About Harajuku Kiss
At times, life can be so depressing. She is walking her usual recovery tour in Harajuku, finishing with a crepe, trying to forget that her boyfriend dumped her once again for the week-end... When the unthinkable happens... A boy stops in front of her in the street and kisses her, in the middle of the street, before running away.
Trying to discover more about him, she is dragged into a dangerous game of mystery. A biologist has been murdered and a deadly virus is on the loose. First suspect: the mysterious Harajuku's stranger.
Born in November 1983 in Brittany, France, Linda Hamonou spent a lot of time lost in Agatha Christie and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's novels. She entered university to study physics and obtained her PhD at Queen's University Belfast in 2009. Her studies allowed her to travel to Europe and America. She then moved to Japan and after three years doing research in Tokyo, she is currently doing a new postdoc in Sendai, Japan.
“You have something that belonged to me and I want it back, I have been in Harajuku every night without success,” he said.
“We missed each other , I saw you on the train in Yoyogi, on the opposite side,” I said.
“You are able to recognize people you met only once just like that, that’s some skills,” he said.
“Only when they give me a surprise kiss,” I answered.
He laughed at me again. That was a laugh, saying that the kiss didn’t matter. I knew I should have gotten up and left him right there, but something irresistible about him made me sit still. He continued eating his spaghetti quietly.
“So can I have my memory stick back,” he finally said.
He was a fast eater. I was a fast eater too but my plate was still half full, while his was empty. I hesitated one instant, I knew that if I was to give him the memory stick just now, I would probably never see him again, that it would be the end of the adventure and I wasn’t sure that I wanted it to end this way.
“I don’t have it with me,” I said with my liar voice rising to a high pitch.
He looked at me one moment. I don’t know why, but he seemed to be reading my thoughts somehow, maintaining eye contact was suddenly difficult. He broke it first.
“It’s in your jeans' left pocket,” he said.
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