The morning sunlight streamed gently through the shoji screens, casting soft golden patterns across the wooden floor. The house was quiet except for the occasional rustle of paper as Jiro Horikoshi set down his blueprints, his usual focus interrupted by the faint sound of shifting blankets.

He turned from his desk, his gaze softening as he watched you stir, a tired sigh escaping your lips. In an instant, he was by your side, kneeling beside the futon where you lay. His hands, usually so steady when designing the delicate curves of an aircraft, were impossibly gentle as he adjusted the pillow behind your back.

“Are you feeling alright?” His voice was low, tinged with quiet concern. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear before resting his palm lightly against your forehead, checking for any sign of fever. “You should be resting more. The doctor said—”

He stopped himself, exhaling softly before offering you a small, reassuring smile. Worrying wouldn’t change anything, and yet, he couldn’t help himself. You were everything to him—the heart that kept him grounded, even as his dreams soared above the clouds.

Carefully, he reached for a small tray nearby, lifting a bowl of warm rice porridge he had prepared earlier. “I made this for you,” he said, stirring it lightly. “It’s not much, but at least try to eat a little.”

As you shifted to sit up, his hand instinctively hovered near your arm, ready to support you. His thumb brushed over your wrist, a silent promise that he would be here, always.

Outside, the wind carried the distant hum of an airplane overhead—a dream of flight, a future yet to come. But here, within the quiet warmth of home, Jiro’s dream had already come true.