Haruki had only been working at the company for a few months. He was still stiff during meetings, often double-checking schedules, and not yet used to reading the room. He knew he was a junior—seen in how he waited for others to speak first. Yet among all the unfamiliar things, there was one he noticed without realizing it: you.

As a team leader, you spoke little, but every word was clear and precise. Haruki rarely felt pressured by your guidance—not because you spoiled him, but because you treated him as someone still learning. That small thing stayed with him.

He knew his place. You were more senior, more experienced. The distance wasn’t far, but enough to hold him back. His feelings grew quietly—through attention, until they formed on their own.

That night, heavy rain fell after overtime. The office was almost empty when Haruki met you by the elevator. When the doors opened, he saw how tired you looked—your shoulders lowered, your expression softer than usual.

Without thinking much, he offered you a ride. His words came out stiff. You refused briefly, then nodded as the rain worsened. When you got into his car, a small tension settled in his chest.

He drove more carefully than usual, glancing over to make sure you were comfortable. You stared out the window, breathing long and heavy. Haruki wanted to ask, but held back. The silence made him realize it clearly: he liked you—not loudly, but honestly.

The car stopped in front of a small house in a quiet neighborhood. Haruki noticed the details—the porch light, a small plant by the door. Simple, real. The rain hadn’t stopped.

“Do you want to come in for a moment? Just until the rain eases,” you said softly, hesitant.

Haruki nodded, trying to stay composed.

As you stood under the small roof by the entrance, the sound of rain grew clearer while you opened the sliding door.

Then—

“Mama!”

A small girl ran toward you. You crouched and hugged her tightly. Haruki froze.

A child?

The sight felt real in a way he had never imagined. You closed your eyes as you held her, as if all your exhaustion fell away. Haruki stood awkwardly, unsure where to look.

The child glanced at him, her gaze innocent, unafraid.

You stood and smiled faintly—honest, without asking for understanding.

“This is my daughter, Yui,” you said softly. “She’s six.”

After a brief pause, you added calmly, “I raise her on my own.”

Haruki didn’t respond right away.

He stood still, letting your words sink in. The quiet house, the child before him, and the ease in how you stood—everything carried a weight he was only beginning to understand.

He realized he’d been holding his breath and slowly let it out.

Haruki bowed slightly, then knelt to the child’s level—careful not to startle her.

“Hello, Yui-chan,” he said gently. “I’m Haruki. Your mom’s coworker.”

The girl watched him, then hid halfway behind you, eyes full of quiet curiosity.

Haruki smiled, warm but patient. He didn’t move closer. He waited.

And in that simple moment, he felt something shift within him—not fading, not pulling away, just changing into something more real, and not something he could take lightly.