Chapter 14: Peripheral Spaces

‘At the edges of cities—and hearts—something begins to blur. Urban limits. Emotional edges. The spaces we don’t name.’

The day was good today.

Soft sunlight spilled through the curtains, casting gentle patterns across the floor.

Arin stretched her arms lightly before heading to the living room, laptop in hand—ready to spend the day catching up on her research.

She half expected to see Ren still there, maybe dozing off on the couch again, or flipping through one of the books from her shelf like he did before. 

But the space was empty.

The blanket she’d lent him last night was folded neatly on the sofa—edges aligned, not a wrinkle out of place.

She found her phone on the table. A new message blinked on the screen.

「ちょっと出てた。」

(“I went out for a bit”) — Ren

A soft exhale escaped her lips.

“...It’s still early. Where’s he going?” 

She murmured, the corners of her mouth twitching upward.

Setting the phone aside, she opened her laptop and tried to focus on her research outline.

A few lines appeared on the screen—fragmented thoughts, half-formed ideas. Then nothing.

The cursor blinked at her, silent and expectant.

Her mind, however, was somewhere else.

The issues she’d been researching were getting tangled, each leading to more reading, more questions, and fewer answers.

She sighed quietly and closed her eyes for a moment, letting her thoughts settle.

Outside, the sunlight had grown a little brighter.

The faint chorus of birds filtered through the open window, mixing with the low hum of the waking city.

Then—a sound.

A key turning in the door, followed by the soft creak of hinges.

「ただいま。」

(“I'm home.”)

Arin looked up.

Ren stepped in, holding a grocery bag in his hand. 

The late morning light followed him inside, tracing the outline of his figure as he bent slightly to take off his shoes. 

A few strands of hair fell over his forehead.

“You’re back…” 

Arin said, half-relieved.

He glanced up, a small smile tugging at his lips.

「ごめん、下の店にちょっと行ってただけ。」

(“Sorry. I just went to the shop downstairs,”) 

He said, setting the bag onto the counter.

Then, rubbing the back of his neck, he added.

「朝ごはん、食べる？」

(“You want breakfast?”)

Arin blinked, tilting her head. 

“Yeah… sure.”

Ren’s smile deepened slightly. 

「わかった。少し待ってね。」

(“Alright. Give me a few minutes.”)

Arin closed her laptop and stood, curious. She peeked into the grocery bags.

Inside were vegetables, rice, and small sauce packets—everything arranged neatly, as if he’d planned it before he left.

She couldn’t help but smile.

He really had thought it through.

Ren rolled up his sleeves, pulling ingredients from the bags with an easy rhythm.

「簡単なものでいいでしょ？」

(“Just something simple.”) 

He said, half to himself.

Arin stepped closer, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. 

“You need help? ”

He looked up from where he was rinsing vegetables, tilting his head thoughtfully.

「うん。はい、これ。」

(“Sure. Here.”) 

He said, handing her a small cutting board and a piece of carrot. 

「これ、うすく切ってね。」

(“Just slice these thin, okay?”)

Arin nodded, taking the knife with quiet determination.

But the moment she started cutting, her posture looked… off—shoulders stiff, elbows tucked in like she was trying not to make a sound.

Ren blinked, then tried—and failed—to hold back a laugh.

「…ちょ、なにその構え？」

(“...Wait, what’s that stance?”)

Arin paused mid-slice, glancing up. 

“What?”

Ren leaned slightly to the side, grinning.

「手術でも始めるの？」

(“You look like you’re about to perform surgery.”)

He covered his mouth instantly, checking her expression.

Arin just stood there, blinking in confusion, as if trying to process the word.

Ren’s thoughts scrambled. 

「バレてない…よな？」

(‘Did she catch that?.. Maybe not, right?’)

Arin asked slowly.

“What did you say?”

Ren shook his head quickly. 

「な、なんでもない。」

(“N-nothing.”)

Still flustered, he muttered under his breath, smiling awkwardly.

「じゃあ、医者にでもなればよかったのに。」

(“Then maybe you should’ve gone to med school instead.”)

He laughed softly, reaching out to steady the cutting board. 

“はいはい、(alright, alright)—before someone gets hurt, maybe let me handle the knife.”

Arin huffed, handing it over reluctantly.

“I can do it though.”

Ren added with slight amusement.

「たださ、ニンジンの角切りが“現代アート”みたいになるのは避けたいんだ。」

(“I just don’t want to end up with carrot cubes shaped like… modern art.”)

Again, the phrase slipped past her—unfamiliar.

She tilted her head, then brushed it off.

“You’re teasing me?” 

She said, half-glaring. But amusement flickered in her eyes.

“Fine. I’ll… just watch, then.”

「いい考えだね。」

(“Good idea.”) 

He flashed her a teasing smile. 

「代わりに、応援してくれてもいいけど、」

(“I could use some moral support instead.”)

Arin crossed her arms, leaning against the counter as she watched him move—practiced, calm.

He stirred the miso soup gently, the steam curling upward like a quiet sigh. 

The faint scent of broth and dashi filled the air, soft and comforting.

A gentle sizzle followed as he placed the gyoza onto the pan, the sound crisp against the hush of the morning.

It was strange, she thought—how natural this felt.

A few weeks ago, the idea of someone else moving around her kitchen might’ve felt intrusive.

But now, it just felt… right.

Arin found herself smiling again—not because of what he said, but simply from watching him. 

The easy rhythm of his movements, the quiet focus in his face—it felt… peaceful.

Ren glanced at her over his shoulder. 

「できた。食べよ。」

(“It’s done. Let’s eat.”)

Something in his tone—casual, but warm—made her heart skip for a brief second.

She looked away, pretending to check the soup instead, her voice faint. 

“Okay.”

They sat across from each other at the small dining table.

The plates were simple—miso soup steaming faintly beside the freshly pan-fried gyoza, a bowl of rice set neatly on each side.

For a moment, neither spoke.

The morning light had turned mellow, spilling through the curtains in quiet streaks, painting the table in gold.

Arin picked up her chopsticks, testing one of the gyoza.

The crispy edge cracked lightly beneath her bite, the aroma of garlic and soy rising with the steam.

Ren watched her from across the table, chin resting lightly on his hand.

「で？」

(“Well?”) 

He asked, trying to sound casual, but his tone carried a hint of anticipation.

She chewed thoughtfully—too long, on purpose—before replying.

“Mm… it’s edible.”

Ren blinked.

「食べられる…？それだけ？」

 (“Edible? That’s it?”)

Her lips curved faintly, fighting back a smile.

“Well, you can try it yourself."

He stared at her, feigning disbelief. 

“Unbelievable. I make you breakfast, and I get ‘edible.’”

This time, Arin laughed softly—the sound bright and brief, like wind chimes stirring in a quiet room.

“Alright, alright.” 

She said. 

“It’s good. Really good.”

He looked satisfied then, leaning back a little.

「ま、それで十分。」

(“Well then, I’ll take that,”) 

He said with a grin, finally digging into his own bowl.

Arin tilted her head, watching him.

“I don’t know if I should be scared of your English—it’s too clear when you’re trying to make a point.”

Ren nearly choked on his bite, coughing out a laugh. 

「え、なに？」

(“W–what?”)

“Mm,” 

She hummed, eyes glinting with quiet amusement. 

“Or maybe I just prefer your Japanese—the one I can barely hear, but somehow find… pleasing.”

He groaned, dropping his chopsticks with a dramatic sigh.

「なんか、呪いでも唱えてるみたいな言い方だったよ。」

(“You make it sound like I’m whispering curses instead of talking.”)

Arin laughed softly, resting her chin on her palm.

“Maybe you are. I just never catch them.”

Ren’s smile lingered, his gaze softening without him realizing.

For a moment, the teasing faded into something gentler.

A few quiet minutes passed—the clink of chopsticks, the faint hum of the city outside.

It wasn’t awkward anymore. Just… calm.

Her gaze lingered on him a moment longer than she meant to.

The sunlight caught on his hair, softening the sharpness of his expression—making him look almost at ease, almost content.

Ren noticed her gaze then, and smiled back, quiet and genuine.

Neither of them said anything after that.

They didn’t need to.

The silence between them was full—warm, steady, and alive.

When the meal ended, Ren gathered the empty bowls, stacking them neatly.

「皿洗いは私がやるよ。」

(“I’ll do the dishes.”) 

He said, already standing before Arin could protest.

She blinked, half-rising from her seat. 

“Ah— I can—”

He waved her off with a grin. 

「いいの。朝ごはん作ったでしょ？ その“応援”付きで。今日はそれで十分働いた。」

(“Nope. You cooked breakfast with your moral support. That’s enough labor for today.”)

Arin narrowed her eyes slightly, catching the tease. 

“Moral support, huh?”

“Mm.” 

He nodded solemnly. 

「効果あったでしょ？ 食べられるものになったんだから。」

(“Very effective. The food turned out edible, didn’t it?”)

Her mouth twitched, fighting back a smile. 

“You really don’t let that go, do you.”

He chuckled and turned toward the sink, rolling up his sleeves. 

The faint sound of running water and clinking dishes filled the space—steady, rhythmic.

Arin leaned back in her chair, watching him for a moment.

It was strange—how natural this felt. 

How quiet mornings like this, once filled with solitude, now carried the soft sound of someone else moving around her space.

Then Ren glanced over his shoulder, nodding toward the laptop still on the table.

「ほら、」

(“Go on,”) 

He said, nudging lightly with his elbow. 

「そのまま仕事続けて。こっちは任せて。」

(“Keep working. I’ll handle this.”)

Arin hesitated, then smiled faintly. 

“You sure?”

He nodded, eyes on the dishes again. 

「うん。君が調べものの合間に片づけまでしたら、さすがに悪い気がするよ。」

(“Yeah. I’ll feel bad if you start researching and clean up after me.”)

She let out a small breath—half amusement, half warmth.

“Alright then. Don’t break anything.”

「約束はできないけどね。」

(“No promises tho.”) 

He murmured, but the curve at his lips said otherwise.

Arin opened her laptop, the familiar glow of the screen reflecting faintly in her eyes.

Her notes filled the display—lines of text, graphs, and citations that had been sitting untouched since last night.

She scrolled to a section marked — ‘Urban Density and Social Boundaries.’

The cursor blinked against the title, patient, expectant.

She exhaled, straightening her posture.

“Alright… let’s try this again,” 

She murmured under her breath.

Her research focused on how Japan’s urban centers—Tokyo, Osaka, Nagoya—continued to expand outward while hollowing inward.

The boundaries between city and suburb blurred more each year, forming what she described as “invisible edges”—lines not drawn by maps, but by routine, income, and distance.

Population density increased, but communities thinned.

People lived closer, yet drifted further.

In some areas, the population aged faster than infrastructure could adapt; 

In others, young workers flooded in and vanished again, leaving only movement — no roots.

Her fingers tapped against the keys in a slow rhythm, thoughts forming.

“The city stretches not only in space, but in silence—where lives intersect without truly meeting.”

She paused, reading the line back.

It was too poetic, but somehow it felt right.

From the kitchen, the soft sound of water running and dishes clinking broke through her concentration.

Ren’s quiet humming threaded through it all—something simple, almost tuneless.

Her gaze flickered up briefly.

He was still there, sleeves rolled up, focused on cleaning, sunlight glinting faintly through the steam.

Arin smiled faintly to herself.

“Boundaries and distance.” 

She whispered.

In the academic sense—and maybe, not entirely.

She returned to typing, her words flowing a little easier now.