The afternoon rush was always a little noisy—soft chimes of the bell, footsteps tapping on the floor, the occasional laugh of a customer finding their favorite bread still on the rack.

Haruka was wiping down a table near the window when it happened.

A woman, probably in her forties, well-dressed and holding a bag of melon pans, paused by the register, smiling at Kaito. Then, her gaze shifted to Haruka.

"That girl is very polite," the woman said lightly, not realizing Haruka could hear. "Quiet, but kind. It’s rare to see that kind of care these days."

Haruka froze mid-wipe. Her heart skipped. Her first instinct was to deny it—to shrink, to pretend she hadn’t heard anything at all.

Kaito only nodded, his expression unreadable. But the way his eyes followed Haruka afterward was different. Like something subtle had changed.

She kept cleaning, pretending her cheeks weren’t burning.

Later, when the rush had died down and she was restocking the napkins, she found a new sticky note tucked under the edge of the tray.

"I like your smile. But don’t force it, okay? It’ll show up on its own."

Haruka stared at it for a long time.

And for once, the words didn’t feel like pressure.

They felt like permission.

And just like that—

She smiled.

Not wide. Not bright.

But honest.

And this time, it was for the world to see.