The train screeched to a halt, and Aiko Nakamura gripped her sketchbook tighter as the flood of passengers surged around her. Tokyo's early spring rush hour was as relentless as ever. She pressed her back to the cold metal pole, trying to shrink herself into the smallest possible space. A part of her relished the anonymity of the crowd. Another part wished she had stayed in her tiny apartment.
The train jolted forward, and her pencil slipped, leaving a dark, jagged streak across the drawing of a delicate sakura branch. She frowned.
"Another casualty," she muttered.
When the train doors opened at Shinjuku Station, Aiko was swept along with the tide of people. Her destination wasn't far—a cozy café tucked away in an alley she had stumbled upon weeks ago. She wasn't here for coffee or pastries. She was here for her muse.
The café's windows were steamed over from the warmth inside. As she pushed the door open, the scent of fresh bread and roasted coffee greeted her. Aiko quickly claimed a corner seat, her sketchbook open before her, and began to draw.
Her pencil moved with purpose, capturing the scene: a waitress balancing two trays, a young couple laughing at something on a phone, and a man sitting by the window, staring into his cup of coffee as if it held all the answers he sought.
She paused on him. Something about the way his shoulders hunched, his hand absently tracing the rim of his cup—it was the kind of melancholy that told its own story.
"Are you an artist?"
The voice startled her. She looked up to find a tall man standing at her table. He had dark hair swept carelessly to one side and wore an apron dusted with flour. His gaze dropped to her sketchbook.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly, stepping back. "I didn't mean to intrude."
"No, it's fine," Aiko replied, her voice softer than she intended. "I was just… sketching."
He smiled. "You're good. I couldn't help noticing."
Aiko closed the sketchbook instinctively. Compliments made her uncomfortable. "Thank you," she said, trying not to meet his eyes.
"I'm Ryuu, by the way. I run the kitchen here."
She nodded, unsure what to say.
"Well, let me know if you need anything," he said, his smile lingering for a moment before he returned to the counter.
Aiko exhaled and reopened her sketchbook. Her pencil moved again, but her focus shifted. Without thinking, she began sketching Ryuu, capturing the curve of his jaw and the determined set of his brow.
It wasn't until her coffee had gone cold that she realized how much time had passed.
As Ryuu wiped down the counter at the end of his shift, his eyes drifted to the corner where the quiet woman had been sitting. She was gone now, her table cleared. But something caught his attention—a napkin left behind.
He picked it up. A quick sketch of a sakura branch decorated one corner. Beneath it, written in small, neat handwriting, were the words:
"Thank you for the inspiration."
Ryuu smiled to himself, folding the napkin and slipping it into his pocket.
The next day, the morning sunlight filtered through Aiko's apartment window, illuminating the modest space she called home. It was cluttered, though in an intentional way—shelves lined with books on art, sketchpads stacked high on her desk, and a handful of potted plants on the windowsill, their leaves reaching hungrily for the light.
Her sketchbook lay open on the table, the drawing of Ryuu from the café staring back at her. She hadn't meant to capture him so vividly, but there he was, the curve of his smile and the subtle crease in his brow. She sighed, closing the book.
Her phone buzzed, breaking her thoughts. Aiko glanced at the screen: "Nana."
"Good morning, Nana," she said, answering the call.
"Aiko! Don't 'good morning' me. You're still coming to the gallery opening tonight, right?" Nana's voice was cheerful but commanding, as always.
Aiko hesitated. She hadn't forgotten, but the thought of being surrounded by people in an unfamiliar setting filled her with unease. "I don't know, Nana. I've been—"
"No excuses! You promised me. Besides, it's not just for me. There will be tons of artists there. Networking, Aiko. You need it."
"I'll think about it."
"Think quickly. I'll text you the details."
Nana hung up before Aiko could protest further.
The day passed uneventfully. Aiko spent most of it in her apartment, alternating between sketching and staring out the window. The city below buzzed with life, but she felt disconnected, as though the world was moving forward without her.
By the time evening came, she had convinced herself to go. The guilt of breaking a promise to Nana outweighed her reluctance.
The gallery was tucked away in a chic district of Shibuya, its sleek white exterior glowing under the city lights. Inside, the space buzzed with quiet energy. Paintings, sculptures, and installations filled the room, each piece accompanied by small clusters of admirers.
Nana spotted Aiko immediately, waving her over with a glass of wine in hand. "You made it!" she said, pulling Aiko into a hug.
"You didn't really give me a choice," Aiko replied with a small smile.
"Exactly. Now, come on. There's someone I want you to meet."
Before Aiko could protest, Nana was dragging her across the room. They stopped in front of a tall man with sharp features and glasses perched low on his nose.
"Takashi, this is Aiko, the one I told you about—the illustrator."
Takashi extended a hand. "Nana's been singing your praises. I'd love to see your work."
Aiko shook his hand, feeling suddenly self-conscious. "I… didn't bring anything."
"No problem," Takashi said smoothly. "I curate exhibitions here, and we're always looking for fresh talent. If you're interested, send me some samples."
Nana beamed. "See? Was this so hard?"
Aiko nodded politely, though her mind was already drifting. Her eyes scanned the room, catching on a familiar face near the refreshments table. She blinked.
It was Ryuu.
He wasn't wearing the flour-dusted apron this time. Instead, he looked casual but put-together in a navy blazer and white shirt. He was laughing at something someone had said, his usual intensity replaced with an easy warmth.
"What's wrong?" Nana asked, noticing her distraction.
"Nothing," Aiko said quickly.
She tried to turn her focus back to Takashi, but curiosity tugged at her. What was Ryuu doing here?
Ryuu wasn't one to frequent gallery events, but his friend Kenji had insisted he come along. "It'll be good for you," Kenji had said. "Get out of the kitchen for once."
So far, it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. The art was interesting, and the wine wasn't half bad. But as the evening wore on, he found himself drifting toward the exit.
That's when he saw her.
Aiko was standing near the center of the room, her dark hair framing her face as she listened to someone speak. Her expression was focused, though her hands fidgeted with the strap of her bag.
Without thinking, Ryuu approached her.
"You again," he said, a hint of a smile in his voice.
Aiko turned, startled. "Ryuu?"
"You remembered my name."
She nodded, her cheeks warming. "What are you doing here?"
"My friend dragged me along. And you?"
"My friend did the same."
They both laughed, the coincidence breaking the initial awkwardness.
"Do you come to events like this often?" he asked.
"Not really," she admitted. "I'm not great with crowds."
"Me neither."
The conversation felt easy, natural. For a moment, the bustling room faded away, leaving just the two of them.
"By the way," Ryuu said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out the folded napkin with her sketch. "Thanks for this. It made my day."
Aiko's eyes widened. "You kept that?"
"Of course. You're talented."
Her heart fluttered at the sincerity in his voice.
"Maybe I'll see you at the café again?" he added.
"Maybe," she replied, her lips curving into a small smile.
As Ryuu walked away, Aiko couldn't shake the feeling that the evening had taken a turn she hadn't expected—and one she didn't entirely mind.