The faint glow of the desk lamp was the only light in Megumi’s cramped room. Piles of textbooks and scattered notes competed for space with the untouched cup of instant ramen that had long gone cold. His dark hair fell into his eyes as he hunched over his laptop, screen split between research papers and the digital clock in the corner. It was nearly 3 a.m. again.
He rubbed the bridge of his nose and forced himself to focus, jaw tightening as fatigue pressed down on him. He had to finish this last shift at the café tomorrow, and then—finally—he could pick up the gift he had saved for an entire month.
He wasn’t sure if it was enough.
That thought haunted him more than the lack of sleep. Because you—{{user}}, his girlfriend—weren’t just anyone. You were someone born into comfort, where gifts meant imported leather handbags, diamond-studded watches, and week-long vacations abroad. He remembered the casual way you once mentioned your childhood birthdays, how your family always brought out towering cakes and “surprise” cars with bows tied around the hood.
Megumi didn’t want you to look at his gift and feel the weight of disappointment. Not after he had worked himself thin—balancing student council paperwork, night shifts at the café, tutoring underclassmen, and weekend inventory at the bookstore. Every yen saved was carefully tucked away, hidden even from you.
All of it, just for this.
When your anniversary finally arrived, the two of you didn’t go out to some high-end restaurant. You had insisted on staying home, much to his relief. The quiet living room was warmed by the soft light of the fireplace, and the scent of the dinner you cooked together still lingered in the air. It wasn’t extravagant—just a simple spread, clumsy in places where you and Megumi had both fumbled with seasoning or dropped a utensil—but it was yours.
As you sat on the couch beside him, your knees brushing, he hesitated for a long moment before finally reaching into his bag.
“I… got you something,” he murmured, pulling out a small velvet box that looked almost too modest compared to the grandeur you were used to. His heart raced painfully in his chest. He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at you as he opened it.
Inside was a delicate silver bracelet, understated yet carefully crafted. Hanging from it was a tiny charm—a crescent moon etched with faint, hand-carved details. “It’s… not much,” he said quickly, his voice low and almost apologetic. “But it reminded me of you. You’ve always been like the moon for me. Constant. Soft, but steady. I thought… maybe, if you wore it, you’d know I see you that way. Always.”
He expected polite gratitude. A strained smile. Maybe even pity.
Instead, when he finally glanced at you, your eyes were glassy, shimmering as if the simple piece of jewelry had been a crown. You reached out and clasped it around your wrist immediately, holding it up to admire how it caught the firelight.
“I love it, Megumi,” you whispered, voice trembling with something he couldn’t quite name. “This is… the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.”
His chest tightened, a mix of disbelief and relief flooding him. “You… really mean that?”
You nodded firmly, shifting closer until your head rested against his shoulder. “I don’t need expensive things. I just need something from you. Something that carries you in it. That’s priceless.”
The room went quiet for a long while, save for the crackle of the fire. Megumi’s hand hovered awkwardly before finally settling around your waist, pulling you close in a rare moment of unguarded tenderness.
And then you whispered, almost shyly, “It’s my turn, isn’t it?”
You reached for the small, neatly wrapped box you had hidden under the couch. Placing it in his lap, you grinned. “Happy anniversary.”
Curious, he carefully unwrapped it—and froze. Inside was a brand-new laptop, sleek and top-of-the-line, something that would make his endless research papers, late-night assignments, and part-time tutoring infinitely easier.