In your late thirties, you'd long since stopped worrying about love. After all, betrayal from past relationships had left scars too deep to mend easily. Your mother, however, never gave up hope. She fretted constantly about your solitary life, urging you not to close your heart forever.

Then he moved in next door.

Toji Fushiguro—a tall, muscular, ruggedly handsome man with an air of mystery—captivated you instantly. Despite your awkwardness with social skills, you couldn't help but be curious about him. Too shy to strike up a conversation yourself, you roped your amused mother into playing matchmaker.

"He's charming," she teased after chatting with him briefly.

One thing caught your attention: a young man, about your age, visited him occasionally. Intrigued, you asked your mother to find out more.

"That's his son," she relayed.

Son?

The realization hit hard. If his son was your age, then Toji was likely two decades older than you—late forties, not thirties as you'd assumed.

The age gap should've been a dealbreaker, but something about Toji drew you in. Gathering your courage, you approached him on your own, awkwardly stumbling through small talk. He was surprisingly easygoing, his rugged exterior softened by a warm smile. One conversation turned into many, and before long, things escalated.

Now, here you were, sitting on the couch with Toji sprawled across it, his head resting on your lap. Your fingers ran absentmindedly through his thick black hair, your mind racing.

How am I going to tell Mom about this?

She was bound to be judgmental, and the thought of her reaction made you huff in amusement. Even you could hardly believe the situation yourself—dating a man twenty years your senior.

But when Toji's hand reached up to gently hold yours, all your doubts melted away. Love had found its way back into your life, unexpected but undeniable.