The air felt unusually crisp for a spring afternoon, though maybe it was just me. I wasn't supposed to be here, standing under this cherry blossom tree, holding a cat that wasn't mine. But then again, I wasn't supposed to be doing a lot of things lately. Life has a strange way of throwing curveballs, especially when you least expect it. And here I was, in the middle of what should have been another mundane Sunday, roped into a situation that I didn't quite understand, but wasn't inclined to back out of, either.
Miruki, the white cat nestled comfortably in my arms, let out a soft purr as cherry blossoms swirled around us, creating the kind of cinematic atmosphere I'd only ever seen in anime. Of course, real life wasn't supposed to be like this. Yet, the scene unfolding before me felt too perfectly scripted to ignore. Yuna Kishimoto, standing a few feet away, her usual composed expression unreadable as always, turned to me suddenly with a question that caught me off guard.
"Do you want to come with me to the vet?" she asked, her voice as level as if she were inviting me to go pick up milk. "I doubt you have anything better to do."
It wasn't a question. It was a statement, plain and simple, but the impact it had was anything but simple. In truth, I didn't have anything better to do, but why did she have to say it like that? Like she knew exactly how aimless my Sundays were—how devoid of meaning my entire existence felt when I wasn't busy concocting schemes to turn Rika's life into a romantic comedy.
For a moment, I stared at her, trying to decide whether this was a trap. Was she messing with me? She had to be, right? Yuna wasn't the type to extend casual invitations. There had to be an ulterior motive. But then again, what kind of grand master plan could involve taking a cat to the vet?
"Well, why not?" I shrugged, trying to mask the fact that I was just a little bit thrown off balance. After all, if she was going to make this interesting, I might as well play along. "It's not like I'm swamped with thrilling plans today."
Internally, I cursed myself. Why was I agreeing to this? Being around Yuna always put me on edge, like I had to constantly be aware of every word I said, every look I gave. She had this way of seeing through people—through me, even—and it was unnerving. Still, a part of me couldn't resist the challenge. And maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny part of me that was curious about her.
Yuna didn't respond immediately. Instead, she reached out for Miruki, but the cat had other ideas. As if making a conscious choice, Miruki squirmed out of Yuna's grasp and nestled back into my arms, purring even louder. The little traitor. I glanced down at the ball of fur, then back at Yuna, who had raised an eyebrow in what could only be described as mild offense. Her eyes narrowed just slightly, though not in anger—more like curiosity, as if she couldn't quite figure out why her own cat preferred me over her at that moment.
Without a word, Yuna turned on her heel and began walking down the path. "Was that cute or intimidating?" I found myself wondering, unable to decide. The confident way she moved, with her back straight and her chin held high, made it seem like she hadn't just been snubbed by her own pet. If anything, she looked like she was leading the way to some grand adventure. Maybe in her mind, she was.
"Right," I muttered to myself, adjusting Miruki in my arms. "Guess I'm going along with this." I followed after her, the absurdity of the situation slowly sinking in. What was it about Yuna that made everything feel like it was part of some larger plan? I couldn't shake the feeling that I was walking straight into some kind of trap, but I couldn't exactly pinpoint what it was. For now, I'd just have to play my part.
We walked in silence for a few minutes, the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional sound of distant traffic filling the space between us. I wasn't used to silence like this. With most people, silence was awkward, something to be filled with idle chatter or meaningless small talk. But with Yuna, the silence was different. It wasn't uncomfortable, but it wasn't exactly peaceful either. It was charged, like the quiet before a storm.
Breaking the silence, I glanced over at her and decided to ask the most obvious question. "By the way, where's this vet? I've got a cat too, and, you know, it might be useful information."
Yuna tapped her finger lightly against her lips—a small gesture, but one that caught my attention. It was uncharacteristically casual for someone like her, someone who always seemed so perfectly put together. "It's close. A ten-minute walk, maybe less," she answered, her voice still calm and measured. "It's quieter there than it is here."
"Quieter, huh?" I mused, glancing around. We were walking through a residential area now, where the noise of the city felt distant, replaced by the sound of birds and the occasional wind chime. I had to admit, it was a nice change from the constant buzz of Tokyo's main streets.
We fell back into silence, and I couldn't help but observe Yuna more closely. She moved with a kind of grace that most people lacked—like every step she took was calculated. Even her posture was flawless. I wondered if it ever got exhausting, being so composed all the time. Did she ever just let loose? Laugh at something dumb? Did she even know how to laugh?
Before I could stop myself, I asked, "So, how did you become student council president? Didn't school just start?"
Yuna didn't break stride. "A couple of reasons," she began, her tone as even as ever. "First, my brother was the student council president before me. When he graduated, he recommended me for the position." She glanced at me, a small smile playing at the corners of her lips. "Second, no one else ran for it."
I blinked. "So, you were appointed without any competition? Just like that?"
She nodded. "I had experience from middle school, so it wasn't exactly a surprise. It's not as hard as it seems."
"Wow. Everything just falls into place for you, doesn't it?" I said, genuinely impressed. I couldn't imagine being handed a position of power like that. Then again, I couldn't imagine wanting it, either. Responsibility wasn't my thing. I preferred the sidelines, observing, manipulating events when it suited me. The thought of actually being in charge sounded exhausting.
Yuna gave a slight shrug, her expression unreadable. "It's not as glamorous as you might think," she said quietly. "But it keeps me busy."
Something in her voice made me pause. I wasn't sure what it was, but there was a hint of… something. Sadness? Resignation? I wasn't sure. Whatever it was, it was quickly buried beneath her usual calm exterior.
Before I could ask any more questions, Yuna turned the conversation back on me. "Why did you transfer here?"
The question was unexpected, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. I could have given her a half-hearted answer, something vague and unimportant, but for some reason, I found myself wanting to be honest.
"Well," I began, scratching the back of my head with my free hand. "There's no point in hiding it, I guess. To keep it short—I ran away from my problems. Tokyo felt like the kind of place where I could start over, get lost in the crowd."
There. I said it. The truth, or at least part of it. I didn't elaborate, didn't give her the details of my life back in London, the isolation, the way people treated me like some kind of novelty because of my appearance. But somehow, I had the feeling Yuna didn't need the details. She probably already understood more than I was willing to admit.
Yuna didn't react immediately. She simply walked beside me, her eyes focused on the path ahead. After a moment, she murmured, "Running away, huh?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong with that?"
She shook her head, her expression thoughtful. "Not necessarily. But running away from reality won't change it. Sooner or later, you'll have to face it."
I frowned. "That sounds awfully philosophical for a trip to the vet."
Yuna glanced at me, her dark eyes piercing. "It's just an observation."
I wasn't sure how to respond to that. Part of me wanted to argue, to tell her that reality was overrated and that fantasy was the only thing that made life bearable. But another part of me—the part that had been quietly observing her since the moment we met—knew that there was truth in her words. Maybe that's why they stung a little more than I wanted to admit.
Before I could dwell on it for too long, we reached the vet. It was a small, unassuming building tucked between a couple of larger structures, the kind of place you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for it. The vet himself was a friendly older man who seemed to know Miruki well. "Ah, Miruki! Causing trouble again, I see," he said with a chuckle as I handed over the cat with Yuna standing.
I took a seat in the waiting area while Yuna spoke to the vet, handling the details with the same quiet efficiency she seemed to bring to everything. I flipped through a few outdated magazines, but my mind wasn't really on the articles. Instead, I found myself watching Yuna from a distance, studying the way she interacted with the vet, the way she moved with such practiced ease.
She was a mystery, that much was clear. But she was also starting to feel like more than just a puzzle to solve. There was something else there, something beneath the surface that I hadn't noticed before. And for the first time, I wondered if maybe Yuna wasn't as different from me as I'd thought.
When we left the clinic, Miruki was back in Yuna's arms, fast asleep after the ordeal. The streets were quieter now, the afternoon sun casting long shadows over the pavement. I didn't say anything at first, letting the silence settle between us again. But this time, it didn't feel awkward. It felt… comfortable.
As we walked, I noticed an ice cream cart parked on the corner of the street, the vendor smiling invitingly at passersby. Without thinking, I turned to Yuna. "Want some ice cream? My treat."
She blinked, clearly surprised by the offer. For a moment, I thought she was going to refuse, but then she nodded. "I won't say no. Thanks."
I stepped up to the cart, juggling Miruki in one arm while I paid for two cones. "Vanilla, right?" I asked, correctly guessing her preference. At least there is something I can predict about her.
She nodded again, accepting the cone when I handed it to her. Our fingers brushed for a brief second, and I felt a strange jolt run through me—nothing major, just a fleeting sensation that I tried to ignore.
We continued walking, eating our ice cream in silence. The vanilla was sweet and creamy, a pleasant contrast to the slight bitterness of the afternoon air. For a while, it felt like the world had slowed down around us, the bustle of the city fading into the background. It was just the two of us, walking side by side, the only sound the occasional crunch of the ice cream cone.
"By the way," I said after a while, breaking the silence. "I don't want to seem intrusive, but you mentioned your brother earlier. I'm curious—what's your family like?"
Yuna hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "It's just my brother, my mom, and my dad. But my dad and brother are always busy with work, so it's mostly just me and my mom."
"Must be hard," I said quietly. "Being on your own like that."
She didn't respond immediately, her expression unreadable. "It's not so bad," she said at last. "I'm used to it."
I didn't push any further. There was something about the way she said it, like she was closing a door on that part of the conversation. But even without the details, I felt like I understood a little more about her now. And maybe, in some small way, she understood a little more about me, too.
By the time we reached Yuna's house, the sun was beginning to set, casting a warm golden glow over the neighborhood. Her home was a traditional Japanese house, elegant and well-kept, with a small garden out front. It was the kind of place that felt both grand and quiet, much like Yuna herself.
"Thanks for walking with me," she said as we reached the gate. "I can take it from here."
I handed Miruki over, but the cat refused to leave my arms, clinging to my shirt like a child refusing to leave its favorite toy. Yuna sighed in frustration. "Miruki, seriously?"
I couldn't help but laugh. "Guess he's taken a liking to me."
Yuna shot me a glare that could have frozen fire. "He'll come around."
Just then, the front door opened, and a woman stepped out. She was in her early thirties, with wavy black hair and a bright, cheerful smile that was a stark contrast to Yuna's usual demeanor. "Oh! You must be Yuna's boyfriend!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together in delight. "I've heard so much about you!"
Boyfriend?
I nearly dropped Miruki in shock. "Uh, no—actually, we're not—"
Before I could finish, I felt a sharp elbow jab into my side. Yuna was standing beside me, her expression icy. "You talk too much," she muttered under her breath.
"Right," I managed, trying to recover. "We're just… school acquaintances."
Sakura Kishimoto laughed, clearly enjoying the situation. "Oh, young love. So adorable."
Yuna rolled her eyes. "Mom, please."
As I stood there, watching their exchange, I couldn't help but feel a strange warmth spreading through me. It was an odd feeling—something I hadn't felt in a long time. But for the first time in years, I didn't feel like I was on the outside looking in. I felt like I was part of something, even if it was just a small, fleeting moment.
And as I walked away from Yuna's house that evening, the sun setting behind me, I realized something else.
I wanted more moments like that.