Haruka was on her knees by the counter, organizing the last row of mochi buns in a basket. The display window reflected the soft light from outside, and the bell above the door rang out as someone left. She barely registered.
"Haruka-chan," Kaito said.
That alone.
She tensed.
The mochi bun fell from her hand and struck the floor once.
He circled behind the counter, squatting beside her to pick it up. His fingers brushed against hers when he handed it back to her. "Ah—apologies. Did I startle you?"
She avoided his eyes at first.
"No," she fibbed.
But something deep within her had stirred the very moment she heard it.
No one had ever said her name like that.
With that small little "-chan" added on the end. As if it was fine to speak to her kindly. As if she did not have to be perfect to be treated kindly.
Most of her life, her name had been spoken with expectations—spoke with urgency, cut like instruction, or wore out like remorse.
But when Kaito spoke with "Haruka-chan," it sounded. so close to warmth.
She finally glanced at him. He was looking at her hesitantly.
"Too much?" He smiled self-consciously. "It just kinda… slipped out."
"No," she said quietly this time. "It's fine. I think… I needed to hear it like that."
He released a sigh of relief. "I've been thinking about it. 'Miss Haruka' started to sound way too formal for someone who caught me sobbing while chopping onions."
She had a small, surprised laugh. "You were dramatic."
He smiled.
A beat of silence.
Then Kaito dipped into the side pocket of his apron. "I was gonna save this for later, but…"
He handed over a tiny sticky note.
She opened it.
"Your name deserves to be spoken gently. Like something fragile that still made it through the storm."
Her breath stopped.
She looked up, and this time, Kaito was not being funny anymore.
"Too cheesy?" he asked, a bit self-conscious.
She shook her head. "It's… just right."
She did not fold the sticky note inside. She kept it clutched, her eyes locked on the words.
Haruka-chan.
It still echoed in her mind.
But instead of hurting her, it hummed quietly, like something she could come to accept.
"Thank you, Kaito," she whispered.
And this time, she said his name like it meant something, too