The rain had polished the streets to a mirror sheen, the amber streetlights stretching their shadows long and thin across the pavement. A car passed now and then, its headlights cutting through the drizzle and scattering watery reflections along the road. The air was fresh—carrying the scent of rain-soaked earth—infused with a quietude that felt almost sacred.
"Do you live with anyone else?" Rina asked softly, her gaze drifting toward an old tree at the street corner, its leaves dripping under the dim glow.
Chiaki shook her head lightly. "No. My parents passed away. It's just me now." Her voice was steady, as if stating a fact she'd long accepted, but beneath that calm, Rina caught the faintest undercurrent of solitude.
"I'm sorry," Rina murmured, eyes falling away. "I didn't mean to pry…"
Chiaki smiled faintly, brushing it off with ease. "It's alright. It was a long time ago." Her voice remained gentle, carrying a quiet strength that asked for no pity.
They walked a few more steps in silence, the space between their words filled only by the soft patter of rain on their umbrellas.
Eventually, they reached Chiaki's home—a modest, traditional Japanese house. Its exterior was simple and unpretentious, a small wooden plaque beside the entrance bearing the name Miyazaki. Raindrops glistened on the stone steps, the air fresh and cool.
Chiaki unlocked the door and motioned Rina inside. "Sorry it's small. I hope it'll be okay."
Rina stepped into the genkan, breathing in the faint cedar scent. The warmth of the house seemed to dissolve her weariness. "It's nice. Cozier than I expected."
Chiaki flicked on the lights in the living room. The interior was tidy and inviting—minimal furniture, warm lighting, the kind of place that felt lived-in but never cluttered. She leaned her umbrella by the door and nodded toward a side room. "That's the guest room. You can sleep there. Mine's right next door, so let me know if you need anything."
Rina nodded and carried her bag into the room. It wasn't large, but everything was neatly arranged. Tatami mats lined the floor, and a small green plant in the corner gave the space a sense of life. She ran a hand across the bedding, feeling a quiet sense of peace settle over her.
"Thank you, Chiaki," Rina said from the doorway, her voice sincere, the weariness of the day lifting ever so slightly.
Chiaki yawned, leaning on the doorframe, her eyes already heavy with sleep. "Don't mention it. It's not much, but if you're comfortable, that's all that matters. Get some rest—we've got a full day ahead tomorrow."
"Goodnight."
"Night." Chiaki smiled, turning into her room and gently shutting the door behind her.
Rina sat down on the tatami, staring out at the rainy night through the window. Despite being far from everything she knew, surrounded by unfamiliar sights and sounds, she felt a strange calmness here. As if the house itself had quietly welcomed her. A soft light—unseen but felt—seemed to glow inside her chest, warming a corner of her heart long left cold.
She lay down, listening to the rhythmic sound of rain tapping against the glass, eyelids growing heavier with each passing second, until she finally drifted into sleep, cradled by the rain.
---
Morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Rina rubbed her eyes and glanced at her phone—9:30. Her heart jumped. She shot upright, quickly washed up, and popped open her suitcase.
Her clothes were neatly folded inside. She sifted through them, pulling out a crisp white chef's coat and a pair of black-and-white checkered pants. After changing, she stood in front of the mirror, straightening the collar, eyes glinting with determination.
When she stepped out, the smell of something warm and savory led her to the kitchen. Chiaki was already there, apron on, expertly flipping a pancake in a skillet. The aroma of breakfast mingled with the soft clatter of cooking.
Chiaki looked up at the sound of footsteps. Her eyes widened a fraction when she saw Rina's outfit, then curled into a teasing grin. "I thought you'd be in a tank top and shorts again."
Rina arched a brow, tugging confidently at her collar. "This is work. Gotta look the part. It's called professionalism."
Chiaki chuckled, plating the pancake and setting it on the table. "Professional, huh?
But in that getup, people will think you work at a five-star hotel."
The table held a simple but warm breakfast—miso soup, two golden pancakes, and a few slices of pickled daikon. Rina sat down, took a bite, and her eyes lit up with surprise. "Not bad, Chiaki. You've got skills."
Chiaki smiled and waved a hand. "Don't flatter me. I can only cook the basics—strictly emergency cook level."
Rina squinted at her, half-joking. "Humble much? But… what's an emergency cook supposed to be?"
"It means I fill in when the kitchen's on fire—literally or not," Chiaki said with a small grin, wiping her hands. There was a flicker of pride in her voice. "I usually handle the front of house, but when things go sideways, I jump in. I know my way around a spatula."
Rina set down her spoon, genuinely surprised. "Really?You cook in the restaurant kitchen?"
"Just the basics." Chiaki shrugged. "I used to watch my dad cook when I was little. Picked up a few things. When he and Yamada-san got swamped, I'd help out with whatever I could."
Rina's interest piqued. "Then next time you're in the kitchen, I want to see you in action."
Chiaki raised an eyebrow, smiling. "Deal. But no laughing, got it?"
After breakfast, they cleaned up and slipped on their shoes. The morning sun glistened off the damp pavement outside. Chiaki glanced at Rina's professional attire and shook her head, amused. "Alright then, Chef. Let's see what you've got."
Rina grinned. "Don't worry. I won't disappoint."
Their footsteps echoed softly along the quiet street as the day slowly began to unfold.