Day 07 - April 07, 2024
Happiness Behind Sadness
______________________
Warmth.
That was the first thing I felt. Not the cold, unforgiving floor I somehow got used to waking up on—but warmth. A tender sort of peace, like the world had wrapped me in something softer than sleep.
Her head gently rested on my shoulder, as if that spot had been waiting for her all along. I didn't move—I didn't even breathe too hard, afraid that the moment might shatter like delicate glass. Her warmth seeped through the fabric of my shirt, grounding me, making everything else disappear.
Then her hand found mine.
Small. Warm. Trembling ever so slightly, yet it reached out with quiet certainty. Our fingers slipped together like puzzle pieces lost and found. My heart slowed, not from calm, but from awe—like time itself had given us a brief mercy, a pause in the universe just for us.
The scent of flowers floated in the air. It wasn't from the trees or the breeze. It was her. That same faint fragrance I caught yesterday when the wind had teased her hair under the setting sun. A gentle, nostalgic note—like spring mornings and distant laughter. I remembered it vividly now, the way strands of her hair had danced, brushing my cheek, her voice so close it felt like it touched something deep inside me.
But here… now… this was different.
There were no crowds, no noise, no weight of the real world. Just her leaning closer. Just me wanting time to stop. Her breath was warm on my skin. Our hands stayed locked. Her presence filled every inch of my senses.
Fujimoto Airi.
She turned to me, slowly, as if time itself had softened for this single moment. Her eyes shimmered—not with reflected light, but with something else. Something warmer. Something that felt like it belonged only to me. It wasn't just a glance. It was a quiet unraveling, like she had finally let down every wall she carried behind that calm, composed smile.
Her lips curved—a smile caught somewhere between shy hesitation and a knowing invitation. The kind of smile that makes your chest tighten and your thoughts scatter like petals in the wind.
She looked up, and our eyes met. But it didn't feel like simple eye contact. It felt like a question... and maybe, an answer too. Something in that gaze whispered things louder than words could carry. Something unguarded. Bare. Real.
"Haruki-kun…"
The way she said it—it wasn't dramatic. It wasn't loud. It was soft. Almost too soft. But it echoed through me louder than anything. As if no one had ever said my name like that before. As if her voice had found a place inside me I didn't know existed.
My breath hitched.
I didn't understand why.
Was it her voice? The way it trembled slightly at the end of my name? Or was it the way her fingers, still locked with mine, gave a gentle squeeze—just once, but full of meaning?
She leaned in, close enough for me to feel the warmth of her skin, the faint brush of her breath against my cheek. My heart began to pound—not from panic, not from nerves—but from the unbearable quiet between us. The kind of silence where one breath could change everything.
The world around us blurred into nothingness. No sky. No ground. Just the steady hum of something I couldn't name. The weightless gravity that existed only between two people on the verge of something neither fully understood, but couldn't resist.
There was only her.
And in that single, breathless heartbeat…
I was hers.
Then her lips moved again.
"I love you."
What—
"Please be mine."
The words didn't just echo. They clung. They wrapped themselves around my ribs, curled into the hollows of my chest. My heart faltered, then raced, all in a single heartbeat. I blinked, trying to hold onto the moment, trying to understand if I had heard her right. But I didn't need to question it—her eyes told me she meant it.
I opened my mouth to say something—anything—but the words were scattered, fragile things. My throat tightened. My breath stuck.
And then she leaned in.
Closer.
Her breath brushed against my skin, soft and warm. Her presence was overwhelming—like sunlight pressing gently on a wound I didn't know I had. My pulse thundered in my ears. I could smell the faint floral note of her shampoo again, sweet and familiar, like a memory I hadn't earned but wanted to relive forever.
Our lips—barely apart.
So close—
A breath away.
And I wanted to move. I wanted to close that distance. To answer her, to say yes, to fall—completely and recklessly—into the gravity of her.
But just as my eyes drifted shut, just as my heart prepared to leap—
_____
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
"What the—!"
My eyes snapped open.
The ceiling. The bland, cracked ceiling of my apartment, stained faintly yellow in the corner where I still hadn't fixed the leak.
Reality.
The alarm screamed on, sharp and cruel. I groaned and slapped my hand over the phone on the bedside table, fumbling, missing once—twice—before finally silencing it.
Silence. But not peace.
My chest heaved. My heart thundered like it had just run a marathon, and I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.
"Tch. Damn it... just one more second… just—one more..." I growled, dragging the sheets over my head.
I buried my face into the pillow, muffling a broken chuckle. It wasn't funny, not really, but what else could I do? I felt like I'd been ripped away from something warm, something precious. My heart still clung to it like a child's grip on the hem of a parent walking away.
That dream.
Her hand in mine. The weight of her head on my shoulder. Her breath, her eyes, her voice.
I love you.
It echoed through me, not just as memory but as sensation. I could still feel the soft brush of her fingers. I could still see the subtle quiver in her lip when she smiled. I could still smell that gentle floral note—the one I noticed yesterday when the breeze had danced through her hair.
I lay still, staring at the wall now, the gray light of early morning casting soft shadows through the blinds.
That wasn't a nightmare. Not like the ones that used to haunt me. That wasn't darkness, or fear, or pain.
That was…
Something else.
A memory? No. It didn't happen.
A wish? Maybe. But it felt too vivid to be imagined.
A glimpse of something real, waiting just beyond the veil of now?
I don't know.
But it lingered.
The way she looked at me—unguarded, vulnerable.
The way her lips trembled just before she whispered—
"Please be mine".
I could have drowned in that moment. And honestly… I wanted to.
I sat up slowly, dragging my hands over my face. I was hot, flustered, confused—and strangely happy. Like I'd just touched something sacred. Something I wasn't supposed to, but did anyway.
And then I smiled.
Not the kind you force when people ask if you're okay.
The real kind.
The kind that sneaks up on you when something gentle nudges your soul.
"Yesterday, huh…"
I murmured it aloud, like naming it gave it weight.
It played like a reel in my head. Her teasing voice. Her laughter. The way she twirled at the aquarium, pointing at the jellyfish like a child. The way she clung to her bag after our shared dessert, trying to hide how much she loved the sweets.The way she laughed at the ice cream that dripped onto her hand. The way she looked so different—so alive—outside the cold, professional walls of our workplace. The way she called my name when no one was around to hear it, soft and unsure, like she wasn't used to needing someone.
I remembered it all. Every step. Every word.
And now… this dream, or whatever it was, had taken all of that and stirred it into something more.
I let out a breath. Long. Deep. It shook a little on the way out.
I didn't know what today would bring.
But for the first time in a long time, I wanted to find out.
_____
Was it all real?
The question hung in my head like a fragile thread, suspended somewhere between dream and memory.
My eyes drifted to the phone lying facedown on the floor beside my mattress. I reached for it slowly, like it might shatter the moment if I moved too fast. My thumb hovered above the screen, hesitating—almost afraid to wake up a second time.
But I unlocked it anyway.
There it was.
The last message from her.
"Good Night Sleepy head. [sleeping emoji]"
I smiled again. Softer this time. Not the impulsive laugh from earlier. This one... felt real. Like something blooming gently inside my chest.
That message—so casual, so simple—but from her. From the same girl who, just the day before, barely acknowledged me. Who wore silence like armor. Who walked past with that icy gaze that never quite met mine.
The Ice Queen.
Untouchable. Mysterious. Distant.
But yesterday... she was different.
She laughed. Teased. Her walls had cracks in them, and I saw through them—just a little. Enough to glimpse someone warmer beneath. Someone real. As if she was holding a door half-open, waiting to see if I'd step inside.
And then—
"Can we do it again tomorrow?"
Those words hit differently now.
Today is tomorrow.
I sat there, still tangled in sheets, the weight of that sentence wrapping around me like a second blanket. But instead of warmth, it brought a low thrum in my gut.
Not fear. Not dread.
Something else.
Nervousness? Maybe. But not the kind that makes you shrink away.
This was the kind that made your chest feel tight in the best way. Like standing at the edge of something you can't quite see, but desperately want to fall into.
A soft kind of anticipation.
A quiet kind of hope.
Why me, though…
I whispered it aloud, running a hand through my hair, fingers snagging in the messy strands.
"What changed?"
Was it me?
Was it her?
Or maybe… maybe nothing changed at all.
Maybe that part of her had always been there—just hidden, like the moon behind clouds. And somehow, for a moment, she let me see it.
And now, here I was.
Waiting for today.
Not because I had to.
But because I wanted to.
_____
II stood up, stretching as my bones let out soft cracks of protest. The room was quiet, save for the creak of the floor beneath my feet. I shuffled toward the kitchen—small, cramped, forgettable. A counter scarred by years of careless chopping, a stove that hissed more than it cooked, a lone kettle sitting like a tired sentinel.
But today… it felt different.
Today, I wanted to do more.
The memory of her sipping coffee played in my mind, vivid and warm. Her eyes lit up the second she recognized the taste—her favorite blend. She hadn't said it out loud, but I saw it. That moment of quiet surprise, the small curl of her lips as if she was tasting a memory.
That stuck with me.
Maybe… today I'll make the same one.
I filled the kettle. The water sang softly as it heated, a low hum that seemed to match the buzz in my chest. I ground the beans slowly, letting the scent rise—earthy, rich, almost sweet. The aroma filled the space like a whispered promise.
It reminded me of the café we went to yesterday. Of how she stood in front of the glass display, her eyes dancing over rows of pastries. She hesitated, as if choosing one was a great decision, then pointed shyly at the smallest tart in the corner.
I smiled at the thought. Couldn't help it.
I opened the fridge with a flick of my wrist. Not much in there.
Eggs. Milk. A lonely slice of bread. Strawberries—slightly wrinkled, but still good. Somehow, it felt like enough.
I cracked the eggs into a bowl, whisking them with slow, deliberate movements. Like I was making something sacred, not just breakfast. Butter melted on the pan with a gentle sizzle, spreading its warmth across the surface. The toast browned quietly, curling slightly at the edges.
I sliced the strawberries, soft red against the white plate, arranging them with a care that almost made me laugh.
It was stupid.
It was ordinary.
But it felt… right.
Because today, I was going to see her again.
I plated everything carefully. The eggs—light and fluffy. The toast—golden and warm. The strawberries—bright like little hearts. I poured the coffee into my favorite mug. The blend was just right.
Steam rose in delicate curls, dancing toward the ceiling like thoughts unspoken.
I wrapped my hands around the mug and stared into the swirl.
Outside, sunlight tiptoed through the curtains, casting soft patterns on the floor.
I brought the cup to my lips.
It tasted different.
Like nervous energy.
Like beginnings.
Like hope brewed into something real.
_____
I cleaned up after breakfast, the soft clink of dishes echoing through the quiet room like a familiar rhythm. I barely noticed the sounds; they faded beneath the tide of my thoughts. My mind was elsewhere—floating, drifting back to yesterday.
To her.
The way she grinned when I offered her the last piece of takoyaki, nudging it toward her with my chopsticks like it was a peace offering. She hesitated—just for a moment—before taking it with that bright, surprised smile that made my chest flutter.
And her laugh.
God, that laugh—unfiltered, pure—when she failed again to win that plushie from the crane game. She pouted at the machine, accusing it of cheating, then turned to me and broke into laughter so contagious I had no choice but to join her.
It wasn't just a memory.
It was still here, like an ember glowing quietly in my chest.
After rinsing the last dish, I made my way to the bathroom. The shower was hot, steady, and somehow more comforting than usual. The water hit my back in waves, washing away the remnants of sleep and something heavier—hesitation, maybe? Doubt? I let it all pour off me, clearing a space inside.
I brushed my teeth, cleaned up my scruffy chin, and stood over the ironing board. My favorite white button-up—simple, clean, safe. I paired it with dark jeans, crisp and just fitted enough. Casual. But thoughtful. I wasn't trying too hard… but I was trying.
For her.
For Airi.
As I was fixing my hair in the mirror, still damp and wild, my phone buzzed from the counter. I reached for the towel, wiped my hands quickly, and tapped the screen.
There it was:
"Good morning, sleeping head. See you again today."
A winking emoji tagged along at the end, like she couldn't help herself.
My heart thudded once—hard.
A small laugh escaped me. My face warmed as I murmured under my breath:
"Damn it, Airi… stop making me smile like an idiot."
It was such a simple message. Nothing dramatic. No poetry.
But to me? It was a match struck in the dark.
I set the phone down slowly, hands lingering on the edges. My reflection in the mirror looked... different. Brighter, maybe. Lighter.
The truth is, my feelings for Fujimoto Airi were growing faster than I wanted to admit. She wasn't just a girl who made me laugh. She was a contradiction—a mess of confidence and clumsiness, bold teases and quiet retreats. She carried herself like someone afraid to be seen but desperate to be understood.
And I wanted to understand her.
Every part of her.
It wasn't just admiration anymore. It was something else.
Something more fragile. More terrifying.
Something real.
The apartment walls weren't silent today. They rarely ever were, but today… they felt alive. The familiar chaos had begun: the old couple upstairs bickering over what show to watch—her voice sharp, his stubborn—and their TV remote slamming on the table like punctuation. A baby wailed somewhere to my right, high-pitched and raw, while down the hall, a kid was violently attacking a recorder, squeezing out squeaky, off-key notes that were both relentless and oddly determined.
On any other morning, I would've sighed. Grumbled. Maybe even pulled a pillow over my head and cursed the thinness of these walls.
But not today.
Today, their noise felt like… music. A chaotic, mismatched orchestra that underscored the quiet excitement bubbling inside me. They weren't interruptions. They were accompaniment.
Because my mind—no, my heart—was already dancing to a different tune.
Her.
The thought of seeing her again moved like a current beneath everything. It tingled at the edge of my thoughts, warm and impatient. My chest buzzed with something I didn't have a name for. It wasn't quite anxiety, not quite joy—just a restless kind of want.
A need to pick up where yesterday left off.
To see that teasing smile again.
To hear her voice, soft and sharp all at once.
To know, just know, if that warmth I felt was real… or just a beautiful illusion.
I leaned against the wall and let the moment settle in. The noise of the world kept going—familiar, flawed, and full of life.
But inside me?
Everything was quiet.
And everything was loud.
My mind was too busy dancing to another tune—the thought of seeing her again.
_____
MEETING PLACE
We met just outside the station.
There she was—leaning casually against the vending machine, her figure framed by the soft glow of the morning light. She wasn't doing anything extraordinary. Just sipping canned coffee, strands of her hair catching the breeze. But the sight of her made something inside me tighten in the most inexplicable way.
As I neared, she looked up. Her eyes caught mine, and for a heartbeat, it was like the noise around us—honking cars, bustling footsteps, rustling leaves—faded into silence.
"You're late," she said, a teasing lilt in her voice. She tapped her bare wrist, pretending there was a watch, lips curling into that half-smile that always messed with my composure.
"Only by a minute," I replied, heart already pounding louder than I liked.
Without a word, she held out a can toward me. "Peace offering," she said. "Cold brew. Thought you might like it."
Our fingers brushed as I took it, and that simple contact sent a current through me. Warmth spread up my arm, making it hard to look her in the eye.
"Since when do you know my taste?" I asked, trying to sound playful, though my voice betrayed something softer.
She shrugged, but the way she looked at me—gentle, quietly proud—said more than her words ever could.
"I observe."
That answer lingered in the air like the fading aroma of coffee between us. She didn't just see me—she noticed me. Thought about me. Remembered me.
And in that moment, something shifted.
It wasn't just a morning greeting.
It wasn't just a can of cold brew.
It was her heart, inching closer to mine.
We wandered the city again, but it wasn't just a repeat of yesterday—it felt like a continuation of something quietly unfolding. This time, we stumbled upon a tiny local museum, hidden between two narrow alleyways like a forgotten secret. Inside, Airi's eyes sparkled as she stared at old photographs of the town from decades ago, her fingers trailing just above the glass displays like she was trying to touch the past.
"Look at this one," she said, pointing to a photo of children playing in the streets. Her voice held a kind of wonder I hadn't heard before. I watched her more than the exhibits.
She posed beside a statue of a cat in samurai armor, holding a serious face before breaking into laughter. "Come on, take the shot!" she grinned.
I lifted my phone, but not before taking in the way her eyes crinkled with joy, the way her hair caught the light pouring through the window. I clicked the shutter, but in truth, the image was already burned into me.
Later, we found ourselves in a quiet park tucked behind a shrine, the kind you don't see unless you're really looking. The lake glimmered in the late afternoon sun. Children threw breadcrumbs to ducks that paddled lazily by, while couples leaned into each other beneath sakura trees heavy with blossoms.
We found a spot beneath one of them, its branches casting gentle shadows across the grass. The breeze stirred the petals, letting them fall around us like soft snow. Neither of us spoke. Words didn't feel necessary.
And then… our hands touched.
Just the barest graze. But neither of us moved away.
That single point of contact pulsed with meaning—something unspoken, something tentative but impossibly loud. Her pinky brushed mine, then lingered. My fingers curled instinctively, slowly, aching to intertwine with hers, but I held back. Not yet.
She leaned in, her head settling gently against my shoulder like it had always belonged there.
I didn't breathe. I couldn't. I was afraid even the smallest sound might shatter the moment.
"You're warm," she whispered, so quietly I felt it more than heard it.
I turned slightly, my cheek almost brushing her hair. Her scent—faintly floral, familiar—wrapped around me like a memory I didn't know I'd been missing. Her face was close. Her lips parted ever so slightly. I could count her lashes, trace the curve of her smile, feel the tension humming between us.
I wanted to close the distance. To say her name, to ask if this was what she wanted too. But I hesitated, caught between the fear of ruining it… and the hope that she already knew.
Then she moved.
"Let's go somewhere next," she said, her voice lighter now, standing before I could answer.
The spell broke—but the magic didn't vanish. It clung to me like the scent of sakura in spring, soft and stubborn. My heart? It was still back there, under that tree, right where she'd left it.
We rode a bus to the edge of town. The cityscape slowly gave way to fields and quiet roads, and I found myself glancing at her more than the passing view. Her expression had changed—gentler, a little distant. I didn't ask where we were headed. I just followed, trusting the silence between us.
When we finally stepped off the bus, a hush fell over everything. Airi led the way along a gravel path, winding through tall trees until we arrived at a small, humble cemetery. The air smelled of earth and flowers, and the only sound was the crunch of our footsteps.
She didn't say anything as we weaved between the graves. Then, without hesitation, she stopped before a modest headstone, its edges worn with time. Kneeling down, she placed fresh flowers against the base, her fingers brushing the stone with quiet reverence. She bowed her head.
I stood beside her, unsure if I should speak, until she broke the silence.
"That's my dad," she said softly. Her voice didn't waver, but there was a heaviness beneath it—something tender and anchored in grief. "He passed away three years ago. Cancer. It came fast… and it didn't give him time."
I knelt beside her, hands resting on my knees. I didn't know the right words. Maybe there weren't any. All I could do was be there—with her, in the moment.
She didn't look at me when she continued. "My mom died when I was little. After that… I kind of just floated. Some relatives offered to take me in, but I didn't want to feel like a guest in someone else's life. I wanted to build something of my own, even if it meant breaking a little along the way."
There was no anger in her voice. No bitterness. Just raw honesty. A quiet sort of strength that made my chest ache.
"I never thought someone like you—so strong…" I whispered, unsure if I even meant to say it aloud.
She gave a small, sad laugh, finally turning to me. "I cry at dog commercials, Haruki. I'm not that strong."
But I saw her differently. Not in a way that demanded praise or pity. Just… beautiful. Real. Every word she spoke seemed to stitch itself into my ribs.
"You are," I said, looking straight into her eyes.
Something shifted then. She held my gaze for longer than a moment, like she was searching for something in it. Maybe trust. Maybe understanding. Maybe both.
And in that moment, kneeling beside the grave of someone she loved, I realized just how deeply I was falling for her—not in the loud, cinematic way, but in a quiet, inevitable one. Like breathing.
She looked away, her eyes a little glassy. "Thanks for coming with me."
"Thank you," I replied, my voice low. "For bringing me here."
She stood slowly, brushing dirt from her skirt. I offered my hand.
This time, she took it. No hesitation.
And for a moment, the cemetery felt less like a place of endings—and more like a beginning. One I didn't want to let go of
On our way back, the air between us felt lighter, almost playful. Airi's voice, usually steady and careful, was filled with an open warmth as she shared pieces of herself.
"I want a good job," she said, her gaze drifting to the horizon as if imagining her future just ahead. "One that doesn't kill my soul. A house, not too big. Maybe with a garden. And a family..." Her voice softened, like the thought was something she'd kept tucked away for a while. "I picture waking up early, making breakfast, someone hugging me from behind."
Her cheeks flushed, and I felt a pull in my chest. The image she painted was so vivid, so intimate. I could almost see it. Us. Together.
"Someone I can trust," she continued, her voice steady now, but her eyes darting to me with a fleeting vulnerability. "Someone who'd be there… even when I'm a mess."
For a moment, everything else faded. It was just her words, hanging in the air between us, heavy with meaning.
There was a quiet pause, like the world held its breath. Then, so softly, almost too softly to catch, she whispered, "Someone like you."
My heart skipped, but before I could respond, she turned away, her lips curling into a mischievous grin.
"Bet you'd burn breakfast, though."
"Hey!" I protested, a laugh escaping before I could stop it.
She darted ahead, her laughter ringing in the air like a song, her voice full of teasing lightness. "Catch me if you can, chef boy!"
Without thinking, I chased after her, the sound of our laughter echoing around the park. The world felt smaller, simpler, in those moments. It was like we were both shedding the weight of everything else—of the past, the fears—and just… being. Together.
She stumbled, her foot catching on the uneven ground. I reached out instinctively, catching her arm before she could fall. She twisted in my grip, her hair spinning around her like a curtain, her face inches from mine. The breath caught in my throat. Her eyes locked with mine, and for a heartbeat, everything stilled.
Then, as though the world couldn't stay still for long, she poked my forehead, a soft, teasing gesture that made my pulse race.
"Don't fall in love with me, okay?" she said, her voice light, playful, but there was an unspoken weight to it.
I couldn't help it. I couldn't stop the feeling that had been growing inside me since the moment we first met.
Too late.
The words were there, on the tip of my tongue, but I swallowed them back, unsure if I was ready to say them aloud. Yet, in the way she looked at me, in the way she trusted me with her small, tender moments, I knew something had already shifted. We were already in this together, whether we said the words or not.
Her grin widened as she pulled away, the playful energy between us crackling, but inside, my heart beat louder than it ever had.
_____
That night, as I walked back alone under the soft glow of streetlights, the world around me felt quiet—yet my heart was anything but. It pulsed with the echoes of the day.
Her laughter still lingered in my ears, like a melody I never wanted to forget.
The stories she shared—honest, unfiltered, beautiful in their rawness—played over and over in my mind.
And then there was the silence. The kind that stretched between words, heavy with meaning. The kind that said everything we were too afraid to voice.
Fujimoto Airi… she wasn't just a passing feeling anymore. Not just a crush born of coincidence or chemistry. She had woven herself into the very fabric of my days—into my dreams, my hopes, the corners of my soul I never thought I'd open again.
Her strength humbled me. Her vulnerability moved me. And the way she smiled, even when it hurt—that shattered me in the most beautiful way.
She made me want to become someone worth loving.
Someone she could lean on without fear. Someone who wouldn't flinch in the face of her past, or run from her pain.
I didn't just want to hold her hand.
I wanted to walk beside her—through everything.
To build a future where her dreams had space to bloom.
To create a home not of walls, but of warmth.
A life where we weren't just surviving—but truly living.
Together.
Always together.
________________________________________