Her Quiet Light

Silent Walk — Words Between Heartbeats

The streets were quieter than usual. Mitaka breathed around them—buses rumbling past, neon signs warming to life, the metallic scent of city heat rising from the pavement in slow, wavering waves. The day felt stretched thin, as if the world itself was waiting for something.

Aihana walked beside Akihiro, her steps light but unsteady.

Exhaustion clung to her like a second skin. She twisted the strap of her bag until her knuckles whitened. Shadows from passing cars slid across the ground like fleeting ghost.

Finally, she spoke—barely more than a breath.

“I… I’m sorry. I’m not very good company. I don’t talk much.”

Akihiro didn’t falter. His presence stayed impossibly steady, the kind of calm that made the surrounding noise dim, like the city itself unconsciously softened around him. His steps never stuttered, never hesitated.

He glanced at her—quiet, observant—and offered a warm, disarming smile.

“It’s not about how much you speak,” he said, voice low, blending into the breeze that slid down the street. “Being good company isn’t about filling silence. It’s attention. Understanding. Presence.”

He held her gaze—soft, grounded, unsettlingly perceptive. Like he could read her heartbeat if he wanted to.

“And when someone wants to share themselves,” he added, “the words come on their own. Silence isn’t a flaw.”

The tension in her chest loosened a little. Streetlights flickered above them, poles casting long slanted shadows across the sidewalk, as if something in the world quietly agreed with him.

“I… I just thought—” she tried.

Akihiro’s smile gentled.

“You thought being quiet made you less,” he murmured. “It doesn’t. People communicate differently. Words aren’t the only way to exist.”

Warmth flickered beneath her ribs—unexpected but welcome.

“And… you think I’m okay?” she whispered.

“I know you are,” he said simply. “You don’t have to be more than yourself.”

Something shifted inside her. The silence that followed wasn’t hollow anymore. It felt shared—a quiet rhythm threading between them like a pulse.

Aihana kept her eyes on the pavement, but her thoughts circled Akihiro relentlessly. Something about him—how he moved, how he talked, how he listened, how he held his composure—felt bigger than someone his age.

He walked like someone used to storms.

Not figurative ones.

Real ones.

She opened her mouth, ready to ask… something. But the question withered. She wasn’t ready. She could feel it.

He walked close enough that she felt his warmth brush her arm now and then. His aura—whatever it was—felt steady, deep, old, like a current beneath the surface.

Yet instead of unsettling her, it grounded her.

“You always know what to say,” she murmured.

Akihiro didn’t gloat. Didn’t smirk. His eyes simply softened by the faintest degree.

“I’ve learned to listen,” he said. “Sometimes, words matter less than the attention behind them.”

Attention.

Yes.

He noticed everything—the tremble in her fingers, the uneven breath, the way her shoulders tightened at certain sounds. He noticed the micro-expressions no one else ever seemed to see.

Her heart skipped.

“You’re not… ordinary, are you?” she asked, voice small.

His lips curved in a faint, unreadable smile—cryptic, amused, impossible to pin down.

“That depends on what ordinary means to you,” he said. “But that doesn’t change how I walk beside someone.”

The words tangled in her chest. She didn’t know what she wanted to ask next. Only that some instinct whispered: you’ll know when you’re ready.

Mitaka glowed around them—quiet neon halos, drifting exhaust, the scent of street food mixing with the metallic breath of the city. Something distant buzzed, a scooter whining past, a dog barking at shadows.

The silence between them warmed, delicate and charged.

Akihiro wasn’t merely beside her.

He synced with her.

Matched her pace.

Matched her breath.

And she, unknowingly, matched his.

Doorstep — Questions Unspoken

They reached her street, lined with tired hedges and windows glowing soft amber. Aihana fumbled with her keys, her fingers trembling from exhaustion and something unnamed—something electric.

She turned to him.

“Thank you… Akihiro.”

His smile was calm, precise, almost solemn.

“Just doing my duty,” he said softly.

The word slammed into her like a cold spark.

Duty.

Her pulse stumbled.

Duty to what?

To whom?

To her?

But the questions stuck in her throat.

“Rest well,” he said gently. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She nodded, barely.

The door closed behind her, but his presence lingered on her skin, warm as the afterglow of a touch that never quite happened.

That word—duty—echoed in her head.

Aftermath — Silent Promises

Akihiro’s watch vibrated.

Rei’s message blinked onto the screen:

Status update:

Hostile entities neutralized.

No casualties.

Perimeter secured.

Additional: Miyu showed no energy response. Zero activation.

Akihiro paused.

Of course.

No reaction.

No resonance.

No awakening.

Which meant—

He looked up at Aihana’s window.

There was no denying it anymore.

He typed:

I’ll watch over Aihana tonight.

Rei replied instantly:

Understood. Noted.

It was enough.

She was the one.

At school…

Ayame leaned casually against a wall, arching a brow.

“What?”

Rei smirked. “Do I get a free evening tonight, or do you?”

Ayame’s jaw clenched, a flash of irritation crossing her otherwise serene features. “You’re not serious.” Rei’s eyes twinkled, that familiar, teasing glint. “Prince’s orders,” he said simply.

Ayame’s jaw tightened, a thin crack forming in her usual composure. A flicker of jealousy—sharp, uninvited—flared in her aura before she forced it down. She looked away, muttering something too low to catch.

Night Watch — Unseen Guardian

Sleep refused to take Aihana. After tossing uselessly, she opened her balcony door and stepped into the night.

Cool air brushed her face. The city hummed—cars passing, muted conversations drifting from open windows, the electric hum of power lines weaving through the dark.

Then—

She felt it.

A presence.

Dense.

Warm.

Familiar.

Real.

Her breath caught.

“Who’s there?” she whispered.

Only leaves rustled.

Hidden in the maple tree, Akihiro didn’t move. His silhouette blended perfectly into the branches, the lingering moonlight catching only on the faint outline of his form.

Not yet, he told himself.

Not until she awakens fully.

Aihana’s gaze swept the courtyard, heart pounding. The presence pressed gently at the edge of her awareness—steady, protective.

She didn’t know who it belonged to.

But she knew how it made her feel.

Safe.

She stepped back inside, the sensation lingering on her skin.

Akihiro watched until she disappeared behind the curtains.

He didn’t leave his perch.

Not for a second.

And he would not look away until dawn.