In a garden on a hill, under the wide boughs of a cherry tree, a white phone booth glistens in the early spring light.
Inside, Kazuyoshi Sasaki carefully dials his late wife Miwako's cellphone number, bending his large frame and cradling the handset.
He explains how he searched for her for days after the devastating earthquake and tsunami a decade ago, visiting evacuation centres and makeshift morgues, returning at night to the rubble of their home.
"It all happened in an instant, I can't forget it even now," he says, weeping. "I sent you a message telling you where I was, but you didn't check it."
Before hanging up, Sasaki tells Miwako that a recent health checkup showed he had lost weight.
"I'll take care of myself," he promises her as a strong wind blows outside. "I'm so glad we met, thank you, we're all doing what we can, talk soon."