One fateful day, as Hikaru sat in his favorite corner of the local café, attempting to focus on his work, his eyes were drawn to someone new. She walked in with a quiet, unassuming grace that immediately captured his attention. Her name, he later learned, was Miyuki.
Miyuki's beauty was not the flashy, superficial kind seen in magazines or advertisements. It was a simple, understated elegance—a beauty that shone in her modest demeanor, gentle smile, and the way she carried herself with a calm, serene presence. Hikaru couldn't put his finger on why, but something about her sparked his curiosity.
Over the following days, it seemed as if fate itself was arranging their meetings. A spilled coffee one morning, a forgotten notebook another afternoon—each encounter felt almost orchestrated, as if the universe was quietly guiding them together.
Hikaru began noticing her more frequently at the café, always sitting alone, absorbed in a book, her expression calm yet focused. She wasn't like the girls he had once dismissed; she didn't seem interested in wealth, appearances, or the things he had assumed all girls cared about.
Then, one afternoon, as Hikaru was leaving the café, he bumped into her by accident. His papers scattered to the floor, and she immediately knelt down to help him pick them up.
"I'm so sorry," she said, her voice gentle and sincere.
Hikaru, caught off guard by her unexpected kindness, fumbled for a response. "It's... it's fine. Really."
But something in that brief moment lingered in his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about her—about the way she didn't fit into the image he had constructed of other girls. Why did she seem so different?