The apartment was quiet by late afternoon. Curtains fluttered in the open window, letting the warm air in. The kettle clicked off with a soft hiss.

Yuuta sat at the dining table, a sketchpad open before him. He hadn’t drawn in hours, maybe days. His pencil hovered above the page, but no lines came. Just the faint pressure of thought—memories that didn’t exist, images that felt familiar but unreachable.

Sena entered from the kitchen, carrying a bowl of warm miso broth. She had her sleeves rolled up, a small bandage on her wrist from where Hiro had clumsily wrapped a burn earlier.

“I went easy on the salt.” she said, placing the bowl in front of him. “You’ll live.”

Yuuta smiled faintly. “That’s reassuring.”

He looked up at her. Her hair was tied back loosely today, a few strands falling free. She hadn’t said much since the hospital—not cold, not withdrawn. Just quiet, like someone holding a fragile thing in their hands.

“You haven’t drawn anything since we came back.” she said softly.

“I’m trying.” he murmured.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know. But every time I try… I end up sketching the same riverside tree.”

Sena’s expression flickered. “Do you remember it?”

“Not really. But it feels like I was there. With someone.”

She reached out and gently nudged his fingers, grounding him.

“Even if you can’t remember, you’re still here. That’s enough.”

He looked at her—really looked. And the silence between them turned warm.

“I love you, Sena.” he said.

Her eyes widened just slightly. A breath caught. But then, she smiled—not her teasing smile, not the one she wore to comfort others. This one was quiet and open. Something that had waited years to be spoken without fear.

“I know.” she whispered.

She didn’t say me too. She just stood, walked around the table, and leaned against him. Her hand rested over his, still holding the pencil. He let it fall. Their hands stayed together.

Across the house, Hiro cleaned out the old cabinet above the microwave. He pulled out a stack of instant ramen cups and a single envelope with Sena’s handwriting on it: ‘Yuuta’s Meal Plan (Do Not Let Him Cheat).’

He chuckled softly.

Then paused.

He looked toward the hallway where Sena and Yuuta’s laughter echoed faintly from the bedroom. He smiled, just once, and placed the envelope back in the drawer.

No grand speeches. No goodbyes.

Just small choices that said, I’ll stay a little longer.

After a while, he stood up. “I’m gonna step out for a bit. Get some air.”

She nodded.

He walked to the entryway, stretching his arms. Hiro glanced up from the living room, where he was digging through a half-empty cabinet.

“We’re out of soy sauce, and coffee filters, and—honestly—everything else.”

“I’ll go.” Yuuta offered, grabbing his keys. “A walk might help reset my brain.”

“Be my patient.” Hiro grunted.

Yuuta deadpanned and sighed.

He opened the front door.

And paused.

Standing just outside was Shiho.

She wasn’t dressed for drama. Just a hoodie and skirt, slightly wrinkled, hands twisted tightly into the fabric. She looked like she’d been rehearsing a sentence for hours and couldn’t remember where to start.

“Yuuta…” she said, her voice barely audible.

He watched her calmly.

“I’m sor—”

“You left me.” he interrupted, his tone level.

Shiho’s gaze dropped instantly. Sena and Hiro stopped dead in their tracks as their eyes widened with shock.

Yuuta stepped out, past the doorway’s shadow, and took in the afternoon light.

“But now I’m much more than I could’ve ever become.” he added quietly.

Her breath caught.

“And I thank you for it.”

When she looked up, his back was to her—but she saw it anyway: the faint curve of a smile as he walked past her down the hallway toward the stairs.

‘Oh, Yuuta.’ she thought. ‘You’re still the same sweet old Yuuta…’

She stood there, blinking hard, until a voice behind her made her turn.

“Guess you got your answer.” Hiro said.

Sena stood next to him, arms folded, a small, endearing smile on her face.

Then Hiro added, casually: “You’re welcome to work from tomorrow.”

Shiho blinked. “What?”

“We’ve got tight deadlines.” Hiro muttered, already turning back inside. “And you weren’t around. Now we’re behind.”

Sena looked surprised—Shiho more so. Her resignation letter was still folded in her bag, still unsigned. She had expected to hand it in today, maybe say goodbye.

But instead—

“Thank you, Hiro.” she said softly.

He didn’t reply, just waved her off as he disappeared back inside.

Shiho stood in the doorway, the corners of her eyes wet, but her lips lifted into a smile. A quiet, tear-wobbled one. The kind that didn’t ask for forgiveness but carried the relief of being allowed to stay.

The clouds parted slightly overhead. And for a moment, everything held still.

No grand gestures.

Just one small place to return to.

Home.

—end chapter 10