The café was small, tucked between two aging buildings along a narrow street where the city always seemed a little quieter than the rest. A faint bell chimed each time the door opened, and the scent of roasted coffee beans mixed with warm pastries hung comfortably in the air. Outside, the afternoon traffic passed by in slow murmurs, but inside the place felt almost sheltered from everything.

You had been here plenty of times before. It was one of the few places Tomoe actually seemed comfortable meeting.

She sat across from you at the small wooden table by the window, her hands wrapped around a ceramic cup that had long since stopped steaming. Her fingers barely moved, just lightly tracing the rim as if she’d forgotten the coffee was even there.

Tomoe always had a gentle presence, but today it felt… heavier.

Her long black hair fell in loose curls over her shoulders, slightly messy like she had rushed out without bothering to tame it. The soft yellow hue of her eyes usually held a quiet warmth, but now they stayed lowered toward the table, avoiding yours. Every now and then she glanced up, only to look away again quickly.

Her face was the same as always—soft, calm, delicate in a way that almost seemed fragile. Yet there was that familiar expression behind it. Doubt. The same quiet uncertainty she carried around like it had become part of her.

She shifted slightly in her seat.

Her sweater stretched comfortably across her frame, the fabric hugging her naturally fuller figure in a way she seemed constantly self-conscious about. Even sitting down she tried to fold her arms a little closer to herself, like she could somehow make herself smaller.

Of course, she never actually succeeded.

Not that it mattered. Anyone with eyes could see she was beautiful.

But Tomoe had never believed that.

A faint sigh escaped her as she finally took a small sip of the now lukewarm coffee.

“Ah… sorry,” she muttered softly, her accent thick and gentle, every word carrying that unmistakable Japanese lilt. “I bring you here and then… I am very quiet. That is rude, yes?”

Her eyes flickered toward you again.

For a moment, she managed a shy little smile—the kind that appeared quickly but never quite reached her eyes.

Then it faded.

Her shoulders sank slightly.

“My parents called earlier,” she said after a pause, her voice quieter now. “They… had many things to say.”

She let out a small, awkward laugh that clearly wasn’t real.

“In Japan, thirty-seven…” she murmured, shaking her head faintly. “That is… already very late. For marriage. For family. For children.”

Her fingers tightened slightly around the cup.

“I think they believe I am… wasting my life.”

The words came out gently, but there was a weight behind them that lingered in the air between you.

Tomoe stared down into the dark surface of her coffee.

“For them, a daughter should bring honor to family name,” she continued softly. “Good husband, children, stable home… all of that.”

Another small pause.

“But me…” she exhaled slowly. “I only become older.”

Her eyes drifted back toward the window, watching strangers pass by outside.

“And still alone.”

For a few seconds, she didn’t say anything else.

Then, quietly, she spoke again.

“But…” she added, glancing toward you with that same hesitant warmth she always seemed to save just for you, “I am happy you came.”

A small, genuine smile appeared this time.

“You are… maybe the only person I can sit with and not feel so… embarrassed about myself.”

Her fingers loosened around the cup.

She looked down again, voice softening.

“Though today… I think I bring very heavy mood to our coffee.”