
š The Sister Beyond the Window
- Hiromi Kuba
- 2 days ago
- 4 min read
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When I was six and my little sister was five.
it was around this time of year ā a November day with a soft, cool breeze.
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I loved cleaning, and my grandmother often asked me to help.
Of course, the pocket money I got afterward was part of the motivation.
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That day, we were doing a big cleanup at her house, and I was completely absorbed in polishing the windows. I loved making the glass so spotless that it seemed to disappear.
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My sister stayed close by, chatting while I worked.
She wasnāt really helping ā just happy to be near me.
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After I finished one of the upstairs windows,
I turned around and noticed she was gone.
I blinked, looked twice.
Even for my quick little sister, there was no way she couldāve left the room that fast.
Puzzled, I looked out the window ā
and saw two tiny hands gripping the window frame.
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āMy sister is out of Window !ā
I screamed and ran downstairs.
In the courtyard, she had collapsed and fallen out of the window.
She was sitting on the wooden deck, crying.
A terracotta flowerpot beside her had split clean in half.
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My grandmother immediately took her to the hospital,
but she was perfectly fine ā no bruises, no breaks.
She had always been flexible, maybe even goodĀ at falling.
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Later, when I asked how it happened,
she said with a completely straight face:
āFirst, I thought there was no glass and hit my head.
Then I thought there wasĀ glass ā and there wasnāt. So I fell.ā

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Even now, I think about it and laugh.
If she fell headfirst but still managed to grab the frame,
she must have spun in midair.
What athletic reflexes!
The total opposite of me, the clumsy one.
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Of course, I was the one who had made that window tooĀ clean.
And yet somehow, every time I tell this story,
it sounds more like a brag than a confession.
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Ever since that day, I think of her whenever I clean a window.
Between the inside and the outside,
thereās always a story waiting to be seen.
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My family tells me, āThatās enough already, ābut I just canāt stop cleaning windows.
Sometimes, a simple household task holds a story worth keeping ā

Sometimes, a simple household task holds a story worth keeping - one that still makes me laugh and pick up the cloth again.

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