One fateful day, as Hikaru sat in his favorite corner of the local café, trying to concentrate on his work, his focus was unexpectedly drawn elsewhere. Someone new had walked in—a girl whose presence seemed to change the atmosphere of the room. She moved with a quiet, unassuming grace that captured his attention almost against his will. Her name, he would later discover, was Miyuki.
Miyuki's beauty was subtle, a far cry from the polished, exaggerated images that dominated magazines and advertisements. Hers was a beauty that lay in simplicity, in the understated elegance of her modest clothes, the warmth of her gentle smile, and the calmness that seemed to radiate from her very being. Hikaru couldn't quite pinpoint what it was about her that intrigued him. There was no glamour or flashiness about her—nothing that should have caught his eye, and yet, something about Miyuki held his attention in a way he couldn't easily dismiss.
Days went by, and it was as if some unseen force was deliberately pushing them into each other's paths. A coffee cup spilled near her table one morning, sending a wave of embarrassment through Hikaru as he clumsily tried to clean it up. A forgotten notebook she left behind one quiet afternoon, which he noticed and returned to her with a brief, awkward nod. Every encounter seemed to flow seamlessly into the next, like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, hinting that something beyond mere coincidence was at work.
Hikaru began to see her regularly at the café, always sitting alone, absorbed in a book, her features calm and attentive. She didn't have the look or behavior of the girls he had judged so harshly before—those who flaunted their appearances or chased after status. Miyuki seemed uninterested in those things, and it unsettled him. She was different in a way he didn't fully understand, yet he found himself inexplicably drawn to the way she would lose herself in the pages of whatever book she was reading, her brow furrowed slightly in concentration.
Then, one afternoon, as he was about to leave, their paths crossed unexpectedly. Distracted and lost in his thoughts, Hikaru walked straight into her, sending his papers flying to the floor. For a moment, he was mortified, bracing himself for a cold or irritated response, but it never came. Instead, Miyuki instantly knelt down, her expression soft with concern, and began gathering the scattered pages without hesitation.
"I'm so sorry," she said, her tone gentle and sincere, the kind of voice that seemed to melt away any tension.
Hikaru, surprised by her kindness, struggled to find his words. "No, it's... it's okay. I wasn't looking where I was going," he stammered, awkwardly collecting the remaining papers.
Their fingers brushed briefly as they both reached for the same sheet, and in that fleeting moment, something shifted. Hikaru felt a jolt of surprise at the warmth in her touch, at the unexpected connection that seemed to spark between them. He left the café that day feeling strangely unsettled, his mind replaying their brief interaction over and over.
He couldn't understand why he couldn't stop thinking about her—about the way she had knelt down without a second thought, her eyes warm and genuine, offering help without hesitation. Miyuki didn't fit into the image he had so long maintained of girls who were shallow and materialistic. She wasn't flashy or showy, didn't care about impressing anyone, and seemed content in her quiet, solitary world.
Why did she feel so different, so real, compared to the women he had dismissed so easily in the past? This question began to linger in Hikaru's mind, and no matter how much he tried to push it aside, it refused to go away, haunting him in a way he hadn't expected or wanted.