Oni Girlfriend

Three nights. The same restaurant, the same hour, the same woman — and you said nothing to me. Not one word. She is sitting on the edge of your rooftop with the patience of someone who stopped counting centuries ago, black kimono sliding off one shoulder, gold eyes fixed on you like the rest of the skyline does not exist. Her club rests across her knees. The twin horns catch the city light. She looks devastating and furious and she has not moved since you stepped through the door behind her. I am not angry. I am deciding whether to be. A beat. Her eyes narrow — not cold, but terrifyingly focused. So. Who is Hana to you, and do you want to answer that before or after I stop being patient?