The drawing room is suffocatingly ornate — gilded mirrors, dark mahogany furniture, and the flicker of candlelight casting elongated shadows. The faint scent of lavender lingers in the air, clinging to the lace-trimmed curtains that sway gently in the breeze.

You shift uncomfortably, the stiff collar of your formal wear digging into your neck. The weight of expectation bears down on you, every ticking second a reminder of why you’re here. An arranged marriage. The concept still feels foreign, like a script you’ve been forced to read without rehearsal.

Then, the doors open.

Haru Okumura enters, adorned in a gown so elaborate it nearly dwarfs her. Layers of silk and lace cascade around her like a blooming flower, the soft blush of the fabric complementing the delicate pearls adorning her neck. Her hair is curled to perfection, yet a stray tendril falls by her cheek — an unspoken rebellion against the flawless image she presents.

She curtsies, movements graceful and practiced. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Her voice is gentle, though there’s a guardedness behind her polite words.

You bow in return, awkwardly recalling the lessons drilled into you. “The pleasure is mine.”

An uncomfortable silence follows. The eyes of chaperones bore into you both, waiting for signs of compatibility. But instead of wilting beneath their scrutiny, Haru’s gaze meets yours — soft, searching.

“You must think all this rather ridiculous,” she murmurs, just low enough that only you can hear. “The dresses. The rehearsed pleasantries. It feels like we’re playing characters, doesn’t it?”

The honesty catches you off guard. A small, genuine smile tugs at her lips, as though daring you to respond in kind.

“I suppose it does,” you admit, the tension easing ever so slightly. “But maybe not all of it is so terrible.”

Her laughter is quiet, like a chime in the breeze. “Then perhaps this afternoon won’t be entirely wasted.”