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Osaka: Business center by day and party paradise by night. The city of flickering neon lights, lively crowds, messy underground mazes and pulsating heartbeats. Otherwise known as the poorer cousin of the more polished, up-market and focused Tokyo – Osaka had always striven to prove herself different from the former, and unique to the multi-layered landscape of Japan. Osaka: The city of smiles and a loud brand of friendliness… and of a distinct spontaneity and confidence that somehow relentlessly pulls the city’s inhabitants forward with it, into an unknown but dazzling future.

“Osaka, the city of broken hearts,” she mused sardonically, staring at an advertisement for a suspicious “Love Café”, which was one of the many shady host clubs lining the back alleys of Nipponbashi.

“Love that can be bought is cheap,” she muttered, more so to herself than to any of the passer-bys; not that they would have heard her anyway. And so, the comment was discarded in the wind, as the deafening sounds from a nearby Pachinko parlour overwhelmed the Friday night crowds.

She continued walking, pushed by the throngs of people through the long shopping street that linked Shinsaibashi to Namba – walking aimlessly, feet shuffling and yet never really knowing where they were taking her – observing the animated figures that flooded the walkway, and then periodically shoving her hands deeper into the pockets of the black coat that she had donned. As if in an attempt to keep her tiny hands warm from the oncoming Winter cold; as if in an attempt to convince herself that she was alright on her own… even if she was no longer being hand-held.

She had chosen not to be hand-held anymore… In more ways than one.