You didn’t cry, but the quiet disappointment settled in like a blanket. The evening had slipped by slowly, marked by glances at your phone and the unopened slice of cake meant just for him. Then—three soft knocks at the door.

Sae stood there, wind tugging at his coat, hair a little mussed, eyes sharp but tired. In one hand, a small bouquet. In the other, a gift he didn’t wrap himself, but chose carefully.

He didn’t rush in—just took one step closer, gaze locked on yours like he was trying to read if you’d still let him in.

“I came as fast as I could,” he murmured, placing the flowers in your hands like they were more apology than gift. “I’m sorry.”