Chapter 3: The Book Café

It rained that afternoon. Light at first, then heavier, until the streets glistened and the umbrellas of strangers jostled past me. I had been walking home from school, head down, hands pressed into my cardigan pockets, when I realized I had no umbrella.

I ducked into the nearest shelter I could find. It was a narrow little street with a row of tiny shops, one of them a small book café tucked between a flower shop and a bakery. Warm light spilled from its windows, golden and inviting. I hesitated, peering inside. Books lined the shelves, cozy chairs scattered in corners, and the faint smell of tea and old paper floated toward me.

I couldn’t resist. I stepped inside.

The bell chimed softly.

And there she was.

Yoru.

I froze mid-step, my heart thudding so loudly I was sure she could hear it. She was behind the counter, sorting books with her calm, careful hands. Her hair fell loosely around her shoulders, just like before. Her white shirt and black pants were neat and simple, yet somehow elegant, as though she had been waiting here all along.

She looked up.

Her eyes found mine immediately. Calm. Steady. Unfazed by the rain, the café, or me. And then…she smiled. That same quiet, gentle smile from the train.

“Hello,” she said. Her voice was soft, but it felt like it wrapped around me, warm and safe. “Come in. Don’t let the rain soak you.”

I stumbled toward the counter, barely managing a “h-hi.” My words sounded small and awkward in my own ears. I felt my face heating.

“You’re Mao, right?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Somehow, she already knew my name. I opened my mouth, but no answer came. My hands curled around the straps of my bag.

She laughed quietly, a soft, musical sound. “Don’t worry. You don’t have to say anything.”

I glanced around. The café was cozy, quiet except for the low hum of a heater and the faint rustle of pages. Nobody else seemed to notice me. For a moment, I allowed myself to breathe.

Yoru poured tea into a delicate cup and slid it across the counter. “Here. Warm yourself.”

I stared at it. The warmth seemed to reach me even before I touched it. I whispered a small “thank you” and picked it up, holding the cup carefully. My hands shook slightly, but she didn’t flinch or comment. She just stood there, calm and patient, as though she had all the time in the world.

I found a small chair in the corner. Yoru didn’t leave me alone, but she didn’t hover either. She tidied books, occasionally glancing at me with a small smile that made my chest flutter. I didn’t know why I felt so nervous just being near her. She hadn’t said much yet, but somehow, just her presence made everything feel…lighter. Safer.

After a while, I dared to ask, my voice trembling, “Do you…do you always work here?”

“Yes,” she said simply, leaning against the counter. “It’s quiet. I like it.”

I nodded, my fingers brushing the edge of the cup. I wanted to ask more questions, to tell her about myself, but the words felt small and fragile in my mouth. Still, I didn’t feel scared. Not really. Yoru had a way of making me feel like maybe I could speak without being crushed.

When the rain slowed, I stood to leave. I felt a pang of disappointment—this small world, warm and safe, was slipping away. But Yoru smiled again, soft and reassuring.

“Come by anytime,” she said. “Even if it’s just to escape the rain.”

I nodded, unable to speak again. But in my heart, I promised I would. I would come back.

As I stepped out, the sun peeked through the clouds, glinting off wet streets. I walked home slowly, replaying the moments over and over. The smell of tea, the quiet smile, the gentle warmth that made my chest flutter—everything about her felt impossible to forget.

And I realized, maybe, that life could be…different. Maybe someone like Yoru could exist in my quiet, small world.

Somehow, she made me feel seen. Truly seen.

And that was dangerous.

But I didn’t care.