there was something strange about the house across the boy with grey hair. it was significantly smaller and seemed to only house one little girl around his age who sat on her porch all day, her hands moving, folding, creasing, never stopping— always moving.
sometimes his mother gave him a basket of pastries and fruits, some savoury, some sweet for the girl across the street, and he would pick himself off the floor, away from the toy cars and little soldiers to see the girl across the street.
when he made his way over to her house, the boy with grey hair saw the girl folding papers, some of them coloured, some of them a blank white. she folded the papers like a robot, automatically, determined. the boy couldn't understand her goal, but he didn't ask and she wouldn't tell. the boy would awkwardly stand on the step below her, awestruck as he would watch her hands fly like a bird in the wind. her hands moved with grace— deliberate and smoothly and her hands would tug the paper to create a small birdlike creature.
the boy didn't understand what she was doing, but soon he'd remember his purpose and cough, reminding the girl of his existence, his hands outstretched with the wicker basket. the girl would smile shyly, hands meeting his to take the basket from his hands. sometimes she'd grab an apple and bite into it, offering the grey-haired boy another fruit— which he'd refuse before taking off, heading home.
his mother would be waiting on the porch for him, a discerning expression splaying on her face. he wouldn't understand just why she stood there with her arms crossed, but he didn't care. the boy returned to his plastic green men for the rest of the day, never stopping to ponder his mother or the girl. why would he? he was only a little boy.
months passed, then seasons. the boy still saw the folding-paper-girl out on her porch, some days she looked scared, others she looked fatigued almost. his mother gave him more baskets of food (which had knitted shawls during the winter) and the boy would fulfil his duty and give her the wicker basket.
watching her son leave the miserable girl to fold her paper toys, his mother shouted at the little boy, berating him for letting the girl stay in her miserable, sombre state. the boy stood on the porch, beneath his mother, confused. he walked up the stairs and past his mother, leaving her to his room of green men again.
time and time again, his mother would try to reason with the boy but he didn't seem to see the emotions the girl felt, suffocating in his world of armies and war.
one day, his mother decided she had seen enough of her son sitting in his room. she shoved the wicker basket into his hands, told him not to come home until he'd spoken at least a conversation with the girl and closed the door on his face.
he'd been shocked by his mother's words, but it wasn't enough to phase him. the boy decided he'd be able to go into a war without being phased by anything. that was how his green men acted, never surprised, always the same rock face. emotions were for the weak, he decided.
the girl that afternoon seemed to work slower than normal and the grey-haired boy sat down next to her, passing an apple to her as he grabbed his own. the girl looked up in surprise, taking the apple from his hands. they sat in silence, eating their fruits in peace. soon the girl went back to work, folding the paper in her lap. the boy looked in curiosity and suddenly spoke up.
"what are you making?" he asked, pointing at the paper birds, and she smiled, picking up a notepad from her left side, and scribbled words in blue neat cursive.
paper cranes. the boy scrunched his eyebrows in confusion. "why didn't you just say it? and why paper cranes? my soldiers are cooler," he spat out, surprised at his own words. the girl's eyes seemed to become cold, irises as dark as her hair. i can't. she wrote, pausing. they say if you fold one thousand paper cranes, any wish will be granted. she finished, looking into the boy's eyes.
"that's so cool!" the boy said, his priority changing from armies to wishes almost instantly. of course, he still wanted to become an army lieutenant and win many wars, but he decided that a wish was probably stronger than a siege of men.
thanks. the girl replied, her hands shaking slightly. perhaps it was in fear of what the boy would say next, or it was just out of the wear and tear she experienced when she wrote. "teach me how to make one!"
and so she did.
she gave him a blue piece of paper, the drawing of waves and koi fish splashed onto one of the sides. follow my folds. she instructed. and as if he was spellbound, the boy with grey hair watched as she folded in, out, and to the side. the boy mimicked her as they folded over old folds and soon created two new cranes. congrats. now you have nine hundred and ninety-nine left, she wrote, smiling.
moons and moons later, the boy would spend his afternoons sitting on the porch across the street, trying to fold to one thousand. "how many have you made?" he asked, late dusk. i don't know. maybe five thousand, she absentmindedly scribbled, her handwriting getting messier recently. "why? don't you only have to make one thousand?" the boy asked, folding the white paper in his hands. not all of us are so narrow-headed to only have one wish. she rolled her eyes, a smile on her face.
the boy with grey hair soon traded his green men away for some green paper to fold, and he would spend most— if not all of his days folding paper with the girl. "so what did you wish for?" he'd ask, looking up at the girl with awe. my parents' safety wherever they were, she wrote. and then, their peace in death. her words looked droopy and sad. the boy opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say. the girl shook her head and smiled instead, touching his locks of hair. your hair is pretty.
they continued folding their cranes for a few minutes before the boy spoke up again. "so what did you wish for this time?”
that's a secret i'll never tell you. she scribbled furiously, an aloof smile on her face. the boy didn't think much of it and he soon had to leave to eat dinner.
one dusky evening, the boy with grey hair invited his new best friend to have dinner with him (his mother told him to bring her), which she agreed to, a yes, and an exclamation mark next to it. he didn't realise that she'd been eating her dinners alone for the past how many years.
the boy smiled, running across the street to tell his mother the good news. he never saw the flashing headlights, and the girl screamed a ragged "STOP!", her words unused and scratched, but still words of an angel. the boy stood in the road, flabbergast as the person he trusted most broke into one thousand pieces as the car rocketed into them both. the boy, rolling over with pain, and he cried in pain and fury. his once dreams of being an army boy vanished, from now on, he’d show his heart on his sleeve, the boy decided.
"do..." the girl rasped, her face a bleeding red. the boy shook his head fervently, confused once again. "do you know what i wished for?" she hissed, half in pain, half in determination. "i don't, i really don't." he cried, tears falling onto her dirty blouse.
