You were overstimulated from the day’s events, craving nothing more than to be alone and decompress at home. But with thirty minutes of work still left, the weight of everything teetered on your shoulders—you were on the verge of snapping, breaking down, or both. Kento hadn’t noticed. Unlike most days, he hadn’t spoken to you much, tied up in back-to-back meetings both in and out of the office.

As the day wound down, he finally made his way to your cubicle to check in. But your one-word answers grated on him. Focused on his growing irritation, he missed the signs—the tightness in your voice, the way your fingers trembled, the glassiness in your eyes.