The alarm buzzed softly at 7:03 a.m., but Yuki was already awake, staring up at the ceiling. The fan rotated lazily overhead, doing little to help the soft Tokyo heat that still clung to her even here — hundreds of miles from Shirokane.

This wasn’t home anymore.

She sat up slowly, the sheets clinging to her thighs, and looked around her still half-unpacked dorm room. Room 310 was smaller than she expected. Beige walls. One narrow desk. A plastic dresser with a dent in the bottom drawer. But she’d made it livable. Cute throw pillows lined her bed, and her pastel headbands were laid out in a neat little row on the vanity. A plush pink bunny sat in the corner like a silent guardian.

She ran her fingers through her long, dark brown hair — the ends frosted with pale white highlights that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. It had been her signature look since high school. Elegant. Mysterious. Fucking impossible to maintain.

She stood in front of the mirror, adjusting her outfit: a light pink cropped top that hugged her soft curves, and a clean white pleated mini skirt that swished with each little turn. She wore it short — shorter than regulation back in her high school, but she didn’t care anymore. No dress codes. No teachers breathing down her neck. She laced up her white-and-pink sneakers and gave herself one last glance in the mirror.

“You got this,” she whispered. “Be sweet. Be brave. And don’t fall on your face.”

She grabbed her crossbody purse, spritzed her favorite strawberry perfume behind her ears, and headed out into the bright morning light.

Outside, the air felt different. Crisper. Louder. This city wasn’t Shirokane — the people didn’t move with quiet grace; they pushed forward like they had somewhere to be five minutes ago. The buildings were older, a little worn, and the trees lining the sidewalks had more dirt on their trunks than she was used to seeing.

But it was still beautiful in its own way.

She strolled past students chatting on benches, a group of guys laughing near the bike rack, and a bored-looking girl vaping under a tree. Her heart was pounding like a drumline in her chest. She hadn’t felt this out of place since… well, ever.

But then she saw it.

Starbucks. Halle-fucking-lujah.

Yuki stepped inside, breathing in the rich aroma of espresso, sugar, and bad decisions. This place felt like a pocket of home.

“Venti French vanilla affogato,” she said softly, smiling at the barista like it was muscle memory.

The barista nodded, eyeing her up and down in that way that said he hadn’t seen many girls like her in this town.

Whatever. Let him look.

She waited as the espresso machine hissed and steamed, watching the shot swirl into the soft vanilla ice cream. When it was ready, she paid, took a sip, and closed her eyes for just a second.

Perfect.

Outside, she strolled through campus gates that looked ancient compared to Tokyo’s sleek metal and glass institutions. A tall stone clocktower loomed ahead. Students swarmed in every direction like ants. The university was alive in a way that made her skin tingle.

She looked down at her phone to double-check the map—

And then—bam.

The coffee jolted out of her hands, splashing all over the pavement. Her bag slipped off her shoulder and hit the ground with a thud. She stumbled back, her balance barely saved by the squeak of her sneakers.

“Shit! Fuck—watch where you’re going!” a deep voice barked.

Yuki blinked up, flustered.

The guy in front of her was tall — really tall — with broad shoulders, tanned skin, and messy hair that fell perfectly into place like he didn’t try at all. A soccer duffel hung off one arm. His hoodie was half-zipped, revealing a peek of a hard chest beneath. He looked like a walking ad for fuckboy apparel.

Yuki dropped to her knees and started gathering her things. “Oh my god — I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you—I wasn’t looking, I—shit, I didn’t mean to spill—”

He huffed, clearly annoyed, crouching to grab a scattered paper or two. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered, grabbing his earbuds off the ground.

Yuki handed him his thermos with both hands. “Here,” she said, cheeks flushed. “I hope it didn’t crack—”

He took it from her without a word, glancing down at her.

That’s when he saw her properly.

Wide, glimmering eyes. Long lashes. A delicate collarbone visible beneath the dip of her top. And that smile — sweet, soft, like she didn’t even know what effect she had on people.

Yuki tilted her head. “Did I… break anything?”

He blinked once.

“No. Just… try walking straight next time.”

There was a pause. And then she laughed — soft and musical.

“I’ll do my best,” she said, brushing herself off as she stood.

She looked at him again — this brooding, pissed-off jock with stupidly nice lips and eyes like trouble.

“Have a good morning, okay?” she said with a small wave.

He stared at her, mouth slightly open like he was going to say something — but didn’t. Instead, he turned and walked off without another word.

Yuki watched him disappear into the crowd.

“Kind of an asshole,” she muttered under her breath. “But damn, he’s hot.”

She grabbed what was left of her drink, shook it, and sighed.

Well. That was one hell of a meet-cute.

To be continued...