Cooking Together

Takumi was peeling potatoes when the doorbell rang.
He frowned, glancing at the wall clock. 1:20 p.m. Ayaka wasn’t supposed to arrive until three. Hana was still at school—she had an after-school painting workshop today and wouldn’t be home before five.

He set the peeler down, wiped his hands on his apron, and went to open the door.

Ayaka stood on the doorstep, cap pulled low, sunglasses on, shoulder bag slung across her body. She looked… embarrassed.

“Sorry,” she said at once. “I know I’m really early. I had a photoshoot this morning that got canceled last minute, and I thought maybe I could just…” She stopped, biting her lip. “Actually, I’ll wait outside. Sorry for bothering you.”

She began to turn away.

“Ayaka.”

She froze.

Takumi sighed softly but with a faint smile. “Come in. You’re not waiting outside for two hours.”

Ayaka hesitated for a second, then nodded and stepped inside. She slipped off her shoes and put on the guest slippers—almost hers by now.

“I was getting dinner ready ahead of time,” Takumi explained as he headed back to the kitchen. “Hana’s home later today, so I’m making a start.”

Ayaka followed him to the kitchen doorway, taking in the scene: the cutting board covered in half-peeled vegetables, a pot on the counter, an open packet of beef.

“Can I… just watch you?” she asked after a moment. “Does that bother you?”

Takumi looked up, surprised. “It’s not going to be very exciting.”

Ayaka perched on a stool by the counter, resting her chin on her hands, watching.

Takumi kept peeling in silence. Methodical. Precise. His hands moved with the quiet assurance of someone who had prepared thousands of meals alone.

“I never cook,” Ayaka murmured suddenly.

Takumi glanced at her briefly.

“I buy everything from the konbini or order delivery. I’m twenty-two and I don’t even know how to fry an egg.” She gave a soft, humorless laugh. “Pretty pathetic, huh?”

Takumi set the peeler aside and turned toward her.
“Do you want to try?”

Ayaka blinked. “What?”

“Help me. With the nikujaga.” He nodded at the cutting board. “It’s not complicated. That way, you’ll know how to make something more than an egg.”

A genuine smile lit Ayaka’s face.

A moment later, she was standing before the cutting board, knife in hand, staring down at a carrot with the focus of someone facing a final exam.

Why is my heart beating like this?

It wasn’t like Takumi was touching her. He was just… close, guiding her. She could feel the warmth of his presence beside her, his subtle scent, the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Ayaka sliced one piece, then another. Her cuts were uneven, clumsy, but she was improving.

Then the oil in the pan beside them suddenly hissed and crackled violently.
Ayaka flinched, stepping back—too fast—and lost her balance.

Strong hands caught her by the shoulders, steadying her.

Their eyes met—briefly, but long enough for Ayaka to feel something warm spread through her chest and rise to her cheeks.

Time seemed to stretch.

Then Takumi released her and stepped back.
“Dad reflex,” he said with an embarrassed little laugh.

“Thank you,” Ayaka murmured, looking away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

A slightly awkward silence followed, broken only by the gentle bubbling of the simmering broth.

Takumi cleared his throat. “Today’s session will take place here.”

Ayaka looked at him, surprised. “In the kitchen?”

“Why not? We cook, we talk. A change from the living room.” He smiled faintly.

They moved on to making dorayaki while the nikujaga simmered.

Ayaka stirred the batter in a bowl—awkwardly, splattering a bit onto the counter—while Takumi prepared the anko filling.

“You’re a consultant,” Ayaka began as she poured in some milk. “But before that… what exactly did you do in the industry?”

Takumi didn’t answer right away. He kept stirring the anko, gaze distant.

“I was a senior agent at StarNova Talent Management,” he said at last. “For six years, I managed major talents—idols, actors, voice actors. Careers worth millions.” He paused. “My job was to maximize profits.”

There was something in his tone—bitterness, faint but unmistakable.

“You didn’t like it?”

“At first, yes.” Takumi poured the anko into a container, then turned toward her. “I thought I was helping people achieve their dreams. But over time… I realized I was just negotiating contracts. Managing impossible schedules. Smiling at corrupt producers. Turning a blind eye to… a lot of things.”

Ayaka tightened her grip on the bowl.

“What kind of things?”

Takumi sighed and leaned against the counter.
“Abuse. Harassment. Exploitation.” He met her eyes. “I had a client. Nineteen. A promising idol. A producer… abused her. Several times. She told me. She begged me to help.”

Silence fell, heavy and raw.

“And I… negotiated. I spoke with the agency, the producer. They offered money. A quiet settlement.” His voice hardened. “She signed. Because they told her that if she spoke publicly, her career would be over. So she signed, took the money, and kept smiling on TV.”

Ayaka’s throat tightened.

“Six months later, she overdosed.” Takumi closed his eyes briefly.

“Oh God…”

“Some clients completely broke down. Suicide attempts. Runaways. Severe depression.” He crossed his arms. “And me? I kept negotiating contracts. Maximizing profits. Because that was my job.”

Ayaka set the bowl down, her hands trembling.

“Why did you stay?”

“Because I thought I didn’t have a choice. That if I left, someone worse would replace me.” He gave a bitter laugh. “But the truth? I was scared. Scared of losing my salary, my status, my career.”

He turned fully toward her.
“And then Naomi got sick. And I realized I was losing what truly mattered while I clung to things that didn’t matter at all.”

Ayaka felt tears sting her eyes.

“After she died, I resigned. I left the industry. And now…” He gestured around the modest kitchen, the quiet house. “I take a few clients a year. Only the ones I truly believe I can help. Not to make them better stars. Just… to keep them human.”

Ayaka discreetly wiped away a tear.
He looked at her with a calm intensity. “I recognized something of my former clients in you. And I thought—maybe it’s not too late for you.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with mutual understanding.

At 5:15 p.m., the front door opened.

“Tadaima~!”

Hana burst in, backpack bouncing, brimming with excitement.

“Okaeri,” Takumi called from the kitchen.

Hana kicked off her shoes at lightning speed and ran toward them—then stopped short when she saw Ayaka.

“Ayaka-san!”

“Hello, Hana-chan.” Ayaka smiled, brushing off a faint trace of flour on her cheek.

Hana dug eagerly into her backpack and pulled out a carefully folded sheet of paper.
“We painted today at the workshop! I made this for you, Ayaka-san!”

She unfolded it and held it out proudly.

Ayaka took it, her heart suddenly pounding.

It was a watercolor—clumsy but heartfelt. A house with a red roof. In front of it, three simple figures: one tall (a man), one medium (a woman?), and one small (a child).

“It’s us!” Hana announced proudly. “Well… Papa, me, and you. Because you come a lot now, so I thought…”

She stopped mid-sentence, suddenly shy, realizing what her drawing implied.

Ayaka felt something break and heal at once inside her chest.

“It’s… beautiful, Hana-chan,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

Takumi, standing near the counter, glanced at the drawing over Ayaka’s shoulder.
Three people. A family.
It’s us.

Something passed between him and Ayaka when their eyes met—something unspoken, fragile, dangerous, tender.

“Ayaka-san,” Hana went on, breaking the moment. “Are you staying for dinner tonight?”

“Hana—” Takumi began.

“Please~?” she begged, wide-eyed.

He sighed softly but smiled. “You’re welcome to stay. If you’d like.”

Dinner was simple, warm, and filled with Hana’s cheerful chatter about her day at school.

Ayaka listened, smiled, laughed at the right moments.
And for the first time in… she couldn’t even remember how long… she felt present.
Not acting. Not calculating her reactions.

Just… there.

When she finally left, long after eight, Hana hugged her tightly.
“See you next Thursday!” she said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Ayaka smiled, stroking her hair.
“See you next Thursday.”

She walked down the path, turned back one last time. Takumi was still standing in the doorway, Hana beside him, waving with both hands.

Ayaka raised her hand and waved back.
Then she turned the corner, and they disappeared from sight.

Takumi closed the door gently and leaned against it, exhaling softly.

Hana looked up at him with a mischievous grin far too mature for her age.
“Papa likes Ayaka-san, huh?”

Takumi nearly choked.
“Hana—”

She giggled and ran toward her room. “Good night, Papa!”

“Good night,” he murmured, shaken.

He stayed there a long moment in the quiet entryway.

Somewhere between the first session and tonight—between her tears, her laughter, and the way she had clumsily cut carrots in his kitchen—something had changed.

He didn’t know exactly what.

But he felt it.

And it scared him a little.

***

In her cold, empty apartment, Ayaka took out Hana’s drawing and looked at it under the soft city light.
It’s us.

She closed her eyes, holding the paper gently.

For the first time in years, Ayaka realized she truly wanted something.
Not fame. Not followers. Not a number-one single.

She wanted… this.

That house with blue shutters. Those simple dinners. Those spontaneous laughs.
That quiet, ordinary family life.