The silence that followed Isabella's revelation stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Aiko watched as Isabella stared into her espresso cup, her carefully composed professional demeanor beginning to crack under the weight of memories she had been carrying for over two years.
"There's more to the story," Isabella said finally, her voice barely audible above the café's ambient noise. "Things I haven't told you about that day, about what happened before and after."
"What kind of things?"
Isabella looked up, and Aiko was startled to see tears gathering in her eyes. "The phone call wasn't just about him being late for dinner. I was... I was angry with him."
"Angry?"
"I had flown all the way to Japan specifically to spend time with him. We had reservations at this special restaurant, plans I had been looking forward to for weeks. When he called to say he was going to be late because he had stopped to help some random girl..." Isabella's voice grew strained. "I told him he was being irresponsible. I said he needed to stop trying to save everyone and focus on his own commitments."
Aiko felt her stomach clench. "What did he say?"
"He tried to explain that you were in genuine distress, that your hair condition suggested serious neglect, that he couldn't just walk away from someone who needed help. But I was impatient. I kept interrupting him, telling him to hurry up and finish whatever he was doing."
Isabella paused, wiping her eyes with a napkin. "I could hear the storm starting in the background of our call. I knew the weather was getting dangerous. But instead of telling him to find shelter and wait it out, I pressured him to rush to meet me."
"Isabella, you couldn't have known—"
"Couldn't I?" Isabella's voice carried a bitterness that seemed directed entirely at herself. "I knew my brother. I knew he would do anything to keep his word, even if it meant taking risks. When I told him to hurry, I was essentially telling him to prioritize my dinner plans over his safety."
The guilt in Isabella's voice was palpable, and Aiko began to understand why their first meeting had felt so charged with emotion. Isabella wasn't just protecting her unconscious brother from potential stress—she was wrestling with her own responsibility for the circumstances that had led to his accident.
"After the accident," Isabella continued, "when the hospital called to tell me what had happened, the first thing I thought about was our phone conversation. How I had rushed him, how I had been annoyed by his kindness to a stranger."
"But his kindness was who he was," Aiko said gently. "You said yourself that helping people was fundamental to his character."
"Yes, but I was supposed to support that part of him, not resent it. I was supposed to be proud that my brother cared enough about a stranger to stop and help, not frustrated that his compassion was inconveniencing my plans."
Isabella's hands trembled slightly as she reached for her espresso. "For two years, I've been sitting beside his hospital bed, talking to him about my work, my life, everything except the conversation that might have contributed to his accident. I've never been able to tell him I'm sorry for rushing him that day."
"Have you talked to anyone about this guilt?"
"Therapists, doctors, other family members. They all say the same thing—that the accident would have happened regardless, that I can't blame myself for weather conditions and unfortunate timing." Isabella met Aiko's eyes directly. "But knowing something intellectually and feeling it emotionally are very different things."
Aiko was quiet for several minutes, processing not just the information about Javier's accident, but the complex web of guilt and regret that had shaped Isabella's response to her brother's condition.
"Isabella," she said carefully, "during that phone call, how much did Javier tell you about me specifically?"
"He told me your full name—Aiko Matsumoto—during that phone call, but he didn't have time for many other details. He was focused on explaining why he was going to be late and how urgent your need for help seemed to be. He kept saying 'Aiko Matsumoto needs help,' 'I can't leave Aiko like this,' 'She's been through something terrible.' He was so concerned about your situation."
"So when you heard 'Aiko Matsumoto' at the workshop..."
"The name was familiar from that phone call, but I couldn't place it until you mentioned your mother. Then everything connected—the Japanese girl he'd helped, the name he kept repeating, and now here you were, having traveled all this way to find him."
"And when you realized I was that same person?"
Isabella was quiet for a long moment. "I felt angry, at first. Here was the girl whose problems had delayed my brother, potentially contributing to the timing that led to his accident. But then I saw your dedication at the workshop, heard about how you had traveled to Spain specifically to find him, understood how profoundly that encounter had affected your life."
"How did that change your feelings?"
"It made me realize that Javier's instinct had been right. You weren't just some random person who needed minor help. You were someone whose life was genuinely transformed by his kindness. His decision to stop and care for you wasn't a frivolous delay—it was exactly the kind of meaningful intervention he had always been drawn to."
Isabella paused, gathering her thoughts. "But it also made me realize how complicated your search might become if you learned the full truth about his condition. You've built so much of your life around honoring his kindness. What happens to that foundation if you discover he's been unconscious since the day he helped you?"
The question hung between them, touching on fears Aiko had been trying not to acknowledge since learning about Javier's accident. Had her entire journey been based on a connection that existed only in her memory? Was she trying to thank someone who might never be able to hear or understand her gratitude?
"I don't know," Aiko admitted. "But I know that not seeing him, not expressing my gratitude somehow, would feel worse than any disappointment I might experience."
"Even if he can't respond? Even if visiting him doesn't provide the closure you're hoping for?"
"Even then. Isabella, his kindness changed my entire life trajectory. Whether or not he's conscious to hear it, he deserves to know that his compassion mattered."
Isabella nodded slowly, and for the first time since their conversation began, her expression seemed to lighten slightly.
"You know," she said thoughtfully, "maybe you visiting him wouldn't just be about your need for closure. Maybe it would help me process my own guilt about that day. Seeing how profoundly he affected your life might help me forgive myself for resenting his kindness in that moment."
"Would you really consider arranging a visit?"
"I need to think about it carefully. There are medical protocols, family considerations, practical logistics." Isabella paused. "But yes, I think I would consider it. Not just for your sake, but for his. If there's any possibility that familiar voices and meaningful connections might help stimulate recovery, then maybe hearing from you could be beneficial."
As they prepared to leave the café, Isabella placed a gentle hand on Aiko's arm.
"Whatever I decide about a visit, I want you to know that meeting you has been important for me. Understanding what Javier's kindness meant to you has helped me remember why I was always so proud of his compassionate nature, even when it complicated my own plans."
Walking back through Madrid's busy streets, Aiko felt the weight of everything she had learned. The search for Javier had led her to answers that were more complex and emotionally fraught than anything she had anticipated.
But it had also revealed the depth of his character and the lasting impact of his kindness—not just on her life, but on his sister's understanding of who he had been and who he still was, even in unconsciousness.
The possibility of actually seeing him remained uncertain, but the conversation with Isabella had already provided a form of connection Aiko hadn't expected to find.