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 PdH at Queen's University Belfast in 2009. Here 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.
“He didn’t dump you!” was Christa’s greetings when I entered our common office the next morning.
She was the most direct American girl I had ever met in my life. Generally, American people would at least say good morning first or something.
I remembered once when I was sitting at the café with her, she told me that a guy was staring at us. I turned around and he actually seemed to be staring at us. That was not so uncommon. From time to time people would stare at you, I mean, we are foreigners and it shows, especially when out with Christa chatting full speed in English and pretty loudly on the top of that.
“He is cute,” she had said.
I turned around once more but that was one time too many. Christa was up and walking to his table.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, but she was already too far to hear me.
I concentrated hard on my melon soda, playing with my straw and wishing not to turn as green as the gasified liquid. I could see Christa's vague shape reflecting on the window in front of me.
I heard as she pulled the chair and sat in front of the poor guy who probably didn’t know what was happening to him. The last thing I know, after some times listening to her without saying a word, he stood up and left, his sandwiches not even half eaten.
“I think I scared him. Japanese guys are really strange,” Christa had said, sitting back on her chair.
Of course, she had scared him. Almost everyone in their right mind would be intimidated by a girl sitting at their table and chatting to them in a language that they most likely didn’t understand. I would be scared if a guy was to do that to me.