Photo/Illutration Nami Kishida, center, with her mother, Hiromi, and brother, Ryota, in Tokyo’s Chiyoda Ward on Nov. 4 when they visited her from Kobe. (Noriyuki Kaneta)

When she returned home in Kobe one day, Nami Kishida sensed the tense mood between her mother and little brother in the living room.

Her mother, Hiromi, told her that Ryota might have shoplifted something.

Ryota, an elementary school pupil at the time, was holding a bottle of ion water.

Hiromi kept questioning him to find out how he got it because that drink was not supposed to be in their home.

“What happened?” she asked. “Why do you have that drink?”

In response, Ryota, who is four years younger, was hemming and hawing, muttering, “Well, uhh ...”

Nami adored her brother, who has nice round eyes.

When they were very young, they often played with block toys together.

Then Hiromi broke the shocking news one day when Nami was in the first grade at elementary school: Ryota has Down syndrome, an intellectual disability.

She recalled wishing strongly at that time that she could have the genetic disorder instead of him.

Her family always made sure that Ryota was not left by himself.

When he began attending elementary school, he was always with his peers when he went to and came home from school.

Ryota had never gone out on his own to buy or to do something. He was not given any money, either.

So her mother was upset when she returned home from work to find him holding the bottled ion water.

Hiromi suspected that he had stolen it as there was no such drink at home before she went out.

When her mother and Nami persuaded Ryota to tell them truthfully where he got the drink, he sheepishly pulled out a piece of paper.

It was a receipt for the drink from a convenience store in their neighborhood.

Ryota had no money. How could he have a receipt for the drink?

Then they found a note scribbled on the back of the receipt that read, “You can pay for the drink the next time you come to our store.”

They immediately ran to the shop, taking Ryota with them.

As soon as they arrived at the store, Hiromi bowed to a male worker, apologizing to him repeatedly.

But the man, far from being angry, began explaining what had happened, with a smile.

“Your son appeared to be very thirsty,” he said. “It must be that he remembered this store and turned to us for help. I am glad that he did.”

Such words were something they had never expected to hear from a store employee and they were very grateful for the gesture.

After picking up a drink because he was thirsty, Ryota came to the checkout of the store although he had no money.

But the worker had seen the family together many times before and was kind enough to let the boy have the drink to be paid for later.

Since that incident, Ryota began going out by himself on simple errands.

When Nami and Ryota stopped by the store after a while, she found to her pleasant surprise that her brother and the employee were having exchanges just like close friends.

But it was puzzling to her as others usually had difficulty in understanding what Ryota was saying due to his inability to pronounce words clearly.

Ten or so years after the convenience store incident, Nami, now 28, is working for a Tokyo company to pitch barrier-free programs to business clients.

Ryota is living with their mother, 51, at their home. But he is no longer the little boy not to be left alone.

He attends a support center for people with disabilities five days a week, doing work to pack handcraft kits in bags and posting community papers to homes.

It is easy to see that he is a full-fledged member of the community. When he is out, many locals greet him.

“Kisshie, how are you doing?” said one, referring to his nickname. “It is good to see you after so long. What are you doing now?”

Each time, he responds cheerfully, saying, “Hi!”