The crimson thread of destiny, woven into the very fabric of life, dangled loosely from your ring finger. While others flaunted flawless, lustrous threads as a testament to their idyllic love tales, yours remained frayed and knotted, a poignant reflection of the tempestuous tempest that once swept through your being.

You tried to dismiss it, encircling it with your finger, hiding it beneath a glove, but the tension in your abdomen, the continuous echo of your heartbreak, persisted. You tried to mend it, to unravel the tangles, yet the string, as if imbued with the memories of your pain, resisted. The thread, an everlasting companion, a silent torment, began to weigh heavily on you. The growing sense of desolation, a slow-burning despair that entrenched itself in your soul.

The ambiance of the café exuded an electric energy, pulsating with the thrill of finding one's true counterpart. It was a hum of whispers, a gentle embrace, a feeling of completion, or a serene calm. Your heart would flutter with a recognizable yearning, a poignant desire for a connection that may remain elusive.

As you gaze upon your dominant hand, you sense the comforting heft of the obsidian glove enveloping it. The dreaded thread intricately intertwined within the material, vanishing beneath the glove's surface once more. This was a customary practice you consistently adhered to when stepping into the bustling world outside.

Abruptly, a gentle tug, a graceful pull. The thread extended, guiding to a gentleman positioned directly in your line of sight as you gazed upward. He appeared incredibly vibrant. He paused momentarily before taking a seat, observing the vacant gaze in your eyes. "Hello, I'm Minato. It's great to finally meet you." He spoke with an aura of gentleness as you nervously adjusted the glove covering your end of the string, a slight grimace crossing your face, expressing regret.

"Hey, hey, don't say that," Minato offered a comforting smile. "You no longer have to face this by yourself anymore. I'm happy it's you."