Chapter 34: The Ripple in Gold

POV: Hana Kimura

The call ended, but the sound of his voice lingered—low, steady, impossibly calm.

Gray.

I set my phone down on the counter with hands that refused to stop trembling. My kitchen felt too quiet, too bright. Like the light itself was holding its breath, waiting for me to unravel.

“Kaito-san…” I whispered into the still air, as if the name alone could steady me.

It didn’t.

The photo.

The café.

His hand near mine.

My laugh caught mid-bloom.

And the world had seized it.

My family would see. My coworkers. His board members. The people who already whispered about him in the break rooms—speculating, dissecting, inventing.

I wrapped my arms around myself, squeezing until the tremors softened. Colors spun around me—gold and red and too much bright panic—all circling the space where his voice had just been.

He had sounded… composed. Unshaken. Like he was already ten steps ahead of whatever storm was forming over us.

And yet—

Something else had been there.

Something underneath the gray.

A softness he hadn’t meant to reveal.

I sank slowly onto the small stool near the counter, phone still glowing beside me. Every part of me buzzed—fear, yes, but also something warm. Something dangerously close to hope.

He had thanked me for answering.

As though my voice mattered.

As though I mattered.

My heart fluttered and I pressed a hand to my chest, willing it to behave. I shouldn’t think about it like that. I knew better. I had always known better.

He was my boss.

He was Kaito Minami.

Men like him didn’t belong in the world I lived in—small apartments, careful budgets, food service shifts, and quiet routines.

And yet…

The phone vibrated again.

I jumped.

This time, it wasn’t him. A message—from my mother.

Hana? What is this picture?

The world tilted. My heartbeat turned erratic, wild.

Another buzz.

Call me. Immediately.

I squeezed my eyes shut as embarrassment crawled up my spine. Of course she had seen it already. Of course her friends had sent it. Her group chats probably looked like a wildfire.

My fingers shook as I typed a reply.

I’ll explain later. Please don’t worry.

Three dots.

Then nothing.

I let out a shaky breath and stood, pacing the kitchen in small circles. I needed to calm down. I needed to think. I needed—

Suddenly, the room felt too small. Too bright. Too loud.

I grabbed my coat. I needed air.

---

Outside, the cold snapped against my cheeks, sharp enough to cut through the noise in my mind. The sky hung heavy and pale above the city—soft winter light, washed-out blue, like someone had diluted all the color.

He would fit in this sky, I thought before I could stop myself.

Muted. Controlled. Vast.

Why would he call me like that?

Why would he reassure me first, before anything else?

Why did his voice sound like—

I swallowed.

Why did it sound like he was worried?

My steps slowed. I touched a hand to my chest again, grounding myself. People passed by, wrapped in scarves, heading somewhere warm, somewhere certain.

I wasn’t certain.

But under the panic—under the worry and trembling—there was still that thin, impossible thread from earlier. The one that stretched from my heart to the phone, from me to him.

His gray world pressed around him like storm clouds.

Mine pulsed with colors I couldn’t hide.

Somewhere between us, the photo had become a fracture line.

And he had chosen to call me anyway.

A gust of wind swept past, scattering brittle leaves at my feet.

I exhaled, long and slow, letting the chill settle over my skin until the panic dulled enough for me to think.

Whatever happened next…

Whatever storm was coming…

I just hoped I could stay standing when the world came looking for me.

And—I couldn’t deny it—I hoped he would call again.

Not because he had to.

But because for the first time…

It felt like I wanted him to.