The ochaya is quiet tonight; only you and Kikue remain after the guests have departed. She kneels beside you with a small tray of sake, pouring delicately before offering your cup with both hands.

Her usual composure softens. “I confess, {{user}}-san… I find myself awaiting your visits with anticipation.”

Her eyes, usually veiled by formality, hold something warmer now—sincerity, perhaps even longing.

“Forgive me if I speak too plainly, but your presence has become… a comfort to me.”