookstore girl, she looked… there were no words to fit what he thought of her right now. He c****d his head to the side, studying her, the red lipstick looked good on her. Her hair was in a low Chignon.

“Emily.”

Dazai tilted his head to the other side, still studying her. It did suit her personality, "Emily. I am Dazai"

“I know that al-” She paused, her cheeks turned a shade of red “I uh…well yeah, I know your name. My friend, the lady you saw me with the other time, Miranda, she works in the Gallery. Not like I am stalking you, don’t get it wrong. I saw you that day and I have always noticed you in the bookstore. I just got a little bit curious and…” She blinked “Sorry, I am spewing nonsense.”

Dazai started to question his reasoning of ever taking the idea to take her on a date. He sighed, controlled, not to show how overbearing she was to him at this point. He managed to smile or at least move his lips, “It is okay.”

“No, it is not. You don’t need to pretend.” She looked at him. Her eyes turned pale.

A subtle glint of amusement flickered in his eyes. He smiled “Really it is fine.” He pointed to the menu before her “What do you want to eat?”

Her eyes brightened almost immediately as if remembering the reason, they were here and picked up the menu. Dazai picked his up and stared blankly at it. He came here couple of times to avoid having unnecessary meetings in the gallery. He wasn’t really concerned about what he ate, food was practically only a necessity. He placed his menu down and looked at Emily.

She studied the menu with furrowed eyebrows, as she debated with herself. “What are you getting?” she asked without taking her eyes off the menu.

“Whatever you choose.” He wasn’t hungry.

She glanced at him “Do you like seafood?”

“I don’t dislike it.”

“Well, I am thinking of getting butter steak with mashed potatoes or seafood pasta?”

He nodded his head. “Seafood pasta.” He signaled to the waiter and placed their orders.

“So,” she started, picking at the edge of her napkin. “Your name. It is not really common. Where are you from?”

Again, this is why it was better to stick with the strippers in the club. It was easy to wade through their questions and dismiss them but he couldn’t right now. He answered her regardless “It is Asian.”

“What part of Asia?”

“Japan”

“Oh”

“Mmm”

She nodded her and looked away, looking at everything but him.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, he could feel the tension. He knew his tone was dismissive “I really apologize, it has been long since I did this.” More like he never did any of it. Taking a woman on a date? Ha, Hilarious!

Emily smiled “Oh yeah? Well, I am holding back a lot of questions and not trying to be too chatty.”

He smiled “I am listening.” He noticed that she had taken off her coat too. Her cleavage was decently out in the open. A red lipstick and a red dress, exotic.

"So Dazai, who gave you that name?"

"A friend of mine. he's Japanese."

She nodded her head “That makes sense. When did you start painting? I mean when did you know you had the passion for art?”

“I would say when I was thirteen. It just happened, I guess.”

“That is your way of telling of stories?”

“That is the idea.”

“Do you ever get tired of painting?”

Dazai leaned back slightly, contemplating the question. No one has ever asked him that. It takes days to a week per painting, depending on its emotional depth. “Not tired. But sometimes, I wonder if I’ve captured everything I want to.”

Emily nodded. “That’s how I feel about books.”

Dazai lifted a brow. So, she wasn’t just a bookstore keeper “Books?”

She smiled, a little sheepishly. “You know, being surrounded by them all the time. I love working in the bookstore, but I write books too. Once in a while.”

Dazai studied her, intrigued. “Do you like to write?”

“Yes, I do. I’ve signed contracts with some novel sites online.”

Someone who likes creativity too. Perhaps this wasn’t a bad idea “How many books have you written?”

Emily grinned. “Three, I am currently thinking of writing one actually.”

Dazai didn’t realize that he had leaned on the table. He was intrigued. Writing, like painting, was creation—turning emotions into something tangible. He wondered how she translated her thoughts into words “What is it going to be about?”

Their food arrived then, momentarily breaking the moment. His whole attention was on her now, waiting for her answer.

She laughed “I don’t tell people about my stories before writing them.”

He smiled “Tell me about a book you’ve written then.”

She picked up her fork and picked a shrimp. After a few bites, she glanced up again. “It is mainly romance I write. Miserable people trying to find their way to love. My books hardly ever have a happy ending. Always tragic. It will bore you, you don’t want to hear it.”

“What is writing like?”

“Well-“

“Like breathing?”

She stared at him, and a slow smile formed on her lips. She rolled pasta on her fork and put it in her mouth. She chewed while looking at him.

Dazai felt seen, he leaned back on his chair. She probably thought he was now interested in her but that was true. He stared back. It was almost like a staring contest, “Am I right? Writing feels like breathing.”

“How about I tell you on our next date. It will be my treat.” Her cheeks started to turn red.

He found himself chuckling. A rare thing. "Sure"

They ate and their conversation flowed. Emily talked about books other than hers, about the way certain words carried weight, about the sheer joy of bringing the characters to life with her thoughts. And Dazai—he listened. Not just out of politeness, but because there was something captivating about her passion, about the way she spoke with her hands and how her expressions shifted with every thought.

By the time they finished, the restaurant had quieted, and only a few tables were still occupied. Dazai signaled for the check, and Emily stretched her arms with a satisfied sigh.

“This was nice,” she said softly. “I like talking to you.”

Dazai glanced at her, something unreadable in his expression. “You’re always straight to the point, aren’t you.”

Emily nodded “I can’t help it. Not everyone gets to meet an artist.”

A small silence settled between them, but this time, it felt warm.

Dazai exhaled, then, in a rare moment of honesty, said, “Well, let’s do this again.” Probably it’s time to do something different that he wasn’t used to.

Emily blinked before her face split into the kind of smile that could outshine every candle in the restaurant. And for a fleeting moment, Dazai thought that maybe, just maybe, something good would come out of this.