The sun edged in through the windows of the bakery, its beams slanting down in long, golden strokes across the shining counter.
Haruka stood behind it, pushing trays of new bread with stiff movements.
She could hear the murmur of customers, the clang of coffee cups against saucers, the clear laughter that typically filled the small room.
But to her, all was distant.
As if she existed in water, moving slowly and apart.
She kept her head down, pretending to be busy lining up the pastries just so.
Then—
The little bell above the door rang.
Haruka froze on the spot, her hands held mid-air.
She didn't have to look up to know who it was.
Somehow, she just knew.
The reassuring sound of his footsteps—slow, warm, a bit lighter than usual—made its way to the counter.
He was here.
Kaito was here.
Haruka swallowed hard, her heart stumbling awkwardly in her chest.
"Haruka," his voice, low but unmistakable.
She didn't look up.
She pretended to be busy, grabbing for a cloth to wipe the already spotless surface.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him—standing there, a hesitant smile on his face.
He looked tired.
Paler than she remembered.
But his eyes were the same: bright, gentle, searching.
Waiting.
But Haruka couldn't meet them.
"Morning," Kaito tried again. His voice was cautious and gentle, as if he were feeling his way uncertainly across the gap between them.
Haruka nodded almost imperceptibly.
She grunted something to herself—something that might have been "Good morning"—before turning hastily away and into the kitchen.
The moment she was out of sight, she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes hard.
Her chest ached.
She hated herself for doing this.
For being cold.
For pulling away when all she'd ever wanted to do was run to him, tell him how much she'd missed him.
But she couldn't.
The memory of the girl leaning against his shoulder stayed seared too deeply into her mind.
She couldn't pretend she hadn't seen.
Couldn't pretend it didn't matter.
And so, instead of standing before him, she hid.
Again.
Through the tiny window in the kitchen door, she watched him help the bakery's grandmother arrange chairs, heaving big boxes with ease, smiling politely at customers who approached him with sympathy and pity.
He fit so perfectly into the place, as if he had never left.
As if everything was back to normal.
But for Haruka, nothing was ever going to be normal again.
Not with this chasm between them.
When finally the tide of shoppers subsided, Haruka returned, a tray of croissants in front of her.
She never glanced up from her labor even when she knew he was staring at her like sunlight—is warm, persuasive.
He was hunched over the counter, wiping it down unnecessarily.
Waiting.
Watching.
"Haruka," he said softly again.
There was a subtext of befuddlement in his voice now.
A nuance of pain.
And yet, Haruka didn't waver.
She set down the tray, rearranged the presentation, took a step to straighten out some napkins that didn't need it.
Anything to avoid having to talk.
Anything to avoid herself from breaking.
Kaito inched closer, his shadow casting on the counter.
"Did I. do something wrong?" he asked, almost in a whisper.
The question sliced through Haruka's defenses like a knife.
Her hands trembled slightly as she folded a napkin too tightly.
For one brief moment, she almost turned to him.
Almost told him all—her jealousy, her confusion, her fear.
But the words stuck in her throat, like honey and clog-like.
Instead, she shook her head stiffly, still not glancing at him.
"No," she whispered. "You didn't."
And yet, the chasm between them widened and widened.
Kaito was silent for a long time.
Haruka felt the weight of it—the unspoken questions, the sorrow in the air between them.
Then finally, he stepped back.
"Okay," he said softly, as if addressing himself.
Haruka dared a glance at him, as he walked away to the storage room, shoulders slightly hunched, his carefree air arrested.
She bit down hard on her lip, tasting the metallic tang of blood.
She wanted to run after him.
To say his name.
To tell him that she was sorry for acting like a child.
That he was not at fault.
That she was just afraid.
Afraid of being replaced.
Afraid of not being important to him.
But she stood rooted to the ground, frozen in fear.
The day passed in a blur.
Haruka cleaned, closed, ran the cash register on automatic pilot.
Kaito helped the grandmother as ever, his feet moving quietly and sparingly.
But he made no further effort to talk to Haruka.
Not once.
As the bakery finally emptied out and the doors were shut, Haruka remained alone in the kitchen, looking at the rough wooden counter where Kaito had stood hours before.
She leaned against it, sensing the faint lingering warmth.
"What am I doing?" she whispered to herself.
Outside, the darkness gathered, the world sinking into gentle, cozy shadows.
But in her heart, nothing was cozy anymore.
Only a scared jolt, and the rising terror that she had lost something she never even risked grasping in the first place.