Chapter 15

The late afternoon sun was filtering through the café window, casting a soft amber glow over everything - the chipped wooden table, the worn leather seats, and Sae sitting across from me. I could feel the warmth of the cup I held in my hands, but I hadn't touched the coffee for a while. Somehow, I wasn't thirsty - not yet.

Sae had insisted we come here. She called it "somewhere quiet," and she didn't give me much room to argue. I didn't argue. It felt like exactly what I needed without even knowing I needed it.

She stirred her drink lazily, the spoon making small, hypnotic circles in the cup. I watched the way the light caught the subtle shimmer of the caramel in her coffee and the amber threads of her hair - like autumn maple leaves catching a last flash of sunlight. I thought about how long I'd been looking at her without really seeing.

"I always come here when I want to disappear," she said suddenly. Her voice was soft, almost vulnerable, and I noticed the way her eyes didn't meet mine, but instead stared out the window.

I understood that more than I could say.

People at school were loud. Not just the noise from the classrooms or the crowded hallways, but the expectations, the constant performances everyone seemed to put on - myself included. This place didn't expect anything from her, and it didn't expect anything from me either.

We sat in silence for a while. No awkward pauses. No forced conversation. Just the soft clink of cups and the low hum of a jazz track playing somewhere near the counter. It was the kind of quiet that settled into your bones, the kind that felt like a slow, steady breath after holding it in for too long.

Then, she looked up at me, her eyes flicking toward mine like she was weighing whether or not to say something.

"You looked tired today," she said finally. "Like... worn down. Not just physically."

I didn't answer right away. My gaze drifted toward the window, watching a couple pass by, their laughter light and easy. Something I used to want so badly - to have those moments that didn't feel like a struggle.

"My father woke up," I said quietly.

Sae didn't say anything, but I could feel the shift in her attention. It was total, focused. Like she was holding space for whatever I needed to say.

"He didn't ask about me," I went on, my voice barely above a whisper. "Just… barked orders at the nurse. Complained about the hospital food. Same as always."

I swallowed hard. The bitterness lingered, but I didn't want to waste any more energy on anger I knew wouldn't change anything.

Sae's expression didn't change, but slowly, deliberately, her hand moved across the table and settled on top of mine. Her fingers were warm and steady.

It was the kind of gesture that said, "I'm here." Without needing words.

"And your mother?" she asked softly.

I shrugged, but it felt like a stone in my throat. "She just looked through me," I muttered. "Said I'd grown taller. Like I was some distant cousin she hadn't seen in years."

The knot in my throat tightened, but I didn't look away from her.

"I don't know why I expected anything different," I said honestly.

She didn't try to fix it. Didn't offer platitudes or promises. Instead, she held my gaze and let her thumb move gently along the back of my hand - an unspoken, wordless act of understanding that somehow felt more healing than any words ever could.

Then, softly, she smiled.

"You're not like them, you know," she said quietly. "Not even close."

I blinked, caught off guard. "You don't know that."

"I do," she said firmly. "You're trying. That's more than most people do."

The warmth in her eyes wasn't pity. It was recognition. A rare kind of seeing.

We sat like that for a while. A long silence stretched between us, but it didn't feel empty. It felt peaceful. Earnest.

Before we left the café, the golden dusk light caught her just right, and she said, almost teasingly, "Your hair's a mess."

I blinked, confused. "What?"

She reached up and fixed a stray strand near my temple, fingers brushing my skin briefly. "There. You look less like you fought a thunderstorm."

I snorted - a rare sound from me, half-laugh, half-exhale. "You're strange."

"So are you," she said, gathering her bag. "That's probably why this works."

We stepped outside, the evening breeze catching the amber strands of her hair, making them shimmer like tiny flames.

I realized something then, something I hadn't allowed myself to before: I didn't feel alone.

Not tonight.

Not anymore.

The next day, the usual school rhythm rolled back in: lectures, half-hearted note-taking, the occasional murmur of gossip drifting through the hallways like a distant storm. I slid back into my usual silence during class, head down, but when break came, I found myself walking out to the shade of the trees outside the main building. There, Tanaka and Minato were waiting.

"Are you even human?" Minato asked with a laugh, squinting at the score report in his hand. "Nakamura, did you really get a 97 on that calculus quiz?"

Tanaka chuckled softly. "He probably solved it in his sleep."

I gave a small shrug. "I studied."

Minato groaned dramatically. "Man, I need to absorb your brain through osmosis or something."

Tanaka tossed me an orange-flavored drink, which I caught without thinking. "You've been more... present lately," he said thoughtfully. "Good to see."

I didn't say anything, but I nodded. He wasn't wrong. Things had felt different lately. Lighter. Not always, but often enough to notice.

Later, as I packed up my bag to leave, Sae appeared beside my desk, arms crossed, her expression offering no real choice.

"Come with me," she said.

I blinked. "Where?"

"You'll see."

I followed her out of school, feeling a strange tightness in my chest - not the kind my inhaler could fix.

We ended up in a part of town I rarely visited, near the riverbank where the early cherry blossoms were just starting to bloom, delicate and pink against the sky.

There was a tiny pop-up market, colorful and chaotic, with stalls selling snacks, books, handmade crafts, and weird little trinkets. Far from what I usually found comfortable.

"What is this place?" I asked, scanning the crowd.

"My secret anti-boredom zone," she said, eyes lighting up as she pointed toward a stall selling lopsided plush toys. "You need it more than anyone."

"I'm not bored."

"No, you're just chronically serious. Close enough."

She shoved a warm taiyaki into my hand. "Eat this. It's criminal you've never tried one."

I took a tentative bite. Warm, soft, filled with sweet red bean paste. Not something I'd normally eat. Not bad, though.

We wandered from stall to stall. Sometimes we talked, sometimes not. She tried on ridiculous sunglasses at one booth. At another, she pointed out a stray cat lounging like it owned the place.

Between laughter and teasing, I realized I wasn't just enduring this outing. I was enjoying it.

Even the chaos, even the noise - it felt distant, harmless.

I looked at her again, at how the sunlight lit up the amber strands in her hair, and how her eyes sparkled when she laughed at some dumb pun I hadn't even meant to make.

"You're smiling," she said, catching me mid-expression.

I blinked. "No, I wasn't."

"Yes, you were."

There was a beat of silence. A beat that felt like something waiting to tip over.

"You're… really beautiful," I said - faster than I meant to.

She looked at me, genuinely startled.

Then, instead of teasing me, she replied softly, "Thanks. You're not so bad yourself when you're not glaring holes into people."

My heart knocked hard against my ribs.

We didn't say anything for a few seconds, and suddenly I was very aware of the distance - or lack thereof - between us.

She glanced away, cheeks tinged pink. "We should… probably get going before it gets dark."

"Right," I muttered, but the air around us had changed. Charged with something unspoken.

As we walked back, neither of us said much.

But the silence no longer felt empty.

It felt like something was beginning.

Sometimes, I think about how much I used to want to disappear. To be invisible. Safe. Unnoticed.

But now, sitting here beside Sae, feeling her fingers brush mine, hearing the soft rhythm of her voice, I'm starting to realize that maybe the quiet places where you land aren't about hiding away.

Maybe they're about finding the spaces where you can finally show up - messy hair, tired eyes, and all.

And be seen.

Really seen.