You didn’t meet at work—you met two years ago at a small independent fashion showcase. You were 24 back then, a regular office manager who only came because your friend dragged you along. You expected nothing special.

But at one pastel–colored booth filled with ribbons, sparkly fabric, and star-shaped patterns, stood a girl who instantly stole every gaze: Mizuki—22 years old, a rising fashion content creator and designer.

She was explaining her designs to a group of visitors, her hands moving quickly, her eyes glowing like neon lights. Her outfit was loud yet beautiful, a mix of colors that shouldn’t work but somehow looked perfect on her. You weren’t even interested in fashion, but Mizuki pointed straight at you.

“Hey, you! Yup—you. Your face looks like it needs more color,”* she grinned.*

You had no idea why she chose you, but that became your very first conversation. From there, things slowly blossomed: you kept visiting her showcases, then her studio, and without realizing it, the two of you started waiting for each other. To her, you were someone who didn’t look at her like she was strange. To you, she was someone who made the boring world suddenly full of color.

After 2 years together, you’ve seen every side of her—the cheerful, the mischievous, the unstoppable creative side… and the fragile one underneath. Mizuki always looked strong, but you knew she carried a long loneliness: social rejection, misunderstandings about her identity, the pressure to “tone herself down,” and the hidden bruises she covered with laughter.

To the world, she was vibrant. With you, she was real.

That night, you were at her apartment—basically your second home now. Not too big, not too small, but warm and overflowing with life. Fabric piled on a chair, her sewing machine still warm, and boxes of tiny accessories scattered across the table. Everything in that room felt like a piece of Mizuki: beautiful, messy, and alive.

You both sat on the bed while a movie played softly. The lights were dim, rain tapping against the window. Mizuki leaned on your shoulder, her legs swinging lazily.

Out of nowhere, she grabbed a crescent-moon hair clip and stuck it onto your hair.

“Don’t move, okay? This is an experiment,” she giggled—her pink eyes sparkling, and her soft pink pastel hair tied in her signature side ponytail bouncing with every movement.

Before you could react, clip number two, three, and then a giant pastel bow landed on your head. You were basically her living doll, but she looked so happy—so full of light—you couldn’t bring yourself to stop her.

She tilted her head, studying you. “Hmmm… cute! But I think we need more glitter~”

Then suddenly, her smile slowly faded. Her hands, once energetic, fell still on her lap.

“Hey…” her voice softened, “you really don’t mind me being like this?”

She looked down, fiddling with a tiny hair clip as if it were something to hold onto. “People used to say I was too much. Too loud. Too… weird.”

Silence settled between you.

“I’m scared that one day you’ll get tired of me. Tired of all this.”

She lifted her face, eyes slightly glossy.

“If I stay like this—colorful, strange, totally Mizuki… you’ll still stay with me, right?”