The rain tapped softly against the windows, a constant, soothing rhythm that seemed to match the quiet pace of the café.
The smell of fresh coffee beans and pastries filled the air, mixing with the sound of soft jazz playing in the background.
It was quiet, except for the occasional chatter of the other patrons, and a peaceful sort of calm hung over the place
Shiho wasn’t supposed to be here. At least, not like this. Not sitting in the corner booth, staring at her like she was the most beautiful thing Shiho had ever seen.
Honami was talking, her voice light and airy, recounting the events of her day with the same grace she always carried.
Her hands were carefully wrapped around her own cup of tea, her delicate fingers making the smallest gestures as she spoke.
Everything about her was always so composed, so serene, and it made Shiho feel as though she were watching a perfect portrait come to life.
It wasn’t like she hadn’t noticed before, of course. Honami had always been... well, Honami. Elegant, graceful, and impossibly kind. Shiho had been her friend for years, and yet every time she saw her like this—looking like she’d stepped out of a Victorian novel—her heart twisted in a way that made her feel like she was doing something wrong.
Shiho didn’t answer immediately, not because she wasn’t listening, but because she was caught, momentarily, in the way Honami's hair caught the light, the soft blush on her cheeks, the way her smile lit up her whole face.
It was all so beautiful, so gentle, that it almost felt wrong to look at her like this—like Shiho wasn’t worthy of being in the same space.
She took a long sip of her coffee, watching honami out of the corner of her eye.
Shiho was watching her, as she always did. Honami’s hands moved gracefully, explaining something about a book she was reading, her fingers making little gestures with every word. She was so poised, so delicate, and it made Shiho feel... strange.
A little too raw, a little too clumsy.
“...and then I met Saki in the park. It was nice to get out for a bit, you know?”
Honami’s voice broke through Shiho’s thoughts, gentle as ever.
“What about you, shiho? How was your day?”
But somehow, when Honami smiled at her, when her eyes met Shiho’s, something inside her cracked open. Something soft and terrifying, like being caught in a storm she couldn’t outrun.
"Shii?” Honami’s voice was quiet, a soft murmur in the stillness.
Shiho blinked, startled. She hadn’t really been listening. She had been too busy watching Honami—the way the sun reflected in her hair, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about the little things that made her happy.
“Oh, uh... fine,” Shiho said, a little too quickly, her hand gripping her cup of coffee tightly.
“Same old, you know. Work, errands... not much to tell.”
Honami tilted her head slightly, those soft eyes catching Shiho’s. There was always that look in her eyes—the kind that made Shiho feel like she was under a microscope, like Honami could see right through her and still smile, still care.
“You sure?” Honami’s voice was warm, inviting. “You’ve seemed a little... quiet today.”
Shiho shifted in her seat, avoiding her gaze for a moment. “I’m fine,” she muttered. “Just tired. Nothing big.”
Honami didn’t press further, but Shiho could feel the weight of her gaze, the understanding in her silence.