A Stranger’s Kindness, A Friend’s Silence.

Chapter 27: A Stranger's Kindness, A Friend's Silence.

The café was quiet, save for the occasional clatter of dishes and the hum of conversation. A soft rain tapped against the windows, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and neon reflections. Inside, the scent of coffee and warm bread curled through the air, familiar and comforting.

Mika pulled her coat tighter around her, rubbing her hands together as she stepped in. She wasn't sure why she had come here-only that she had walked without thinking, her feet leading her someplace familiar. Someplace safe.

And then, she saw him.

At the farthest table, tucked into the corner like a shadow, Takeshi sat with a book open in front of him. A cup of tea rested at his side, untouched, its steam long since faded. He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge her.

But Mika knew he had seen her.

She hesitated for a moment, then made her way over.

"Takeshi."

His gaze lifted from the pages, settling on her with quiet neutrality. Not surprise. Not recognition. Just... acknowledgment. As if she were just another passerby in his day.

Mika swallowed.

"You don't remember me?"

Takeshi blinked, then tilted his head slightly. "Should I?"

The words stung more than she expected.

She sat down before she could second-guess herself. Across the table, he merely watched her, silent as ever.

"I-" She hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "You helped me once."

There was no shift in his expression, no sign of recognition. But that didn't mean he had forgotten. Mika knew better now.

He never forgot anything.

"I was in trouble," she continued. "It was late. I had nowhere to go. I didn't even ask for help, but you-" She stopped herself, suddenly feeling ridiculous. "You just... were there."

Takeshi didn't react, but that was expected.

He didn't ask for gratitude.

He never had.

For him, kindness wasn't something to be acknowledged. It wasn't a debt to be repaid, or a favor to be remembered. It was just something he did, and then he moved on.

"I never got to thank you."

At that, Takeshi's expression shifted. Not surprise. Not discomfort. Just... something. A flicker of amusement, maybe.

He reached for his tea, fingers curling around the cup as he lifted it.

"You don't have to."

The simplicity of it made her pause.

"But-"

"What do you think would've changed?" he asked, voice calm. "If you had thanked me back then?"

Mika opened her mouth, but no words came.

Would it have changed anything?

She wanted to say yes, that maybe it would've given her some sense of closure, that maybe it would've made her feel like she had balanced the scales. But that wasn't the kind of person Takeshi was.

He had helped her, and then he had let her go. No expectations. No ties.

That was who he was.

Mika let out a breath, leaning back.

"It's frustrating, you know," she muttered.

Takeshi finally took a sip of his tea, as if the conversation had already faded from his mind. "Why?"

"Because people like you don't exist."

At that, something in his expression softened-just a fraction.

"Sure we do," he murmured. "You just don't notice us until you need us."

Mika flinched.

The truth in his words settled deep.

She had never thought about it like that. Never questioned why Takeshi had been there that night, why he had known what to do without asking. She had never considered that maybe he had done this before. That maybe he had done this for others.

She looked at him now, really looked at him-the quiet way he carried himself, the distance he kept between himself and the world.

How many people had been in her position?

How many had he helped, only to walk away as if it meant nothing?

Mika lowered her gaze.

"It did mean something," she said, quieter now.

She didn't know if he'd believe her. Maybe he did. Maybe he didn't.

Either way, Takeshi simply set down his tea, gaze already drifting back to his book.

Mika sighed, shaking her head. "You're impossible."

His lips twitched-just barely.

"Good."

She laughed despite herself, pushing to her feet.

"Fine. I won't thank you."

Takeshi turned a page. "Smart choice."

Mika rolled her eyes, but the weight in her chest felt lighter now. She was used to feeling like she owed something, like there was always a debt she hadn't paid. But with Takeshi, that weight was gone. She didn't owe him anything-not gratitude, not words-just a quiet understanding.

She stood up, pulling her coat tighter around her as she glanced at him. He was already absorbed in his book again, his quiet, unfathomable presence as constant as the rain outside.

"I'll see you around, Takeshi," she said, her voice softer than she intended.

Without looking up from his book, he gave a slight nod. A gesture so small it could've been missed by anyone who wasn't paying attention.

"Take care," he murmured, his tone as neutral as always.

Mika hesitated for a moment, then turned to leave. As she stepped toward the door, the bell above it chimed softly, breaking the silence. Outside, the rain had lightened to a drizzle, and the world seemed a little less heavy than when she had walked in.

She didn't look back.

But as she stepped onto the sidewalk, she realized something she hadn't noticed before. The feeling of gratitude she had been carrying for so long, the sense that she had to repay something to him-had evaporated. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate his help. It wasn't that she hadn't felt the weight of his quiet kindness. It was just that there was no need to repay it. Not in the way she had always thought.

And somehow, she knew that would be enough for him.

Even if he never acknowledged it, she would remember. And somehow, she knew—so would he.