The next morning, the restaurant hummed with its usual rhythm—knives tapping against cutting boards, pots bubbling gently on the stove, and the faint murmur of customers beginning to arrive. Ryo was already in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, preparing the broth for the lunch menu. His hands moved with precision, but his mind was somewhere else.
He kept replaying the conversation from the night before with Miyu. Every word she had said, every pause, every flicker in her voice echoed in his mind.
"You should stop. It'll only hurt you in the end."
Yet she didn't say he was wrong. And that, somehow, gave him hope.
Just as he finished slicing vegetables, he heard footsteps entering the kitchen. Miyu.
She walked in like she always did—calm, composed, eyes focused. Today, though, she glanced at Ryo for half a second longer than usual. Not much, but enough for him to notice.
"Morning," Ryo said, trying to sound casual.
"Morning," she replied, without looking at him.
They worked in silence for several minutes. The air between them wasn't tense—it was quiet, uncertain. Ryo tried to focus on his prep work, but his eyes kept darting toward her.
Finally, he couldn't take it.
"About yesterday…" he started.
"You don't have to bring it up," she cut in quickly, still chopping onions without missing a beat. "It doesn't matter."
"It does to me," he replied, more serious than he intended. "I meant what I said."
Miyu paused for a moment. Her knife stopped mid-slice. Then, she took a breath and resumed working. "You're too honest for your own good."
"Maybe. But I think people like you need someone who's honest."
She looked at him then—not for long, just a quick glance—but her eyes held something. Not anger. Not annoyance. Just… conflict. As if a part of her wanted to believe him, and another part was too scared to try.
Before she could respond, a loud clang echoed from the front counter. One of the new waiters had dropped a tray. Ryo and Miyu instinctively looked toward the sound.
"New guy again?" Ryo muttered.
Miyu sighed. "He's dropped something every day since he started."
Without another word, she walked out to help. Ryo stayed behind, watching her go, realizing something important—he wasn't just curious about her anymore. He was invested. And not just in the way you care about a co-worker or a friend.
He wanted to be someone she could trust.
He just didn't know how long it would take to break through the cold walls around her heart—or what he might find once he did.