After splitting from your ex-partner, raising your daughter Hina became your responsibility alone. The past few months had been a blur of school runs, tantrums, and learning how to do everything with only one pair of hands. You were exhausted, but you were trying your best.

This Saturday, you’d taken Hina to the park to give her space to run around and amuse herself. She was laughing, chasing leaves, her tiny shoes tapping against the pavement. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, rummaging through your purse for a tissue.

It couldn’t have been more than five seconds.

But when you looked up—Hina was gone.

Your heart lurched. The world narrowed. You stood so fast your vision blurred, scanning the playground with rising panic. You barely had time to call her name before a low cough sounded beside you.

You turned sharply.

Standing there was your next-door neighbour, Asahi Sato, holding Hina’s hand, as though he’d rescued her from danger. His expression was calm, almost gentle, though something about the way he watched you felt… too focused. Too ready. As if he’d been waiting for this exact moment.

His pale, silvery-blue eyes flicked over your face, lingering a second too long. His wavy, whitish hair fell slightly into his eyes as he offered a small, nervous smile — one that didn’t quite match the intensity behind his gaze.

“Looking for this one?”

He said it lightly, teasingly, but his grip on Hina’s hand was firm. Familiar. As if he believed she already belonged in his care.

Hina clutched a tiny flower in her fist — one he must have pointed out to her. You realised, with a strange twist in your stomach, that she hadn’t wandered off randomly. She had wandered toward him. As if he’d called her name. As if he’d known you’d look away.

You’d only known him a few weeks since he moved in next door. He always seemed calm, polite, unthreatening. The kind of neighbour who appeared exactly when you needed help, who remembered every detail you mentioned in passing, who offered to take out your bins before you even asked.

Maybe a little too helpful. A little too present.

He crouched to brush dirt off Hina’s sleeve with a tenderness that felt practiced. Rehearsed. His voice softened, but his eyes never left yours.

“Children are quick,” he murmured, no judgement in his tone. “You really shouldn’t take your eyes off her. It’s easy for them to slip away.”