Kaede had tried to brace herself after being cut off from the agency, diving into part-time work to keep herself afloat. She'd deliberately applied to places near Starlight Entertainment, hoping to catch even the smallest glimpse of Mirei by chance. Fortune seemed to favor her; she was hired at a cozy little café just around the corner from the agency. It was a strange twist of fate, but Kaede welcomed it. After all, any bit of closeness to Mirei felt like a blessing.
A week had passed since she'd started working there, her days blending together into a rhythm of brewing coffee, tending tables, and sometimes writing lyrics during her breaks. She hadn't told Mirei about her new job, not wanting to worry her or reveal that she'd been cut from the agency. She knew Mirei was busy, with the debut just around the corner, and Kaede didn't want to add more weight to her girlfriend's shoulders.
But one morning, as she was grinding coffee beans, Kaede spotted a familiar face entering the café. Her heart leapt and nearly dropped at the same time — Mirei was here, in the café, looking radiant as ever, with her morning glow and her relaxed demeanor. Kaede felt like a deer caught in headlights, her mind racing. She couldn't let Mirei see her, not yet. She quickly ducked behind the counter, pretending to fuss with the coffee machine. But she wasn't fast enough.
"Kaede?" Mirei's voice chimed softly from the other side of the counter.
Kaede froze, a mix of panic and embarrassment bubbling up. "Oh, uh... Mirei! Fancy seeing you here," she stammered, trying to play it cool.
Mirei's eyes widened slightly with amusement. "What are you doing here? Working, I presume?"
Kaede could feel her cheeks flushing. She nervously glanced at her manager, who was watching them with a hint of suspicion. "Y-Yes, working," she mumbled, trying to hide her nervous laughter. "Sorry, Mirei, I can't chat too much right now. But I'll explain everything later, I promise!"
Mirei chuckled, giving her a look that held a mixture of fondness and curiosity. "Alright then, I'll hold you to it. How about tomorrow? What time do you start your shift?"
"Eight a.m.," Kaede replied, her heart beating a little faster.
Mirei nodded, her eyes softening. "I'll come by at seven, then. Come a bit early, okay?"
As Mirei left the café, Kaede was left standing there, her heart still racing. She felt like a child again, filled with that same breathless excitement she'd felt the first time she'd seen Mirei on screen. When her shift ended, Kaede found herself replaying the whole interaction over and over, smiling like an absolute fool as she drifted home.
The next morning, Kaede arrived at the café at six-thirty, her nerves refusing to let her stay away any longer. She paced outside the café, watching the sunrise paint the sky in hues of pink and orange, thinking of what she would say. Just seeing Mirei felt like a balm for all the quiet aches she'd been carrying.
At exactly seven, Mirei arrived, her face lighting up when she spotted Kaede. They stepped aside from the café, standing close to the wall in the soft morning light.
"How have you been?" Kaede started, her voice a little shy. It felt like so long since they'd had a moment like this. Somehow, even with all the things she wanted to say, an awkwardness hung between them. Had they grown that distant?
Mirei nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Busy, as you can imagine. Prepping for the debut... it's exciting, but it's a lot. But I'm okay." She glanced at Kaede, her gaze softening. "How about you?"
Kaede looked away, the question tugging at her heart. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her truth. "I... got cut from the agency. Me and the other trainees, Risa and Yukina. It's... been rough." She tried to keep her tone steady, but her voice wavered slightly. "I didn't want to worry you, so I didn't say anything."
Mirei's face fell, shock flashing across her eyes. "What? Cut off? Kaede, I'm so sorry… are you alright?" Her concern was genuine, her voice layered with empathy and a hint of guilt.
Kaede forced a small smile, her fingers curling into her palms to steady herself. "Maybe it's just fate, you know? Maybe… I'm meant to find a different path." She tried to sound upbeat, even though a hollow ache pulsed in her chest. "Don't worry about me. You've got the debut to think about, and I don't want to drag you down."
Mirei's brows knit together, her gaze intense and searching. "Kaede, don't try to be strong just for my sake. You don't have to pretend with me. If you're hurting, you can tell me. I want to be there for you."
Kaede's chest tightened. She didn't want to show her pain, not when Mirei was so close to achieving her dream. "I'm… okay, really. Besides," she added, trying to divert the focus, "my ankle still hurts sometimes, so maybe this is all for the best."
Mirei's eyes widened in concern. "Your ankle still hurts? Why didn't you tell me?"
Realizing she'd slipped, Kaede quickly shook her head, trying to brush it off. "It's nothing, just a bit sore now and then. I'm fine, really."
Mirei didn't look convinced, but she didn't press further. Instead, she softened, her voice almost a whisper. "My group's debut is on July 7th. You will come, right? I'd love to see you there, cheering for me."
Kaede's face warmed, her heart thudding at the thought. "Of course! But Celestial's popular… I might not even get tickets."
Mirei pouted, her expression endearingly playful. "Then just say you're family and come to the backstage."
Kaede laughed, feeling a flutter of happiness fill her. "Really? I don't have to fight thousands of fans for a spot?"
Mirei grinned. "You're my special someone, Kaede. Of course, you're welcome."
They shared a moment of silence, both lost in each other's gaze. In that stolen sliver of time, Kaede felt whole again, like everything she'd been through was worth it if she could stand here, wrapped in Mirei's warmth. She wanted to stay there forever, to stop time and keep Mirei close.
But reality was waiting. Their paths were diverging, and as much as Kaede wanted to hold on, she knew Mirei's journey was taking her somewhere far beyond reach. She would be cheering from the sidelines, clinging to every glimpse she could get, hoping that somehow, even from afar, they could still be connected.