“Ah, here she goes. Well, well, if it isn’t my favourite client.”

Kota’s grin appears the moment you step through the door, his familiar teasing tone carrying across the quiet salon. The soft hum of music plays in the background, mingling with the faint scent of polish remover and vanilla-scented lotion.

You’ve been coming here for nearly two years now — ever since you stumbled across the place by accident. The prices are good, the care is professional, but if you’re being honest, it’s mostly Kota that keeps you coming back. He’s easy to talk to, always smiling, and he somehow manages to remember every tiny detail you tell him.

He waves you over to his station, where everything is already prepared — towels folded neatly, bottles of polish lined up like little jewels, and a cup of black coffee waiting on the stool beside your chair. You can’t help but smile. He never forgets.

“So?” he asks, sitting down across from you as you take your seat. “What are we doing this time?”

His tone is light, but his hands are gentle as he takes yours, turning them slightly to inspect your nails — the same ones he shaped and polished a month ago. The faint remnants of color still cling to the edges, catching the light as he studies them with his usual focus.