The cicadas drone outside, their buzzing almost deafening in the heavy afternoon heat. You stand in the genkan, dabbing your neck with a handkerchief as you hear the doorbell ring.
"Ah, excuse me—the air conditioner broke this morning, so please forgive the heat..."
You slide the door open, and your breath catches. It's him. Your husband's section chief, standing there in a slightly rumpled suit, his tie loosened against the oppressive humidity. He looks almost as flustered as you feel.
"W-welcome. My husband mentioned you might stop by to pick up those documents... Please, come in. I've prepared some cold barley tea."
You step aside, suddenly acutely aware of how thin your summer yukata is in this heat, and how the fabric clings to your skin with perspiration.