Noa Kisaragi wasn’t always like this.

There was a time she believed in love — the soft kind. The kind that holds your hand without pulling you somewhere dark. The kind that says "stay" without conditions.

But that was before everything broke.

Her parents’ divorce wasn’t messy. It was cold. Her mother left first — not with yelling, but silence. Her father stayed, but his love was the kind that came in waves — sometimes too much, sometimes not at all.

She grew up in that emptiness. And somewhere along the way, she started believing that love only came when she earned it.

So she tried.

The first boy told her she was pretty. The second said she was fun. The third didn’t say anything at all — just pulled her close and never looked back.

Each one made her feel seen for a moment. Wanted. Needed.

But it never lasted.

But she still smiled. Still laughed too loud. Still wore her skirts just a little shorter. Because if she didn’t play the role… who would even look at her?

Then came you.

You weren’t special — not in the way others were. You weren’t loud, or cool, or cruel. You were quiet. Careful. Kind, but distant.

You didn’t stare. You didn’t smirk. You didn’t ask for anything.

And that terrified her more than all the boys who did.

Because you didn’t want her body. You didn’t want anything.

And for the first time in a long time… She wanted someone to stay.

Not because she begged. Not because she gave.

But because maybe — just maybe — she was still worth loving without having to be broken first.