The day began beneath a thin curtain of rain, marking the end of summer.
Sayuri woke to the cheerful sound of birds, as if they completely ignored the rain outside. Slowly, she sat up and slipped her sleepy feet into her slippers, making her way to the kitchen.
She sat by the window, which overlooked the rain-soaked street. As droplets traced soft paths down the glass, she prepared her coffee, adding a touch of brown sugar and a bit of cream.
She took a quiet sip.
Then a gentle knock at the door broke the silence.
Sayuri stood and went to answer it.
At the door stood a small elderly woman with short gray hair and a round, kind face. Her gentle eyes rested behind a pair of round glasses, and she wore a bright yellow raincoat while holding an old umbrella, still damp from the rain.
"Good morning, dear. Is your mother home?" she asked softly.
"Good morning," Sayuri replied politely. "She already left for work. Can I help you with something?"
The woman smiled warmly.
"Oh, no. I just came to deliver the cookies she ordered. I'll leave them with you—just ask her to call me later."
"Of course. Thank you."
Sayuri took the box, wished her a good day, and closed the door.
Back in the kitchen, she placed the cookies on the counter and was about to sit down again when she noticed the time.
She was already late.
Quickly, she rushed to her room and opened her wardrobe.
After a moment, she chose a white turtleneck, worn jeans, and her favorite caramel-colored coat.
With the door closed, she fixed her hair, grabbed her bag, placed her notebooks inside, and headed to the front door. She slipped on her shoes and, before leaving, grabbed a red umbrella.
At the university, Sayuri met her best friend.
"Did you finish those sketches from last class, Yume?"
"Yes, but I still need to add some details. What about you?" Yume asked, smiling.
"I think so…" Sayuri muttered, searching through her bag.
"What are you doing after class?" Yume asked.
"I was thinking about going to the Bibliocafé. I want to see if they have any books about French fashion."
"Oh, that's a great idea! I want to find a historical romance novel for the weekend," Yume said.
"And of course—we have to get that nutmeg coffee."
Sayuri smiled.
"Obviously."
After long hours of classes, it was finally time to go home.
With their books packed, they headed to the Bibliocafé—a cozy place known not only for its delicious drinks, but also for its wide collection of books.
It was their little refuge.
They ordered two nutmeg coffees and, while waiting, wandered through the old bookshelves.
Sayuri gently ran her fingers along the worn spines, feeling the subtle textures beneath her touch. The air carried a soft, familiar scent—aged paper, ink, and time itself.
It wrapped around her like a quiet embrace, for a moment, everything felt still.
Like she belonged there.
Soon, the sky began to darken.
Sayuri said goodbye to Yume and started walking home.
On the way, she passed through a park filled with flowers. Enchanted by the scenery, she took a few pictures to send to her grandmother, who lived in a small village.
As she lowered her phone, she saw her father across the park.
"Dad! I'm so glad I found you!" she said, hurrying toward him.
"I was heading home. Want to walk together? Is Mom with you?"
Her father shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Sayuri. Your mother and I have a meeting with some suppliers. I'm on my way to meet her at the shop now."
He paused.
"We'll be home very late. Don't wait for us. There's money in the cabinet—order something to eat."
Her smile faded.
"Okay… have a good meeting," she said softly.
When she got home, she took off her shoes and went straight to the shower. The warm water ran over her skin as she tried to convince herself everything was fine. That she should be used to it by now.
After all… they were doing their best for her.
The next morning, Sayuri woke up exhausted.
Falling asleep had been a battle. Her thoughts had crashed like waves in a storm, but when she looked at the calendar, a small spark of hope filled her chest.
Saturday!
Her parents would be home in the morning. She jumped out of bed and rushed to the kitchen. The house was silent and Empty.
"Mom?" she called, walking through the hallway.
No answer.
Room after room, nothing.
Her chest tightened.
Back in the kitchen, her eyes landed on a single piece of paper on the table, with trembling hands, she picked it up.
Sayuri, your father and I had to travel this weekend to buy supplies for the shop. We didn't want to wake you.
We left money so you can buy food. Call us if you need anything.
We'll be back on Monday.
With love, Mom.
Her expression changed, the excitement she had felt moments ago disappeared.
She ripped the note into pieces and threw it in the trash, still in her pajamas, she grabbed her coat and walked out.
The streets were busy, but Sayuri barely noticed. She walked toward the park, searching for some kind of peace.
Lost in her thoughts, she bumped into a few people along the way— until — a stronger impact knocked her to the ground.
She gasped softly, dazed, she looked up and saw just a hand reaching out to her. She couldn't see his face, the sunlight blurred her vision.
But she smelled something in the air.
A scent.
Soft.
Warm.
Like a quiet library corridor on a rainy day, blended with the warmth of vanilla candles. For some reason, it stirred something deep inside her.
Embarrassed, she quickly stood up, brushing the dust from her knee.
Then a voice spoke, low and calm.
"Be more careful."
Sayuri lifted her head but he was already walking away.
"Wait!"
She tried to thank them for helping her get up, but he disappeared into the crowd.
A few blocks away, the same boy arrived at a garage filled with music. Instruments were scattered around, speakers hummed softly, and laughter filled the air. It was their world.
Jun was the band's vocalist and songwriter, he naturally drew attention. His voice was smooth, emotional, captivating. But it was his presence that made people stare.
Dark hair, effortlessly messy, unreadable eyes, and a lip piercing that added just enough edge to his charm.
His best friend, Kenji, was the opposite.
Where Jun was quiet and distant, Kenji was bright and effortlessly charismatic. With light hair, green honey-colored eyes, and he had a sophisticated playboy style and a soap opera gala look, confident and seductive
Despite their differences, they shared one thing: The music.
"Jun, finally!" Kenji called out.
"Got delayed," Jun replied, removing his jacket.
He grabbed the microphone as Kenji plugged in his bass.
When they made music together, everything else disappeared—it was just the two of them, lost between notes and melodies.
Hours later, exhaustion settled in, and they ended rehearsal. Sitting on the sidewalk outside the garage, they drank something cold. Jun watched the people in the nearby square.
Families.
Laughter.
His chest tightened.
Those perfect moments were everything he never had. Even surrounded by friends, he felt alone.
Between one sip and another, he tried to forget.