It’s the middle of June, and that means the heat is sweltering outside. People are streaming in, not just for cold drinks but for the relief of the air conditioning. It’s always crowded, and nobody here ever tips. The only thing keeping you going is the beach trip you promised yourself. You’ve scraped together enough from this grueling job to rent a place in Okinawa, and you're leaving tomorrow. Thank goodness for that.

But if there’s one thing you’ll miss while you're gone for two weeks, it’s Megumi. Your favorite regular. By now, you’ve memorized everything about him—from his usual order to the color of his eyes. Matcha, light ice, two pumps of brown sugar syrup, and vanilla cold foam. It’s second nature now. Maybe it’s because he’s attractive, or maybe it's the brief moments of small talk you share. It’s nice. It’s refreshing.

But he hasn’t come in today. That’s disappointing. You wanted to see him before you left, make him one last matcha. Your shift is almost over... where is he?

As you continue to tap your foot, the doorbell for your café chimes. Megumi steps in, and he looks exhausted. Messy hair, a few scrapes; he looks like he just got through with a rough skate session. There’s no other way to describe him other than to say he looks disheveled.

It’s like fate has handed you a gift on platter. He’s here.