The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of the publishing house, illuminating the soft amber tones of Ayaka's private office.
Despite the early hour, a small stack of manuscripts already occupied her desk—editorial reviews, pending deadlines, revisions from her juniors—but her attention wasn't on any of them.
Instead, her slender fingers delicately turned the pages of a book with a navy blue cover, silver cursive embossed on the front: 'His Melody' by Moonlight Sonata.
The very same book that Takeshi had all but shoved into her hands the night before.
"Read it already!" Takeshi had said in a dramatic whisper, nudging the book toward her. "You'll understand why once you read it. Trust me."
Ayaka hadn't thought much of it—Takeshi never does actually recommend books but this time he even gifted her and it was by Moonlight Sonata, one of those mysterious, almost mythical romance authors whose works always topped sales charts yet never did interviews.
But as she turned the next page, Ayaka's brow furrowed, her eyes narrowing.
"Wait a second…" she whispered, flipping back to a previous chapter. Her heart began to thump.
The heroine's name was different, sure—Elise—but the descriptions? The quirks? Her voice? It was her.
And the male lead, the cold yet silently protective composer with a steel gaze and devil-may-care smirk?
His name might be Ren, but his aura was unmistakable.
Makoto Miura.
Ayaka's heart skipped a beat. "Is this… is this supposed to be us?"
Just as she sat upright in a stunned realization, her office door slammed open with all the subtlety of a stage performance.
"Ms. Midnight!"
"Wha—Mr. Takahashi?!" she jumped, scrambling to slam the book shut and shove it into a drawer.
Her cheeks were a fiery red as she stood, hands planted on her desk as if caught reading something illicit. "You can't just barge in like that!"
Daiki Takahashi, her editor-in-chief and the eternal chaos bringer in her life, leaned against the doorframe with a grin plastered across his face.
His sleeves were already rolled to his elbows, tie loosened like he'd run a marathon. "So!" he said with far too much excitement. "Did you accept Mr. Miura's offer?"
Ayaka straightened, pressing her palms flat against the desk. Her voice was calm, but her tone was steel. "I didn't."
"You—what?!" Daiki sputtered, dramatically clutching his chest. "Why not?! That man is the Moonlight Sonata! Collaborating with him would practically make you the literary power couple of the decade! Plus, have you seen social media lately? The rumors are everywhere!"
"I don't care about rumors!" she snapped, her brows knitting.
"Oh come on!" he teased, folding his arms. "There's already speculation that the two of you are romantically involved. The whole 'mysterious writer meets poetic muse' angle? It's marketing gold. Admit it—you like him!"
"There's nothing going on between us!" she insisted, flustered.
Daiki leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Or maybe... maybe it's not him who's got your heart."
Ayaka's lips parted, her voice caught in her throat.
"Maybe..." Daiki continued, slowly circling her desk like a seasoned interrogator, "It's someone else. Someone with silver hair and a temper so cold it could freeze lava. Someone who just so happens to have the same name as that very intense, very dreamy male lead in your last novel. What was his name again?"
Ayaka's breath hitched. "Don't."
"Akihiko!" he said with flair. "A figment of your imagination, right?"
Ayaka stood frozen for a heartbeat too long.
Then, slowly, almost unconsciously, her hand reached up, curling around the small necklace that hung against her chest—a single silver pendant, simple and understated.
A gift from him.
"I'm telling you…" Her voice trembled. Whether it was from anger, sorrow, or something deeper, even she wasn't sure. "He's just a figment of my imagination!"
With that, she marched forward, her boots striking the hardwood floor with every resolute step, grabbed Daiki by the arm, and pushed him back toward the door like a misbehaving child.
"Hey! What's this? Let me at least finish my—"
"You're the reason I'm in this mess!" she shouted. "Always pushing, always teasing—and no matter what you say, I won't accept that collaboration!"
The door slammed shut behind Daiki with a satisfying *bang*, shaking the framed awards on the wall.
A moment of stunned silence followed.
And then...
Outside her office, Daiki began laughing so loudly that staff in the surrounding cubicles turned to look.
"Kids these days!" he cackled, hands on his hips as he walked through the hallway like a man with no regrets. "Young love is in the air!"
"She kicked him out again." one staffer whispered.
"Yep." another replied, flipping through their files like this happened every Tuesday. "They have a father-daughter dynamic anyway. Nothing new."
Back inside, Ayaka stood with her back to the door, eyes closed, heart pounding. Her fingers clenched around the pendant.
The book in the drawer pulsed in her mind like a siren song.
She opened the drawer again, her hands trembling slightly as she pulled it out and held it to her chest.
So that's what this was.
Makoto Miura hadn't offered her a collaboration out of nowhere.
He had been writing this.
Their story.
Or at least, his version of it.
The scenes danced back through her mind now: Elise pressed against the studio window, watching Ren play piano with a storm behind his eyes.
The quiet nights of unspoken words and unsent letters.
The desperate fear of losing someone before ever truly having them.
And now… now she sees the truth. It wasn't just a novel.
It was a confession.
Makoto had put his feelings into every line, every page, every note of Ren's melody.
Ayaka turned toward the window, staring out at the city skyline.
Somewhere in those towers, Makoto was probably wondering if she hated him. If she'd ever call.
If the story he poured his heart into had only driven her further away.
And yet, her heart still beats for another name.
Akihiko.
A name she dared not say aloud anymore.
Not because it was forbidden, but because it hurt.
Her vision blurred. She blinked back the tears and sat down heavily at her desk.
She traced her fingers over the title again. 'His Melody.' Her lips parted as she whispered to no one.
"Then where is mine?"
She stayed curled up on the couch, the book resting in her lap, reading each chapter with a mix of awe and ache.
And by the time she turned the last page, the final sentence lingering like a breath in the cold, she understood what Makoto did.
He had written the version of their story where he had a chance to win her heart.
------
The evening air was crisp, brushing against Ayaka's skin as she stepped out of the building.
Tokyo's skyline glimmered faintly behind her, the last blush of sunlight fading into dusk.
She paused for a second just outside the office doors, hugging her coat tighter around her.
The golden lights from inside flickered behind her like a memory she couldn't shake.
Makoto was already there, leaning against his car just a few steps away.
He looked like he belonged on the cover of some brooding romance novel—black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled just enough to expose his forearms, and those ever-watchful eyes of his trained on her as if he'd been waiting not just minutes, but years.
Ayaka's pace slowed.
He pushed off the car and walked toward her with steady strides, a slight smile curving his lips. "I was beginning to think you were hiding from me."
"Miura…" Her voice came out softer than she meant, but she caught herself, straightening. "You didn't have to come. I never agreed to anything."
"I didn't come because of the collaboration." he said, pausing in front of her. "I came because it's you."
Ayaka's chest tightened.
The way he said it—casual, yet undeniably sincere—left no room for misinterpretation. She glanced around.
A few staff were still lingering near the entrance, pretending not to watch but definitely eavesdropping.
She turned sharply. "Let's talk somewhere else."
Makoto didn't argue. He simply followed as she led them around the corner, away from curious eyes and whispers.
They ended up in the quieter part of the building's side entrance, near the shadow of an old tree that stretched over the pavement.
The streetlights buzzed gently overhead, throwing pools of light between the shadows.
Ayaka turned to face him, the edge in her voice returning. "I'm not going to collaborate with you."
"I figured as much." he replied, studying her.
"Well, good." she snapped, a bit too defensive. "Because if you are harboring feelings for me—"
"I am."
The words were so blunt they nearly knocked the wind out of her.
Makoto stepped closer.
Ayaka took a step back instinctively, but the wall of the building stopped her.
His hands didn't reach for her at first. He just stood there, letting the moment hang.
The silence between them was thick with things unsaid—fears, history, regrets.
Ayaka's eyes narrowed. "Then stop. Just stop. You don't even know me."
"I know enough." His voice dropped lower, and then his hand moved—slow, deliberate—settling gently at her waist.
She froze.
"Miura—"
"I'm not asking you for anything." he murmured, his other hand reaching up to brush a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Not a relationship. Not a collaboration. Not even your heart."
His touch was featherlight, respectful—but it burned all the same.
"All I'm asking… is to stay close enough to prove I'm not going anywhere."
Ayaka tried to will her heart into stillness, but it beat traitorously against her ribs.
His fingers at her waist were barely touching her, but the weight of his presence surrounded her completely.
Her breath trembled. "You shouldn't waste your time on me."
"I just want to be someone who doesn't run when you fall apart." He said.
She stared at him.
Makoto leaned a little closer, just enough for her to feel the warmth radiating off him. "I'm not going to back off."
The air between them thickened.
Her lips parted, but no words came out. He was too close.
Too sincere.
She finally managed to whisper, "Please stop."
"You can't make me." Makoto softly replied.
"I'm still in love with someone who isn't even here."
"I know that too."
"Then why…?" Her voice broke. "Why are you doing this?"
His fingers pressed a little more firmly into her waist—not possessive, but grounding.
"Because..." he said, "Even if your heart's not ready, I see something worth waiting for."
Her throat tightened. She clung once more to the necklace Akihiko gave.
"Then let's start as friends." he said gently. "No pressure. No expectations. Just… let me be around."
Ayaka looked down at his hand, still resting at her waist.
The contact wasn't demanding. It was a promise.
Of steadiness. Of patience.
Of someone who wasn't Akihiko, but wasn't pretending to be either.
She reached up, slowly wrapping her fingers around his wrist. Not to push him away—just to anchor herself.
"I don't want to hurt you." she whispered.
Makoto's smile returned, softer this time. "That's not your decision to make."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The wind rustled the leaves above them, and the distant hum of traffic filled the background.
Then Makoto leaned in again—this time just to press his forehead lightly against hers.
"We can't really choose who we would fall for. No matter what you do, you're the person I fell for, Ms. Midnight." he whispered.
She closed her eyes, just for a second.
Letting the moment wash over her.
Not quite acceptance.
But not rejection either.
Just the beginning of something unspoken.
When she finally pulled back, he released her gently, letting his hand fall to his side without protest.
"I'll walk you to the car." he said, voice calm again.
Ayaka hesitated. Then nodded.
They walked side by side under the streetlights, not touching, not speaking—but something had shifted in the silence.