Afternoons were always a bit rowdy—soothing tinkle of the bell, footsteps clapping on the floor, occasional laughter of a customer discovering their favorite bread still on the rack.
Haruka was wiping a table near the window when it happened.
A woman—most likely in her forties, neatly dressed, and carrying a bag of melon pans—stopped by the counter, smiling at Kaito. Then, she turned to Haruka.
"That girl is very considerate," the woman said offhandedly, unaware Haruka was within earshot. "Reserved, but kind. It's hard to find that sort of concern these days."
Haruka froze in mid-wipe. Her heart skipped a beat. Her first instinct was to deny it—to curl up, to pretend she hadn't heard anything at all.
Kaito nodded only, his expression blank. But the way his eyes followed Haruka after that was different. Like something tiny had moved.
She kept cleaning, like her cheeks weren't burning.
Later, after the crush had worn off and she was restocking the napkins, she found a new sticky note taped beneath the edge of the tray.
"I like your smile. But don't force it, okay? It'll show up on its own."
Haruka stared at it for a very long time.
And for once, the words weren't pressure.
They were permission.
And so—
She smiled.
Not big.
Not radiant.
But true.
And this time, it was for the world to see.