Gently pushing the door open, I stepped into the room, careful not to disturb the quiet. There she was, nestled under the blanket, completely still except for the steady rise and fall of her breath. The soft morning light filtering through the curtains gave the room a calm, golden glow.
I shook my head slightly, a small, amused smile forming as I let out a quiet laugh. "That's cute," I said under my breath.
Reaching down, I gently lifted the edge of the blanket, revealing her peaceful face. Her expression was calm, her breathing steady, and there was a simplicity to the moment that made it almost comforting to watch.
Yet, the anxiety continued to churn restlessly within me, like a storm refusing to calm.
"The curse's effects have completely faded," I murmured under my breath, the words barely audible as I tried to reassure myself.
Even so, the thought of facing her when she woke up made my stomach twist uncomfortably. The memory of yesterday still lingered, sharp and vivid, and I couldn't shake the nagging feeling of awkwardness that was bound to follow.
But I knew one thing for sure—if I allowed myself to act nervous or uneasy, it would only make things worse.
The only option was to compose myself, take a deep breath, and act as though nothing had happened.
Pretend yesterday was just another ordinary day as if the events that had unfolded were nothing but a figment of imagination. Normalcy was my shield, my only defense against the uncertainty ahead.
"Come on, wake up." I leaned in slightly, my finger gently poking her soft, rosy cheek, which felt warm under my touch. Her pale skin, framed by her messy hair, seemed to glow faintly in the morning light streaming through the window.
"Uh…Shin…Shinji?!" Her eyes fluttered open, and the moment she recognized me, a deep flush spread across her cheeks. She shot up slightly, clutching the blanket closer to her chest as if it could shield her from her embarrassment.
"Dad and your mother are here," I said, my tone sharp and indifferent, though I struggled to keep my voice steady. "I made breakfast, so get up and go eat."
The words came out harsher than I intended, but it was deliberate. I wanted to brush off what had happened yesterday—to bury it under a layer of nonchalance so she wouldn't dwell on it or feel embarrassed.
Her wide eyes stared at me for a moment, searching for something in my face, but I quickly stood up, avoiding her gaze.
"Don't keep them waiting," I added, turning toward the door before I could see her reaction.
Here's a more detailed and vivid version of your text:
"Um… about yesterday." Her voice wavered as she spoke, stopping me in my tracks just as I was about to step out the door.
I froze for a moment, heart pounding in my chest. Did she remember? Of course, she remembered. A wave of embarrassment and shame surged through me, heating my face and making my thoughts scatter.
Still, I forced myself to stay composed. I turned back to her, trying to mask my nervousness with a nonchalant demeanor.
"Yes? What about yesterday?" I asked, keeping my tone steady despite the awkward tension that hung between us.
Her cheeks flushed a soft, rosy hue as she fidgeted slightly, her gaze darting between me and the floor. Although her lips parted, the words sounded uncertain, as though they were stuck in her throat. Finally, she managed to ask, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Um… what exactly happened after I wore that ring?"
Her confusion was plain, her wide eyes searching mine for an answer. It was clear she didn't fully understand—or maybe didn't want to understand—what had transpired.
If that were the case, then I would lie—a harmless white lie to preserve what we had, to protect this fragile bond from cracking under the weight of honesty.
"Nothing much," I said, keeping my tone light and casual as though the words held no significance. "You mentioned you were sleepy and then drifted off."
My voice betrayed nothing, but beneath the surface, a storm churned. I tucked my true feelings deep inside, locking them away where they couldn't be seen, where they couldn't hurt us.
She might be feeling the same way I am. Perhaps she did remember, and maybe she truly understood everything that happened between us.
There's a chance that her memories are just as vivid and confusing as mine.
There's a possibility that her memories are as sharp and tangled as mine, swirling with fragments of clarity and confusion that refuse to settle.
But despite that, she told me she didn't remember anything at all, and at that moment, I decided that her words would be the truth to this matter.
Nothing more, nothing less.
"Um… I understood," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. Hoshizora instinctively withdrew into herself, her usual shyness taking hold like a comforting cloak.
Then, in a quiet yet reassuring motion, Hoshizora lifted her lips into a soft smile. Her eyes, still a little distant, softened as she spoke again.
"I'll be stepping out for just a moment. There's no need for you to wait for me," she added gently.
***
The once dull and monotonous everyday scene, previously filled with silence and a sense of detachment, is now filled with lively chatter of voices.
As the voices rise and fall in animated conversation, the heat and vitality that had long made the house feel cold and empty seems to disappear.
There is a quiet, yet undeniable warmth that now lingers in the air—a warmth that feels both comforting and soothing.
It's a warmth that I hadn't experienced in more than ten years, a warmth I had almost forgotten was possible in this place.
'Hmm, so this is what people call a "happy family."' I think to myself as the reality of it begins to settle in.
It is an odd feeling, one that evokes both nostalgia and disbelief as I recall how distant this happiness had seemed to me in the past.
Yet here it is now, surrounding me in a way that feels both foreign and, for the first time in years, right.
'It's nice. I guess.'
But I am still curious about how this could happen.
"So… how did you two meet?" I asked casually, sipping my morning coffee and glancing between the two of them.
The sunlight filtered softly through the kitchen window, casting a warm glow over the room.
They were sitting across from me, my dad and stepmother, looking as comfortable as ever, but there was a slight tension in the air, as though they knew I was about to ask something they hadn't fully prepared for.
At first, neither of them said anything, and I could sense that both of them were avoiding eye contact, perhaps unsure of how to answer.
My dad cleared his throat first, then picked up his mug, taking a slow sip as if he were buying time to formulate his response.
"Well, it's just a coincidence, really. Just one of those random things," he said, his voice steady but with a hint of uncertainty.
My stepmother, who had been absentmindedly stirring her coffee, looked up at him with a small, knowing smile.
I couldn't tell if she agreed with him or if she was trying to suppress some memory that was making her laugh.
I raised an eyebrow, trying to read the situation. "A coincidence? Really?"
You said it's a coincidence, but I don't know who I should believe here—because honestly, it sounds like you're trying to avoid the whole story."
My dad looked over at Harumi, and I could almost see a silent conversation happening between them. The kind of conversation that only parents who've been together for years could have.
"Yeah, it's a coincidence," he repeated, but this time, there was a twinkle in his eye that made it clear he was only half serious.
I turned my gaze to the blue-haired woman across from me. Harumi noticed and scratched her head before casually saying, "Actually, it's nothing too special; we just met on a business trip."
The way she responded, paying close attention to gestures and eye contact, reminded me so much of Hoshizora. It made sense—they were mother and daughter.
So, what does she do for work? And how old is Hoshizora? I realized I didn't know much about either of them. It was irritating.
Sighing, I leaned on my chin and looked at Hoshizora again. She was sitting quietly between my father and Harumi, like a small puppy, barely touching her breakfast.
The moment our eyes met, she froze for a brief second, a flush of embarrassment spreading across her face. Her gaze immediately dropped to her plate, and she began to absently poke at her food. It was such a charming, almost innocent reaction. So endearing, really.
I couldn't stop the smile that tugged on my lips. She was just too cute.
A mischievous thought suddenly crossed my mind, and I couldn't resist the urge to tease her.
I leaned in slightly, my voice casual but with a hint of playful curiosity. "Hmm, Hoshizora, you are not eating?"
Before she could respond, though, my father interrupted, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. "Which Hoshizora are you asking about?"
In an instant, I realized my mistake. There were, in fact, two Hoshizoras in the room—her mother and her. That was just her surname.
"Ah," I muttered, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks. "I mean Yuki," I corrected myself quickly, feeling a bit embarrassed.
Hoshizora glanced at me, her eyes gleaming with amusement as she noticed my flustered expression.
A soft giggle escaped her, light and teasing. Without saying anything more, she turned her attention back to her plate, focusing on her food with a quiet smile still playing on her lips.
'I really made a fool of myself, huh.'
But at least she now feels more at ease around everyone. So maybe being a clown is that bad.
Yeah, it may be better this way.