The café was warm, a small pocket of comfort in the middle of Tokyo's chaos. Mai sat across from Kyo and Sora, her coat now discarded in favor of a thin sweater she had pulled from her bag. The heat felt almost oppressive, making her feel exposed, as though the warmth could strip away the layers she kept between herself and the world.
Sora was talking again, her voice a steady hum in the background. Mai wasn't really listening—her thoughts were scattered, drifting back to the market they had just left. The crush of people, the noise, the colors bleeding into one another—it had been too much, but there was something about the way the child's hand brushed against hers that had lingered. That brief, unexpected connection had unsettled her, and she hadn't been able to shake it off.
"Mai, you okay?" Sora's voice cut through her thoughts, her gaze narrowing slightly as she watched Mai stare into her coffee cup, steam rising and vanishing before it could reach her face.
Mai nodded quickly, forcing a smile she didn't feel. "Yeah, fine. Just... thinking."
"You've been thinking all day," Sora teased, but there was a trace of concern under her playful tone. "About what? You're not still upset about the market, are you?"
Mai shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with the sudden attention. It felt like Sora could see right through her, and that wasn't something Mai was prepared for. "It's nothing. I'm just not used to being around so many people," she muttered, turning her eyes toward the window. Outside, the city was alive, a blur of motion that had nothing to do with her.
Kyo, who had been silently watching the exchange, leaned back in his chair and gave Mai a look that made her stomach twist. "You could've fooled me," he said quietly, his voice more thoughtful than usual. "You've been pretty good at pretending, Mai. You're not fooling anyone."
Mai felt a jolt of annoyance spike in her chest, but she pushed it down quickly, focusing on her coffee to avoid meeting his eyes. "I'm not pretending. I'm fine."
Sora snorted, taking a sip of her drink. "Yeah, you're fine. You're always 'fine.'"
Kyo shot her a look, and for a moment, the conversation hung in the air between them, like an unspoken understanding.
Mai shifted uncomfortably, her fingers playing with the edge of her napkin. "I'm not like you two," she said quietly, her voice barely audible over the clink of coffee cups and plates. "I don't need to be out there with everyone. It's not... it's not me."
Sora leaned in, a mischievous smile creeping onto her face. "Well, maybe you could be like us for just one day," she said, her voice light but insistent. "Come on. You've got to at least try."
Kyo's expression softened, and he added, "You don't have to change who you are. But maybe you could open up a little. See what's out there." His words were simple, but there was a depth to them that made Mai want to squirm.
She didn't need to change. She was who she was, and that was enough. The world could stay out there, beyond the safety of her walls. She didn't need it. She didn't need them.
But even as she thought this, a strange, foreign ache began to swell inside her. The walls she'd built to protect herself—the walls that kept everyone out, the walls that kept her in control—were starting to feel more like a prison than a sanctuary.
"You know what?" Sora said, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts. "There's a bookstore around the corner. Maybe we could check it out. I'll buy you something. Come on, just a little more exploring. You'll be fine."
Mai opened her mouth to refuse, but the words caught in her throat. A small part of her—one she didn't acknowledge often—wanted to go, wanted to try, even if just for a moment. But it was too much. The idea of being out in the world again, of feeling exposed and vulnerable—she wasn't ready for that.
Kyo must've seen the hesitation in her eyes because he spoke before she could decline. "We can just go look, Mai. You don't have to buy anything, and you don't have to stay long. But you've got to start somewhere."
Mai bit her lip. She had always preferred to be in control, to keep herself shut away in her apartment, her sanctuary of silence and safety. But this day—this strange, uncomfortable day—was starting to make her question everything. Was it so wrong to want to connect? To feel something more than just the ache of isolation?
"I'll think about it," Mai said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just give me a minute."
Kyo and Sora exchanged a look, but neither pressed her further. Instead, they sat back, letting the moment stretch out in quiet companionship.
The bookstore was small and cluttered, nestled between two larger buildings that almost seemed to swallow it whole. Mai hesitated at the threshold, the scent of paper and ink greeting her like an old friend. She loved books—loved the world of stories she could get lost in—but stepping inside felt like stepping into another realm, one she wasn't sure she belonged to anymore.
Sora immediately dove into a section of graphic novels, pulling out titles with excitement. Kyo drifted over to the back, his presence more subdued, but he seemed at ease in the space, a contrast to Mai's discomfort.
She lingered by the door, unsure if she should follow them or retreat back to the safety of her own thoughts. She had learned to stay out of the way, to keep her distance, but there was something about being surrounded by stories, by the written word, that pulled her in. Books had always been her escape, a place where she could create a world of passion, of control—where nothing was ever out of reach.
A sudden memory—sharp and unwelcome—struck her. She was back in the apartment she had shared with her ex, the echo of his harsh words ringing in her ears.
"You'll never be good enough," he had sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "You think you can do this on your own? You're just a joke. You'll never amount to anything."
The memory tightened around her chest like a vice, and for a moment, she struggled to breathe.
She quickly pushed it away, focusing instead on the feel of the wooden floor beneath her feet, the distant hum of conversation. The last time she had been in a bookstore with him, she had been so lost, so small, buried beneath his constant criticism. She had spent years trying to build herself back up after that—reclaiming her sense of self from the broken remnants he had left behind.
Her grip tightened around the edge of the shelf, grounding herself in the physical space. She wasn't there anymore. She was here, in this moment, in control of her life, in control of what happened next.
Kyo's voice broke through her thoughts again, this time closer, as though he had appeared beside her without her noticing. "Mai, come check this out." His tone was warm, patient, not pushing her, but offering a chance.
For a moment, she stood frozen. The weight of the past threatened to pull her under again, the anxiety of moving forward crashing over her like a wave. But something shifted inside her—a small flicker of defiance, of strength. Maybe it wasn't about erasing the past. Maybe it was about moving forward, even if just one step at a time.
"Maybe," she said quietly, the word carrying more weight than it had before. "Maybe just for a minute."
The walk back to her apartment was quiet. Kyo and Sora had both respected her space after the bookstore, neither of them pushing her to talk or open up. It was a kind of silence Mai wasn't used to, but it felt... almost comfortable. Like they understood, or maybe they simply knew how to give her the space she needed.
The building's familiar outline came into view, the neon sign of her apartment complex flickering in the distance. The ache in her chest hadn't fully gone away, but she had taken small steps today. She had made it through the market. She had entered a bookstore. And she had given herself permission to feel something—anything—outside the comfort of her apartment.
As she reached her front door and turned the key in the lock, she felt the weight of the day fall away, a small sigh escaping her lips. She was home.
For a brief moment, Mai stood there in the doorway, taking in the quiet of her apartment. The familiar smell of old books, the hum of her laptop sitting on the desk, waiting for her to return to the world she controlled.
This was her refuge. But maybe it didn't have to be the only world she lived in.
For the first time in a long while, she felt the glimmer of something new—a question she wasn't ready to answer, but one she couldn't ignore. What would it be like to step outside the walls she had built around herself?
But not today. Today, she would let the walls stand, if only for a little while longer.