---
Trains still run late.
Umbrellas still flip inside out.
And Hikari still hogs 80% of the blanket even though we agreed—in writing, with witnesses—to a 50/50 bed real estate treaty when we got married.
So yeah, not much has changed.
Except everything has.
---
Her name is Rin.
Three years old.
Big eyes. Bigger opinions.
Refuses to eat vegetables unless they're shaped like cats.
Thinks all music should either be anime openings or her own improvised screeching.
She has Hikari's laugh.
And my inability to function before 9 a.m.
---
"DAAAAD," Rin shouts from the living room, where her tiny body is buried under a pile of stuffed frogs.
"Yes, gremlin?"
"WHERE'S MOMMY?"
"She's—"
"NEVER MIND, I FOUND HER. SHE WAS IN THE KITCHEN. EATING MY CHOCO PIE."
---
I sigh.
I hear Hikari laugh from the other room.
She's not sorry. Not even slightly.
That's marriage, I guess.
---
We're running late.
We always are.
Today's special, though — it's Rin's preschool musical showcase. Which, from what I understand, is an organized disaster where toddlers forget lyrics, cry, and one kid always pees on stage.
We can't miss it.
---
Hikari finally appears, brushing crumbs off her hoodie like she didn't just steal our daughter's snacks.
"She's already judging me," she says.
"That's because you're the villain in her origin story."
She grins. "You still love me though."
"Debatable."
She kisses my cheek before I can finish pretending to be grumpy.
Still works. Every time.
---
Rin runs out, arms wide.
She's wearing a sparkly headband, mismatched socks, and a cape she calls "emotional support fabric."
Hikari high-fives her. I tie her shoelaces. Teamwork.
We head for the train station.
Yes, we still take the train.
Old habits die hard.
---
We're early.
Shocking.
The platform is empty except for a high school couple doing the whole "awkward earbuds and blushing glances" thing we used to do.
Hikari watches them and smirks.
"I give them two months."
"Optimist."
"I'm romantic," she says, looping her arm through mine.
Rin spins in circles nearby, singing the Sailor Moon theme but replacing every line with the word "noodle."
---
The train arrives.
Doors open.
We step in together — just like always.
Still no reserved seats.
Still standing close.
Still sharing one earbud, even though we both own wireless ones now.
Hers plays soft jazz.
Mine plays some weird lo-fi-metal hybrid she says sounds like "anxiety with rhythm."
Marriage is compromise.
---
Rin stands between us, holding our hands, swinging like a pendulum of chaos.
"I LIKE TRAINS," she declares.
"I know," I say.
"MOMMY SAID YOU MET ON A TRAIN!"
"She lies," I say.
"I DO NOT!" Hikari snaps. "He just tells the story badly."
"Tell it again! Tell it!"
---
So we do.
Together.
She tells the part where I was awkward and judgmental.
I tell the part where she stole my seat and my earbuds and never gave either back.
Rin listens like it's the greatest love story ever told.
Which, I guess… it kind of is.
---
Later that day, after Rin sings on stage (off-key, loudly, proudly), we walk home through light rain.
I hold the umbrella.
She holds my arm.
Rin walks ahead, stomping every puddle she can.
Hikari leans into me, hoodie up, smile soft.
"Y'know," she says, "if someone told me back then that I'd end up here…"
"You would've punched them."
"Probably."
"But now?"
She shrugs.
"I'd believe it. Because somehow, this—" she gestures at the sky, the wet sidewalk, our daughter hopping through muddy water— "this is exactly what love looks like to me."
---
I look at her.
Messy hair. Stolen hoodie.
Same girl who made mornings bearable.
Now the woman who makes everything else bearable, too.
---
"Hey," I say.
"Hm?"
"Next stop?"
She smiles.
"Forever."
---
And Rin, covered in puddle juice, screams:
> "NEXT STOP IS ICE CREAM!!"
---