Namalll3

Haruka ran away from home after one sentence destroyed all her self-esteem. Failing to get into her dream university, her father decided: she was no longer a child worthy of pride.

Without a direction, Haruka disappeared into a small town and lived as a hikikomori. Her days were spent in silence, only opening the door for food delivered via an app. Until a food delivery person kept coming, with sticky notes full of absurd comments and inexplicable little attentions.

Kaito never forced her. But he was always there. Sometimes, just to say, "If you like sweets, tomorrow I'll bring melon bread from my grandmother's shop."

When Haruka ran out of money and the last order couldn't be paid, Kaito didn't get angry. Instead, he offered a solution: work for a while at her grandmother's bakery—just until Haruka could pay off her debt.

But the outside world that had always felt scary slowly changed.

And Haruka began to wonder...

Why did someone she didn't know make her feel more seen than her own family?

And why... did Kaito's gaze seem like she had met him before—in a past she had long buried?

Things He Never Says

When Haruka entered the bakery, the sun had already started its climb. She slipped through the back door quietly, never quite sure if she was early or not. The wooden floor creaked under her feet, ringing out in the quiet, and the smell of warm dough wrapped around her like a cozy blanket.

Kaito was already there, sweeping the countertop clean. He looked up with a hello. "Morning."

She nodded back and grasped the apron slung over the wall. Her movements were slightly more confident now. Familiar. As if she were getting the rhythm of the place.

They worked together in a wordless concert. Kaito assigned her small jobs—placing out trays, folding paper, and sweeping egg wash. Nothing too much. Nothing too fast. Just enough to keep her fingers limber.

At one point, while reaching up to place a tray on the top shelf, Haruka's sleeve fell down her arm.

A pale line across her wrist, faded but unmistakable.

Haruka quickly adjusted her sleeve, her heart racing. Her eyes flicked to his face, bracing herself for the change, questions, the pity, the stifling silence.

He just gave her the next tray like nothing had happened. Like she was still her. Not her scars. Not her past.

Later, when they sat down for a short break, Haruka found something beside her glass of water.

Smaller than the last ones. Clean. It wasn't left somewhere randomly this time—it was left right in front of her glass, as if patiently waiting.

*"I hope you'll feel the warmth of the morning sun again someday."*

Not "be strong." Not "stay positive." Just… warmth. Hope. The kind that didn't rush her.

But instead of sticking it inside her diary like the others, she reached for her wallet.

Scars Don't Need to Speak