When Haruka entered the bakery, the sun had already started its climb. She slipped through the back door quietly, never quite sure if she was early or not. The wooden floor creaked under her feet, ringing out in the quiet, and the smell of warm dough wrapped around her like a cozy blanket.

Kaito was already there, sweeping the countertop clean. He looked up with a hello. "Morning."

She nodded back and grasped the apron slung over the wall. Her movements were slightly more confident now. Familiar. As if she were getting the rhythm of the place.

They worked together in a wordless concert. Kaito assigned her small jobs—placing out trays, folding paper, and sweeping egg wash. Nothing too much. Nothing too fast. Just enough to keep her fingers limber.

At one point, while reaching up to place a tray on the top shelf, Haruka's sleeve fell down her arm.

Just a second. Barely a glimpse.

But it was enough.

A pale line across her wrist, faded but unmistakable.

Kaito saw it.

Haruka quickly adjusted her sleeve, her heart racing. Her eyes flicked to his face, bracing herself for the change—questions, the pity, the stifling silence.

But none of it came.

Kaito said nothing.

He just gave her the next tray like nothing had happened. Like she was still her. Not her scars. Not her past.

They kept working.

Later, when they sat down for a short break, Haruka found something beside her glass of water.

A sticky note.

Smaller than the last ones. Clean. It wasn't left somewhere randomly this time—it was left right in front of her glass, as if patiently waiting.

She picked it up.

*“I hope you’ll feel the warmth of the morning sun again someday.”*

Her eyes lingered on the words.

Not “be strong.” Not “stay positive.” Just… warmth. Hope. The kind that didn’t rush her.

She folded the note carefully.

But instead of sticking it inside her diary like the others, she reached for her wallet.

And slipped it in.

Close.

Like something worth keeping.

She didn’t smile.

But she didn’t need to.

The note did it for her.