The bakery had been busier than usual in the afternoon, and Haruka had been keeping herself occupied re-filling trays, cleaning the glass display, and occasionally bit of assistance to Natsumi, the owner, with the packing of boxes.
The second passed in an instant. Scarcely one—perhaps not even that.
She'd popped out to put some cardboard into the recycling bin when she noticed him.
Kaito. On his scooter.
And another individual sitting behind him.
A girl.
She couldn't quite make out her face—the helmet covered most of it. But her arms were draped around Kaito's waist loosely, and she hugged close to him to whisper something as they made the turn.
Haruka stood stock still for a moment, the cardboard box still held in her hands.
She went back indoors in silence.
The rest of the day was a somber one. Even when Natsumi came in to bring her her leftover anpan, freshly baked, she refused politely.
That night, she sat at the small table in her makeshift room, the bowl of miso soup untouched in front of her.
It wasn't hunger that had destroyed her appetite.
It was something else.
Something odd in her chest.
She reminded herself it didn't matter. Kaito was kind to everyone. He was smiling, always friendly. Maybe it was just someone he was delivering with. A friend. A classmate. A relative.
But the vision persisted.
The girl. Her arms.
The way Kaito didn't seem surprised or uncomfortable.
Haruka hugged herself and tried to hear the rhythm of rain starting up again outside. The gentle sound always seemed to calm her down. But not tonight.
She didn't write in her diary entry. She didn't read the sticky notes over again.
And for the first time in weeks, she ignored the small rap on her window—Kaito's gentle way of letting her know he was leaving something sweet behind after hours.
He didn't knock again.
And Haruka wasn't sure if that made her feel better or worse.
The following day, Kaito noticed she wasn't at the counter. It was Natsumi who greeted him with a smile.
"She's in the back, I think," she said. "Didn't say much today."
Kaito hesitated, then went into the back kitchen.
Haruka was sitting beside the flour sacks, arms loosely folded on her knees, staring at nothing in particular.
He cleared his throat gently. "Morning."
She looked up. "Morning." Her voice was a bit softer than usual.
"I brought the sesame rolls you liked before."
She nodded, but remained stationary for them.
He knelt next to her, awkwardness flickering in his eyes. "You all right?"
"I'm fine."
It was the kind of fine that equated to not really
But he didn't press. Not yet.
Instead, after his workday was over at the end of the day, Haruka found a sticky note that had been taped next to the sugar jar in the kitchen.
"Some feelings don't come with labels. But that doesn't mean they're wrong."
She stared at it for an eternity.
And though she wrote nothing in response, she carefully refolded the note and stashed it in her pocket.
Soup later that night was not left untasted.