Shukumei

Yuki boards a bus to nowhere, escaping the life she’s too afraid to change. Then, a stranger sits beside her—easygoing, unshaken—asking the one question she’s been avoiding: What do you really want? It’s just a conversation, fleeting and insignificant. Or at least, that’s what she thinks—until she realizes some encounters don’t just pass by. They rewrite everything.

Disclaimer: The ideas, plots, sequencing, and scenes in this story are entirely my own creations. However, my trusty companion, ChatGPT, assisted in refining and paraphrasing the wording, also in generating illustration for the featured image. This narrative draws inspiration from the song “Shukumei” by Official HIGE DANDism.

Chapter 1: A Bus to Nowhere

The bus hums steadily as it moves through the quiet streets, the world outside blurring past in streaks of light and shadow.

Yuki doesn’t know where she’s going.

That’s the point.

Some nights, the weight of it all feels too much—work, exhaustion, the quiet, nagging feeling that she’s wasting time on a life she doesn’t want. The office, her apartment, the office again. Emails she doesn’t care about. Meetings that don’t matter. And through it all, the same empty reassurances.

“You’re doing great. Just hang in there. Do your best.“

Words that are supposed to be encouraging. But when they come from people who don’t know what it’s like to feel stuck, they mean nothing.

So tonight, she got on the first bus she saw.

Didn’t check the route. Didn’t care. She just wanted to move.

Then, someone drops into the seat beside her.

Not hesitantly, like most strangers would. He sits with ease, like the world is one big conversation he’s already part of.

“Long day?”

Yuki doesn’t respond right away.

She doesn’t owe this stranger anything.

But for some reason, she answers.

“…Something like that.”

He stretches his legs out. “You don’t look like you’re heading home.”

A small scoff escapes her.

“I don’t know where I’m heading.”

He raises an eyebrow. “That’s new. Most people at least have a destination in mind.”

Yuki watches the city blur past her window. “Not me.”

The words come out quieter than she expected.

“Ah.” He nods, like that makes perfect sense. “So you’re just escaping?”

She turns to look at him for the first time. He’s young, maybe her age, with easygoing eyes that don’t pry too much.

“…Yeah. Maybe.”

“Work?”

Yuki hesitates.

Normally, she wouldn’t talk about this. She wouldn’t tell a stranger on a bus about the way her job drains her, about how she wakes up exhausted just to push through another meaningless day. But something about this moment—this aimless ride to nowhere, this boy who expects nothing from her—makes it easier.

So she exhales.

“I hate it,” she admits. “I hate how every day feels the same. I hate how I’m always tired, but never feel like I’ve done anything that matters.”

The words feel too honest. A part of her wants to take them back.

But he just tilts his head, thoughtful.

“So why not quit?”

A humorless laugh.

“If only it were that simple.”

“Why not?”

Yuki shakes her head. “It’s stable. It pays the bills. It’s what I’m supposed to do.”

A pause.

Then, he asks, “And what do you want to do?”

Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag.

It’s a simple question. One she’s asked herself too many times.

“…Write.”

She doesn’t know why she says it.

Maybe because it’s been sitting on her chest for so long that it aches. Maybe because saying it out loud makes it feel real.

He doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t tell her it’s unrealistic.

Instead, he nods.

“Then why aren’t you?”

Her throat tightens.

“Because wanting something and actually doing it are two different things.”

He leans forward, watching the city lights flicker past.

“You know, people worry too much about ‘supposed to.’ But life’s too short for that, isn’t it?”

She scoffs. “Easy for you to say.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He grins. “But you know what? It’s okay.”

And that’s when she tenses.

Not in the way people usually do when they’re uncomfortable. But in the way someone does when they’ve been hurt by those words too many times.

“Don’t say that.”

He blinks. “Say what?”

“It’s okay.” Her voice is sharper than she intends. “I’m so tired of hearing that. ‘It’s okay.’ ‘Do your best.’ Like those words are supposed to fix everything.”

For a moment, he just watches her.

Then, he leans back, stretching his arms behind his head.

“Okay, then I won’t say it.”

She glances at him.

“But if you ever feel like stopping—if you ever feel like giving up on writing just because you’re scared or stuck… then I hope someone tells you to do your best and really means it.”

Something in his voice makes her chest tighten.

“Because it’s not about fixing everything.” His voice is quieter now, softer. “It’s just… knowing someone believes in you.”

She looks down at her hands. The bus slows to a stop.

“This is me.”

He stands, shoving his hands into his pockets, and grins down at her one last time.

“Good luck, writer.”

Then he’s gone.

The doors hiss shut. Yuki stares at the empty seat beside her, the warmth of his words lingering.

And for the first time in a long time, she wonders if she really could do it.

—

The night air is cool when Taku steps off the bus, but he doesn’t feel the cold.

His hands are in his pockets, his feet moving without much thought. But his mind lingers on the girl he left behind.

She reminded him of a flickering streetlight.

Not broken. Not gone. But tired.

He’s seen people like her before—people waiting. Not for something big, not for some miracle to change their lives. Just for something to make them feel like they can move forward.

People think the ones who shine are the ones who have it all figured out. But he’s always believed it’s the ones still searching that have the brightest light. Even if they don’t see it in themselves.

She probably thinks she’s just another person caught in the cycle of everyday life.

But even the smallest spark has the power to burn through the dark.

Maybe she’ll forget this conversation tomorrow.

Maybe she won’t even remember his face.

Maybe months from now, years from now, they’ll pass each other on the street and not recognize each other.

But for now, for this one fleeting moment, he hopes she gets off that bus someday and writes.

Because some encounters are meant to be brief.

And some…Some are the kind that unfold into something more.

Something neither of them expect.

Chapter 2: A Story That Exists

Three months ago, she wouldn’t have believed this moment would happen.

Yuki sits in a small café, hands wrapped around a warm cup of black coffee. The bitter aroma lingers in the air, mixing with the faint hum of conversation around her. Outside, the city moves as it always does—steady, indifferent.

But something inside her is different.

She stares at the open document on her laptop, the cursor blinking at the end of a sentence. The last sentence.

She finished it.

Her first completed story.

The realization should feel bigger. She should feel victorious, proud, something. But all she feels is… quiet. Not the kind of emptiness that used to weigh on her, but a quiet that feels new. Unfamiliar.

She lifts the cup to her lips, taking a slow sip.

I actually finished something.

Three months ago, she wouldn’t have believed it.

Three months ago, she was still caught in the same endless loop—wake up, work, sleep, repeat.

Three months ago, she took a bus to nowhere.

And met him.

She never got his name. Never saw him again.

But she remembers the way he spoke, like life wasn’t something to be figured out, just lived. How he sat next to her with such ease, like it was the most natural thing in the world. How he told her, without hesitation, Good luck, writer.

She hadn’t even believed in herself back then.

But somehow, those words had lingered.

Yuki sets her cup down, absently tracing the rim with her fingertip.

It wasn’t like meeting him changed her whole life.

She still wakes up tired. Still pushes through long hours at work. Still feels the pull of uncertainty whenever she thinks about the future.

But the difference is—she wrote.

And for the first time in a long time, she finished something.

That changes everything.

She exhales softly, tilting her head as she looks at the screen.

The document is still untitled.

She should probably change that.

Her fingers hover over the keyboard. But instead of typing, she wonders—

What was his story?

She never asked. She never thought to.

And maybe she never will know.

But some moments, even the fleeting ones, leave a mark.

And maybe this was one of them.

Chapter 3: Another Chance Meeting

The energy from the gig still thrums through Taku’s veins.

The stage lights have dimmed, but the afterglow lingers—the heat of the crowd, the pulse of the bass, the way the music filled the space until nothing else existed.

It’s the kind of night that makes him feel invincible. Like something is about to happen.

And then, in the middle of the dispersing crowd, he sees her.

At first, he thinks he’s imagining it.

The girl from the bus.

She’s standing near the back, eyes locked onto him, her expression caught between awe and disbelief.

Taku barely has time to process before he’s moving—feet carrying him off the stage, through the sea of people, straight toward her.

By the time he reaches her, she’s already speaking.

“I finished a story.”

It’s the first thing she says. Not hey, not I didn’t think I’d see you again.

Just—I finished a story.

Something about that makes his chest tighten.

“Yeah?” His lips curve into a grin. “So you are a writer.”

Her fingers twitch slightly against the strap of her bag. “I—yeah. I guess I am.”

She believes it now.

Before, when she said it, there had been hesitation. A quiet uncertainty, like the words weren’t really hers to claim.

But now, she owns them.

And she came here just to tell him.

Taku exhales, running a hand through his damp hair. “That’s amazing.” He means it.

“I just—” She hesitates, then shakes her head. “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For—” she gestures vaguely, struggling to put it into words. “That night. That conversation.”

Ah.

Taku watches her carefully. There’s something different about her now. She’s still quiet, still careful with her words. But something has shifted.

She’s no longer just waiting.

And that—knowing he had even the smallest part in it—is the best feeling in the world.

But before he can say anything else, a voice cuts through the noise.

“Yuki, let’s go!”

Her friend. A girl with short hair, waiting near the entrance.

And just like that, it happens.

Her name.

Yuki.

Taku barely has time to register it before she steps back.

“You should go,” she says, nodding toward the backstage doors.

Their manager is calling him. The talent scout is watching.

He hesitates.

The words are right there—Wait. Stay. Just a little longer.

But this moment is already slipping through his fingers.

So he just nods. “Yeah.”

And Yuki—now Yuki, not just the girl from the bus—turns and walks away.

Taku doesn’t move right away.

He watches as she disappears into the crowd, swallowed by the city before he can call her back.

By the time he reaches the street outside, she’s already gone.

He exhales sharply, tilting his head up at the night sky.

Yuki.

The name rolls around in his mind, unfamiliar and yet—somehow—not.

It feels like he knows her.

And at the same time, she’s a complete stranger.

Taku clenches his jaw, looking at the empty space where she had been.

He’ll find her again.

Some things are too strange to be coincidences.

And some stories aren’t over just yet.

Chapter 4: His Name is Taku

She never meant to be here.

The flashing lights, the packed crowd, the pulse of the bass shaking through the floor—this was all by chance.

But live gigs? That was different.

She had always loved music.

There was something about watching a band play live—the rawness, the imperfections, the way the sound filled every inch of space and made the world feel bigger. When Mika had asked her to come, going on and on about how this was the band she had been obsessed with for over a year, Yuki didn’t need much convincing.

She had expected to enjoy the music.

She hadn’t expected him.

At first, she thought she was imagining it.

But then came the introductions, the moment the lead singer hyped up each member.

“And on bass—Taku!”

And just like that, she knew.

Taku.

The boy from the bus.

Her heart stuttered.

Beside her, Mika practically screamed. “Oh my god, Taku is insane tonight! Yuki, you have to admit, he’s unreal on bass.”

But Yuki barely heard her.

Because she wasn’t seeing Taku, the bassist.

She was seeing Taku, the boy who had told her to write.

The boy who had said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like he had known she could do it, even when she hadn’t.

For months, she had wondered about him. Thought about that fleeting conversation, the way his words had lingered long after he had disappeared into the night.

And now, here he was.

Not a memory. Not some fleeting thought.

Real.

And right in front of her.

She barely had time to process it before the set ended.

The applause was still ringing in her ears when he saw her.

And he moved first.

He cut through the thinning crowd, walking straight toward her, and for the first time in a long time, Yuki had no idea what to say.

Then suddenly, it came out.

“I finished a story.”

Not hey, not I can’t believe it’s you.

Just—I finished a story.

Because somehow, that mattered more than anything else.

Taku blinked, surprised, before a slow grin spread across his face.

“Yeah?” His voice was breathless, not from exhaustion but something else. “So you are a writer.”

“I—yeah.” She swallowed. “I guess I am.”

For the first time, she really felt it.

His expression changed slightly, like he could tell. Like he knew something had shifted in her.

And she wanted to say more.

She wanted to ask him everything. About his music, about what he had been chasing that night, about whether he had ever once thought about that conversation the way she had.

But before she could, someone called out—

“Taku!”

His bandmate, waving him over toward the backstage doors.

She could see it then. The urgency. The opportunity. Something big was happening for him tonight.

And then, almost at the same time—

“Yuki, let’s go!”

Mika’s voice, cutting through the noise.

Yuki felt herself still.

The moment was slipping.

The words she wanted to say stuck in her throat.

So instead, she took a breath and met his eyes.

“Thank you.”

Taku exhaled, running a hand through his damp hair. “That’s amazing,” he said, voice warm, sincere.

“I just—” Yuki hesitated, then shook her head. “I wanted to thank you.”

“For what?”

“For—” she gestured vaguely, struggling to put it into words. “That night. That conversation.”

His gaze lingered on her, thoughtful. Something shifted between them.

But the moment was already slipping away.

Taku’s name was being called again. The weight of something important pulling at him.

And Yuki—

She glanced toward the stage.

“You should go,” she said.

For a second, she thought he might argue.

But then, just like before, he nodded. “Yeah.”

A small pause.

She didn’t wait for him to leave.

Instead, she turned first.

She didn’t look back.

And by the time she stepped into the night air, the weight of the music still humming in her chest, she wondered—

Will I ever see him again?

Maybe not.

Maybe this was it.

But then again, she had thought that the first time, too.

And somehow, the universe had brought them back to each other.

Maybe, just maybe—

It wasn’t finished yet.

Chapter 5: Getting to Know Him From Afar

The first time Yuki searches for him, she tells herself it’s just curiosity.

It’s not like she’s looking for something.

It’s just—she knows his name now. Knows the band. Knows that Mika, of all people, probably has an entire archive of facts about him at her fingertips.

So, really, it’s just… natural to be curious. Right?

That’s what she tells herself as she types his name into the search bar.

Taku – Bassist – KNOCKBACK

And just like that, he isn’t just the boy from the bus.

He’s Taku, the bassist of an up-and-coming band. A musician who’s been performing for years, playing small venues, building something from the ground up. There are videos, interviews, photos of him on stage—grinning, lost in the music, his fingers gliding over his bass like it’s an extension of himself.

Yuki watches one of the live clips, earbuds in, heart hammering for reasons she doesn’t want to examine too closely.

The music is good. No, not just good—it’s real, raw in a way that makes her feel something deep in her chest. The kind of sound that lingers.

She listens again.

And again.

By the time she looks at the clock, it’s past midnight.

She sighs, shutting the laptop.

Mika would love this.

And sure enough, the next day, when she casually brings up the band, Mika practically explodes.

“Oh my god, Yuki, finally! I’ve been trying to get you into them for months.” Mika grabs her wrist dramatically. “Tell me everything. Which song hooked you? Was it Running Blind? Gravity? Oh, wait, don’t tell me—was it Falling Up? That bassline is insane.”

Yuki presses her lips together, trying not to laugh.

“…All of them?”

Mika gasps like it’s the greatest betrayal and a victory at the same time. “I knew it. I knew you had good taste. And you’ve already seen them live! This is fate.”

Fate.

Yuki doesn’t say anything to that.

Because she doesn’t know what she believes.

But she does know that a week later, when Mika invites her to another gig, she says yes without hesitation.

And then another.

And another.

She tells herself it’s just because she likes the music now. That it has nothing to do with him.

But that’s a lie, and she knows it.

Because every time she goes, she finds herself scanning the stage for him.

Taku, lost in the music, moving with a kind of ease that makes her wonder if he’s ever felt stuck in anything.

He plays like nothing can touch him. Like he’s free.

And she watches.

Listens.

Learns him from a distance.

Mika teases her. “You know, you could just go up to him.”

Yuki shakes her head. “I said what I needed to say.”

Mika groans. “Yeah, but that was months ago. Don’t you at least wonder if he remembers you?”

Of course she wonders.

But she also knows that Taku’s world moves fast.

Music, gigs, a rising career—she has no idea where she fits in any of that.

And more than anything, she doesn’t want to chase him.

She doesn’t want to be the girl who lingers in someone’s life without knowing if she’s wanted there.

So she stays quiet.

And watches from afar.

Because maybe, for now, that’s enough.

Chapter 6: A Small Favor

Yuki doesn’t believe in fate.

At least, that’s what she tells herself.

Because really, what are the chances?

What are the odds that she’d be standing here, in this random café, at this exact moment, watching her perfectly normal afternoon turn into a minor disaster?

The register screen flashes an error message. The cashier looks apologetic.

“Sorry, our system just went offline. We can only take cash right now.”

Yuki blinks.

Cash.

The one thing she doesn’t have.

Her phone is in her hand, her card already out, but neither are useful now.

Perfect.

She exhales, pressing her lips together, running through her options.

She could leave. But she’s already placed her order, and there’s a line behind her.

She could ask Mika to send her cash, but Mika isn’t here.

She could—

“I’ve got it.”

The voice comes from behind her.

Casual. Familiar.

And when she turns, she feels the air catch in her throat.

Taku.

Of course.

Because of course it’s him.

She hasn’t spoken to him since that night at the gig. Hasn’t once reached out, despite Mika’s teasing. And yet, here he is, standing behind her like this is nothing. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He’s wearing a hoodie and ripped jeans, bass case slung over one shoulder. His hair is slightly damp, like he just came from rehearsal, and there’s a hint of amusement in his gaze.

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine.” He already has his wallet out, passing cash to the cashier before she can finish the sentence. “Happens to the best of us.”

The transaction is over in seconds.

Too fast for her to process.

The receipt is crumpled in his hand, his drink order already being called.

And Yuki—

She feels completely and utterly thrown.

“…Thanks,” she says, voice quieter than she intends.

Taku just shrugs, as if this moment is already passing.

But then—

“It’s been a while, Writer.”

Her breath stutters.

He remembers.

And somehow, that’s what undoes her the most.

—

They end up at a corner table, two cups of coffee between them.

“I can’t believe you drink it black too,” Taku says, inspecting his cup like it’s a rare specimen. “Most people drown it in sugar.”

Yuki arches an eyebrow. “You were expecting caramel syrup or something?”

“I don’t know, you just have that…” He gestures vaguely. “Responsible office-worker energy.”

She snorts. “So because I have a job, I must like sweet coffee?”

“I’m just saying, it fits.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint you.” She lifts her cup slightly. “No sugar. No milk. Just the real thing.”

Taku grins, mirroring her movement before taking a slow sip. “Respect.”

For a moment, there’s silence. Not awkward, just the kind that settles easily.

Then, casually, he asks, “So where’d you go after the last time?”

Yuki pauses. “What do you mean?”

“At the gig. You disappeared.”

“I could say the same about you,” she counters. “You had a whole moment happening backstage.”

Taku laughs under his breath. “Yeah, I guess.” He sets his cup down, tilting his head slightly. “So? Any more stories?”

She hesitates.

Then, almost reluctantly, she admits, “A few.”

Taku’s eyes light up. “That’s what I like to hear.”

Yuki exhales, shifting slightly in her seat. “And you?”

“What about me?”

She presses her lips together, then finally says it.

“I… started listening to your music.”

The moment the words are out, she regrets it.

She doesn’t know why—it’s not like it’s a big deal. But something about saying it out loud makes her feel exposed. Like she’s admitting to something more.

Taku blinks. Then, slowly, his lips curve into something unreadable.

“Oh?”

Yuki fights the urge to sink into her chair. “My friend made me,” she adds quickly.

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s been a fan for years, you know. She talks about you guys constantly.”

“Yeah, sure.” He’s grinning now.

Yuki scowls, looking away. “Forget it.”

“No, no, I’m flattered,” he says, laughing. “Truly.”

She sighs. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“You really shouldn’t have,” he teases. “Now I’ve got all the power.”

Yuki groans.

But there’s no real irritation behind it.

Because, strangely, the conversation feels easy. Effortless.

Like they’ve done this a hundred times before.

They slip into an easy rhythm, talking about music, lyrics, and their favorite artists. She mentions that she’s always loved jazz and rock, and he lights up.

“No wonder you like our band,” he says. “We pull from both.”

She shrugs. “It makes sense now.”

Taku drums his fingers on the table, thoughtful. “So which song is your favorite?”

Yuki hesitates.

Then, quieter, she says, “Falling Up.”

Taku stills. Just for a second.

And then—

“You really are a fan.”

Yuki doesn’t respond.

Because Falling Up isn’t just any song.

It’s the one she’s listened to the most. The one she’s written to. The one that, for reasons she doesn’t want to admit, reminds her of him.

Taku watches her, something unreadable flickering in his gaze.

But he doesn’t press.

Instead, he just leans back, sipping his coffee, and lets the silence settle again.

And for the first time, Yuki thinks—

Maybe this isn’t chance.

Maybe this is something else entirely.

Chapter 7: Almost, Again

The air in the venue is thick with energy, the kind that lingers even after the last note has faded. The crowd is still buzzing, voices overlapping, conversations filled with excitement and adrenaline.

Yuki stands near the back, her pulse still thrumming in time with the music.

It never gets old.

She’s been to enough of their gigs now to know the setlist by heart, to anticipate the way Taku moves on stage, and how his basslines ground the entire performance.

But this time feels different.

Because this time, she almost lets herself believe she belongs here.

She exhales, gripping the strap of her bag as she watches the stage crew dismantle the equipment.

For a moment, she considers it.

Going up to him.

Saying hey.

Picking up where they left off at the café, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

But then she sees them.

The line of girls waiting near the backstage entrance, their excitement palpable, eyes bright with anticipation.

Waiting for him.

Of course.

Why wouldn’t they be?

Taku isn’t just Taku. He’s Taku, the bassist of KNOCKBACK, rising star, someone people actually look up to, someone people chase after.

And Yuki—

She isn’t sure where she fits in that equation.

So instead of moving forward, she steps back.

And then another step.

And then she’s gone.

She slips out of the venue before she has the chance to change her mind.

And as she walks away, she tells herself it’s fine.

She’s already said what she needed to say, right?

Right.

—

The post-show high still hums in his veins as he steps offstage.

The energy, the sweat, the way the music takes over—it’s his favorite part of all of this.

But even as Taku moves backstage, surrounded by his bandmates, a part of his mind is elsewhere.

He thinks he saw her.

At the back.

Just for a second.

But when he looked again—

Gone.

Taku sighs, running a hand through his damp hair.

He’s been kicking himself for weeks for not asking for her number.

It’s stupid, really. He’s not the type to hesitate, not the type to overthink things. But with her, it just… slipped his mind.

Because when they talk, it never feels like meeting someone new.

It feels like remembering someone he’s always known.

So natural, so effortless, that it didn’t even occur to him—

She’s basically a stranger.

And now, for the second time, she’s disappeared before he could catch her.

Taku exhales sharply, shaking his head.

He needs to find her again.

Before the universe decides she’s gone for good.

Chapter 8: Searching for a Ghost

It’s been months.

Months since Taku last saw her. Months since that fleeting conversation at the café. Months since he thought he caught a glimpse of her at a gig, only to turn around and find nothing.

And yet, she lingers.

In the back of his mind, in the quiet spaces between songs, in the moments when he isn’t thinking about anything in particular—there she is.

Yuki.

Except, he doesn’t even know if that’s really her name.

And that’s the problem.

Because no matter how many times he searches online, all he finds are endless names, endless profiles, none of them her.

She’s a ghost in his memory. Real, but just out of reach.

Then, one night, he remembers.

That website.

The one she said she sometimes posts her stories on.

Taku doesn’t hesitate. He pulls up the site, scrolling through pages and pages of usernames. His eyes scan over words that blur together, looking for something—anything—that feels familiar.

Then he sees it.

Not “Yuki.”

But something else.

A name taken from one of their songs.

His heartbeat kicks up.

He clicks.

And there it is.

The story isn’t about them, not exactly.

But it’s close.

A girl who keeps meeting a boy by chance. A girl who lingers, never stepping forward, never letting herself be found. And a boy who never learns her name.

Taku stares at the screen, fingers tightening into a fist.

So this is what she’s been thinking.

This is how she sees their story.

His chest tightens as he reads the last lines—the girl watches from afar, and that is enough.

No.

It’s not enough.

It’s not enough for him.

She doesn’t see it.

She doesn’t know that he’s been searching too.

That he’s been looking so hard, and still, she keeps slipping away.

His jaw clenches, and before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s reaching for his notebook.

The words come fast, unfiltered.

A song.

For her.

A response to the story she doesn’t know he’s read.

A call for her to stop lingering.

To come forward.

Because the boy is searching, but he can’t find her—

And if she doesn’t step into the light, he never will.

Chapter 9: The Song

The notification pops up on her phone just as she’s about to set it down for the night.

KNOCKBACK – “Falling Through” Official MV

Her heart skips.

They dropped a new song?

That’s… strange.

Usually, their releases come with teasers, hype, countdowns. Mika would have been screaming about it all week. But this—this just appeared, without warning.

Curious, Yuki clicks the link.

The video loads, and immediately, she knows this isn’t like their usual songs.

No flashy visuals. No band performance.

Just an intimate acoustic setting—warm lighting, a quiet café atmosphere.

And in the center, Taku.

Not just playing bass.

Singing.

Her breath catches.

It’s just him and Shintarou, the guitarist, stripped down and raw in a way that feels almost too personal.

The comments section is already blowing up.

> wait is this taku singing???

this feels SO personal, who broke his heart

why does this song sound like a confession

why do i feel like im intruding on something private

Yuki swallows, pressing her earbuds in.

Then she listens.

At first, it’s just Taku’s voice—low, rough around the edges, filled with something quiet but aching.

Then the lyrics hit her.

A café table, the same old seat

But you were never there again

I searched for names without faces

Pages of stories, all left unfinished

Her grip tightens on her phone.

Waiting in places you used to go

Thinking maybe you’d turn around

But you only ever lingered

And I never learned your name

A rush of emotion floods her chest.

Is this… about her?

No. That’s impossible.

Isn’t it?

She keeps listening.

There’s a shift in the chorus—an urgency, a quiet desperation beneath the melody.

Don’t stay in the background

Don’t just watch me from afar

If you won’t step into the light

Then how am I supposed to find you?

It’s too much.

The café. The searching. The lingering. The words that feel like an answer to the very story she wrote.

The very story she thought no one had read.

Yuki stares at the screen, her pulse pounding.

Taku doesn’t know.

Does he?

She exhales shakily, trying to convince herself that this is just another coincidence.

But she doesn’t believe it.

Because if she had written a song in response to her own story—

It would sound exactly like this.

Chapter 10: If She’s Listening

The moment the song goes live, Taku exhales and leans back against the worn-out couch in their rehearsal space.

It’s out there now.

Nothing left to change, nothing left to tweak.

Just his voice, stripped bare, floating through speakers and screens—reaching whoever it’s meant to reach.

Maybe her.

Hopefully her.

Shintarou claps a hand on his shoulder, grinning. “Man, I don’t think you’ve ever looked this wrecked after a song release.”

Taku huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. This one’s… different.”

That much, at least, is obvious.

Their usual tracks are high-energy, meant to shake the crowd, make them move. But this—this is quiet. Unpolished. Personal.

The kind of song that lingers.

And his bandmates knew it from the start.

“You never actually told us the story behind this one,” Ryou, their drummer, says, tossing a drumstick between his fingers. “You just showed up one day with half the lyrics written and that look in your eyes.”

Taku scoffs. “What look?”

Shintarou smirks. “Like you’d been chasing something you couldn’t catch.”

Taku has no answer to that.

Because it’s true.

For months, he’s been looking. Scanning crowds, searching online, lingering too long in places he thought she might be.

But Yuki—

She’s a ghost, slipping away before he can ever get too close.

So he wrote it down instead.

A song for the girl who lingers. A song for the boy who keeps searching. A song for the space between them, the distance neither of them seem willing to cross.

Shintarou had suggested they keep it raw.

“It’s already perfect,” he had said. “Just you and me, man. Let them feel it.”

Taku had agreed. Because this wasn’t a song that needed layers of production. It wasn’t meant to fill stadiums.

It was meant to reach someone.

And if Yuki hears it—if she listens and understands—

Maybe that would be enough.

He doesn’t know if they’ll meet again.

Doesn’t know if fate will bother pulling their strings one more time.

But if she’s out there, if she’s listening—

He hopes she knows.

He’s still looking.

Chapter 11: Waiting in the Quiet

The café door opens, and Yuki’s breath catches.

But it’s not him.

It never is.

She exhales, staring down at her coffee, fingers tightening slightly around the ceramic cup.

It’s been two months since the song was released. Two months since she first heard those lyrics, since they lodged themselves somewhere deep in her chest.

Two months, and she still hasn’t figured out what to do.

At first, she thought it was just a coincidence. A song couldn’t possibly be meant for her, right? But then the lyrics kept replaying in her mind. The way he sang about searching, about someone slipping away, about not being able to find what he was looking for.

It felt too specific.

Too much like her.

And so, without really meaning to, she started coming back to the café.

The same one where they met.

Where he had paid for her coffee like it was nothing. Where they had sat in the corner, talking like old friends, slipping into conversation so easily it almost felt like fate.

She knows it’s ridiculous. That the odds of him walking through that door at the exact moment she’s here are next to nothing.

But still—

Every time the bell chimes, her heart jumps.

Every time a figure steps inside, she lifts her head just a little.

And every time, she’s met with disappointment.

Taku never comes.

She doesn’t even know if he remembers this place. Maybe it was just another café to him, another stop in his day that didn’t mean anything.

Maybe she’s the only one who’s holding on to it.

Yuki sighs, stirring her coffee absentmindedly.

Mika would call this pathetic.

But she doesn’t know how else to reach him.

She doesn’t have his number. Doesn’t even have a real reason to see him again. What is she supposed to do? Show up at one of his gigs and hope he notices her? That’s—

She shakes her head.

No.

If he wanted to find her, wouldn’t he have done it by now?

Wouldn’t he have found a way?

Maybe she was wrong. Maybe the song wasn’t meant for her.

Maybe she’s just another nameless face in his past, someone who walked into his life for a moment and left without a trace.

The bell above the door rings again, and she lifts her head, a flicker of hope sparking—

But it’s just another stranger.

Just like always.

She presses her lips together and looks back down at her coffee.

Maybe it’s time to stop waiting.

Chapter 12: Just Out of Reach

Fate is cruel.

Because if the universe had just shifted time slightly—just an hour earlier or later—they would have met again by now.

Taku visits the café almost every day.

Sometimes he stops by just for a quick Americano, the kind of routine stop that doesn’t mean anything—except it does.

Because every time he walks in, he lingers for a second too long, eyes scanning the tables, the window seats, the quiet corners.

Searching.

But she’s never there.

Other times, he stays longer. Orders a coffee and pulls out his notebook, scribbling down lyrics between sips, letting the hum of conversation and the scent of roasted beans settle around him.

If the table where they once sat together is open, he takes it.

Not because he’s waiting.

Not because he expects anything.

But because it feels right.

Like maybe, if he keeps sitting there, if he keeps coming back, she’ll appear like she did the first time.

But she never does.

Taku exhales, tapping his pen against the page. The lyrics aren’t coming today. His thoughts keep drifting.

Maybe he should stop.

Maybe he should accept that she’s just gone.

But the problem is—

He doesn’t want to.

And so, the next day, he comes back.

And just like always—

He misses her by a fraction of time.

Chapter 13: The Notebook

The first thing Yuki notices when she sits down is the notebook.

It’s slightly worn, edges curled from use, resting on the table where she always sits.

Where they always sat.

She hesitates.

It’s not hers. Clearly, someone left it behind.

She glances around, but the café isn’t too crowded today. No one seems to be looking for anything.

Her fingers brush over the cover before she realizes what she’s doing.

She should leave it alone.

But—

The curiosity tugs at her.

If there’s a name inside, she can return it. That’s all.

She flips it open.

There’s no name. No contact information.

Just pages and pages of scribbled words.

Lyrics.

Melodies.

Musical notes scrawled hastily between lines of raw emotion. Some are half-finished. Some are scratched out. Some are underlined, circled, rewritten over and over like the writer couldn’t quite get them right.

Yuki’s breath catches.

This is—

No.

It can’t be.

But the handwriting is familiar.

She flips another page, and there it is.

Lines from that song.

The one that’s been haunting her.

The one that made her wonder.

Her pulse speeds up as she flips further, scanning more lyrics, more unfinished thoughts. Snippets of words that feel too close to her own, too much like something meant for her.

It’s his.

Taku’s.

Her hands tighten around the notebook.

The realization leaves her breathless.

She could leave it. Hand it over to the barista. Walk away.

But instead—

She closes it carefully and stands.

The barista glances up as she approaches the counter.

“Hey,” she says, trying to sound casual. “Someone left this behind.”

The barista glances at the notebook and nods. “Yeah, the guy who was sitting there earlier. He mentioned he was leaving for a while.”

Leaving.

Her chest tightens.

“Do you know when he’ll be back?”

The barista shrugs. “Didn’t say. Just that he was heading out for a tour.”

Something flickers inside her.

This is it.

Her chance to reach out.

But—

She hesitates.

“Do you… mind if I keep it?” The words leave her before she can think better of them. “If someone comes looking for it, you can give them my number.”

The barista frowns slightly. “Normally, we keep lost items here.”

“I know.”

A pause.

Then, the barista sighs, glancing at her knowingly.

“You come here every day,” they say. “And honestly? I don’t think that guy’s coming back anytime soon.”

Yuki’s fingers tighten around the notebook.

“Alright.” The barista slides it toward her. “It’s yours for now.”

She exhales. “Thanks.”

And just like that, she walks back to her seat, the weight of the notebook heavy in her hands.

For the first time in months—

She has something real of his.

Now, the only question is—

What will she do with it?

Chapter 14: The Message

The second he realizes it’s missing, a sinking feeling spreads through his chest.

His notebook.

Shit.

He rakes a hand through his hair, scanning the backseat of the van as the city lights blur past the window.

Not here.

Not in his bag.

Not stuffed into his jacket pocket like he sometimes does without thinking.

He exhales sharply, already knowing the answer.

He left it.

At the café.

Taku clenches his jaw, frustration curling in his stomach. Of all things to forget—

That notebook isn’t just scraps of lyrics. It’s everything. Unfinished songs, thoughts he’s never spoken out loud, pieces of melodies he hasn’t figured out yet.

And now, it’s sitting on some table, waiting to be lost forever.

No. Not an option.

Pulling out his phone, he quickly dials the café’s number, foot tapping against the floor as the call rings.

“Hey, this is Koffee Haus,” a familiar voice answers.

Taku doesn’t waste time. “Hey, I was there earlier today—black notebook, kinda beat up. I think I left it.”

A pause.

Then: “Yeah, someone picked it up.”

His heart kicks. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. She left her number in case you came looking.”

A she.

Taku frowns slightly. “Did she say who she was?”

“Just a regular. She’s here all the time.”

Something tugs at the back of his mind, but he pushes it aside.

“Alright. Can you send me the number?”

“Sure thing.”

A second later, his phone buzzes with a new message. A nameless contact. Just a string of numbers.

Taku doesn’t hesitate.

He opens his messages, types out a quick note.

> Hey, I heard you found my notebook. Thanks for picking it up. I’d really like to get it back. Let me know when you’re free.

He stares at the screen for a second before hitting send.

He has no idea who’s on the other end.

No idea that, somewhere across the city, Yuki’s phone has just lit up with his name.

And that fate, once again, is about to play its hand.

Chapter 15: Holding On

Yuki’s phone buzzes, and she glances at the screen.

A message from an unknown number.

> Hey, I heard you found my notebook. Thanks for picking it up. I’d really like to get it back. Let me know when you’re free.

Her pulse skips.

It’s them.

The notebook’s owner.

Her fingers tighten slightly around the phone.

She already knows whose notebook it is.

At least, she thinks she does.

Deep down, she feels it—like a quiet certainty pressing against her chest.

It has to be him.

But she doesn’t want to assume. Not yet.

She quickly types back.

> No problem. I’m free anytime—just let me know when you want to pick it up.

She sends it before she can overthink.

A few seconds later, her phone buzzes again.

> Actually, I just left town. Won’t be back for about three months. Would you mind holding onto it until then?

Three months.

Something in her stomach sinks, though she isn’t sure why.

Of course, he wouldn’t be here. He has a life—a career, a band that’s starting to take off. It makes sense.

Still…

She exhales, composing herself before responding.

> Of course, I can keep it until then.

Then, after a moment of hesitation, she adds—

> It’s a really interesting notebook, by the way.

She watches the screen, waiting.

A pause.

Then his reply.

> Yeah?

She bites her lip, debating how much to say. But she already started, so—

> I had to check for a name or contact inside. I’m sorry for intruding.

> But… I was kind of amazed by it.

Her heart beats a little faster.

Should she say more?

She hesitates, then sends one last message before she can stop herself.

> It’s beautiful.

And then she waits.

Excitement, anticipation, and uncertainty swirling together.

Because if this really is him—if her feeling is right—

Then for the first time, she isn’t just lingering.

She’s standing at the edge, waiting to be found.

Chapter 16: Conversations Across Distance

Taku leans back against the hotel room couch, one hand holding his phone, the other tapping absentmindedly on his knee.

> It’s beautiful.

He rereads the message, something flickering in his chest.

It’s been a long time since anyone called his lyrics beautiful.

Most people just see them as songs—pieces of a setlist, something to vibe to. Even his bandmates, as much as they appreciate his work, break them down in a technical sense.

But this—

This feels different.

He smirks, typing back.

> Beautiful, huh? That’s a first. What makes it so?

A few seconds pass before his phone buzzes again.

> It’s raw. Honest. Feels like a thought you’re still chasing.

Taku exhales, tilting his head slightly.

Who is this?

This person—whoever they are—knows how to read between the lines.

Intrigued, he pushes further.

> You into lyrics?

> Yeah. And music in general.

> Lyrics or lyricless?

A pause. Then:

> Depends on the moment.

A grin tugs at his lips.

> Cop-out answer.

> No, it’s the right answer.

Taku huffs a laugh. They’re sharp.

> Alright then, since you like music—Miles Davis. Favorite era?

> Oh, you’re pulling the real questions now.

> Obviously. I have to know if I can trust your judgment.

> Tough. But I’d say early ’60s. ‘Kind of Blue’ set the foundation for everything after.

Taku leans forward, more interested now.

> Interesting. But not groundbreaking. ‘Bitches Brew’—now that changed the game.

> You think ‘Bitches Brew’ was more important than ‘Kind of Blue’?

> Not more important. More revolutionary.

> Debatable. ‘Kind of Blue’ was universally understood. ‘Bitches Brew’ was messy. Experimental, sure, but it didn’t have the same instant impact.

> You’re saying it doesn’t hold up?

> I’m saying people respect it more than they love it.

Taku lets out a low chuckle.

This conversation feels effortless. Natural.

Like they’ve been talking forever.

> Alright, let’s bring it home. ONE OK ROCK, UVERworld, or Higedan?

> You really like putting people in impossible situations.

> It tells you everything about a person.

> Fine. UVERworld.

Taku raises an eyebrow.

> Not the answer I was expecting.

> What were you expecting?

> ONE OK ROCK. Rock band bias.

> Tempting, but UVERworld experiments more. Feels more alive to me.

Taku nods to himself.

> Respectable choice.

> What about you?

He smirks.

> Nice try. You have to guess.

> Oh, so you want to play this game.

> Always.

Another pause. Then:

> Higedan.

His smirk fades slightly.

> Damn. You got me.

> Knew it.

Taku laughs under his breath, shaking his head.

This is weird.

In the best way.

It’s not just the conversation—it’s the flow.

He barely even realizes how much time has passed.

And maybe it’s just curiosity. Maybe it’s just the fact that they have his notebook, that they read him in a way most people don’t.

But something about this feels familiar.

And for the first time in months, he doesn’t feel like he’s searching.

Because, for once—

It feels like someone is already listening.

Chapter 17: A Name in the Dark

It’s been a month.

A month of messages exchanged between cities, time zones, late-night musings, and half-serious debates over the most random things.

They talk about Shakespeare and Fromm, about Hamlet being overdramatic and The Art of Loving being both profound and exhausting. They argue about Queen’s best album and why Snarky Puppy’s improvisations feel like a chaotic symphony. They compare the merits of tea versus coffee, hot versus iced, whether sugar ruins the experience.

Everything.

And yet—

Nothing personal.

He doesn’t know what she looks like. She doesn’t ask about his life. They exist in this strange in-between space, connected only by words.

And somehow, that’s enough.

Or at least, it has been.

But lately, something gnaws at him.

Because when he laughs at her texts, when he catches himself waiting for her response, when he wakes up to a message that instantly makes his morning better—

He feels it.

The guilt.

Like he’s betraying someone.

But who?

Yuki?

The girl who slipped through his fingers before he ever had the chance to hold on?

The thing is—Yuki isn’t real anymore.

She was a moment in time, a fleeting connection that never solidified. Just a stranger in the crowd, a name with no definition, a ghost of something he wanted to believe in.

Maybe he imagined her.

Maybe she was never supposed to stay.

And maybe—maybe—this is what moving on feels like.

So tonight, without thinking too much, he types the words.

> You know, I just realized something.

A quick reply.

> Oh? And what’s that, philosopher?

He smirks at the nickname.

> I don’t even know your name.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then—

> Wow. You’ve known me for a month and NOW you care?

> I’m just saying. Maybe it’s time to put a name in my contacts instead of “That One Nerd Who Hates Sweet Coffee.”

A pause.

Then—

> Finally ready not to be a stranger?

Taku exhales, tapping his fingers against his phone.

This is stupid. It’s just a name. Just a label to attach to the person he’s been talking to all this time.

But when the message appears, when he finally sees it—

> Yuki.

His breath stops.

The world shifts.

And for the first time in a long time—

Taku isn’t sure if fate has been playing games all along.

Chapter 18: The Moment Everything Clicks

The name stares back at him.

Yuki.

It shouldn’t shake him.

But it does.

His fingers hover over the screen, unmoving. The air in the hotel room suddenly feels heavier, like the walls are pressing in.

No. It can’t be.

It’s a common name. It could be any Yuki.

It could be—

His mind races back. The café. The bus ride. The missed chances. The months of searching. The lyrics written for someone who was never there to hear them.

The notebook.

His notebook.

The way she described it—like she had seen straight through the words, like she understood him before even knowing who he was.

And now—

Now he knows.

It’s been her all along.

The one who lingered in the background. The one who disappeared before he could catch her.

The one he thought he had lost.

And the one who, without realizing it, had been right here the whole time.

Taku exhales, running a hand through his hair. His pulse is too loud in his ears.

What the hell is he supposed to do with this?

Tell her?

Ask if she knew?

Or—

Or does he stay quiet?

Because if he acknowledges it, everything changes. The conversations, the late-night debates, the easy flow between them—it all takes on a new weight.

If he tells her, it’s not just two strangers bantering anymore.

It’s them.

And he doesn’t know if he’s ready for that.

Not yet.

Instead, he forces himself to breathe, to steady the whirlwind in his chest, and replies as if his world hasn’t just flipped upside down.

> Nice to meet you, Yuki.

His fingers tighten around the phone.

And as he waits for her response, he wonders—

Chapter 19: Familiar Strangers

The moment she types her name, Yuki feels a strange flutter in her chest.

It’s stupid, really. A name is just a name. But seeing it there, printed in the chat, feels oddly significant. Like she’s just given away something private, something that wasn’t supposed to matter but suddenly does.

She watches her phone, waiting for his response.

He takes longer than usual to reply, and she wonders—Did she say too much?

But then, his message appears, casual and simple:

> Nice to meet you, Yuki.

She exhales, feeling a small laugh bubble up.

They’ve been talking for a month—arguing about Miles Davis, dissecting Shakespeare, trading music recommendations at two in the morning—and now he says “Nice to meet you.”

She shakes her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

> Nice to meet you too, philosopher.

The reply is easy, but something in her chest tightens. Because for all their effortless conversations, their casual back-and-forths, she still doesn’t really know him.

She has an idea—glimpses of his thoughts, pieces of his humor—but no clear picture.

And there’s a part of her that wonders if she even wants to.

Because maybe it’s better this way—talking to someone through the safety of a screen, without the mess of real life getting in the way.

Maybe it’s easier to stay strangers.

But she doesn’t believe that. Not really.

As the silence stretches between them, she flips open the notebook again. She’s read through it a dozen times now—those raw lyrics, the half-formed thoughts that felt almost like a conversation.

It’s so much like him. The person she’s come to know through these daily messages, who feels more real than the boy she met on the bus, more tangible than the musician she sees on stage.

She runs her fingers over the ink, feeling something like longing stir in her chest.

Who are you?

And more importantly—

Why does it feel like I already know the answer?

Chapter 20: Late-Night Conversations

The messages come at odd hours.

Sometimes in the afternoon, between errands and half-finished projects. Sometimes in the evening, after long days that neither of them wants to talk about.

But mostly—

Mostly, it’s the late-night chats that matter the most.

—

> Taku: Midnight thoughts—would you rather have a theme song play every time you enter a room or background music that changes based on your mood?

> Yuki: Background music, obviously. More dramatic that way.

> Taku: Yeah, but you’d be so easy to read. Everyone would know when you’re sad.

> Yuki: Maybe. But imagine the satisfaction of having the perfect song kick in at just the right moment.

> Taku: Fine. What’s your life’s soundtrack?

> Yuki: Depends on the day.

> Taku: Another cop-out answer.

> Yuki: You should be used to those by now.

—

The banter is effortless.

It slips between topics, from ridiculous debates to quiet confessions that neither of them fully acknowledge.

It’s comforting, this space they’ve carved out in each other’s lives—where time doesn’t matter, where no one expects too much, where silence is just as easy as conversation.

But there’s one thing Yuki never does.

She never asks for his name.

And Taku—

Taku doesn’t know if that means she already knows.

Or if she’s deliberately keeping the mystery intact.

He could tell her. Could type it out in three seconds, make it real.

But something stops him.

Because this—whatever this is—feels safe. Feels right.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.

Chapter 21: Coming Back

The message sits in the chat for a moment before he hits send.

> The job’s finally over. Heading back to the city soon.

It doesn’t feel like a big announcement, but somehow, it is.

A shift. A return.

His phone vibrates a second later.

> Finally. Took you long enough.

Taku exhales a small laugh, shaking his head.

> Yeah, yeah. Not that you ever asked, but it was gigs that kept me out of town for so long.

> Oh, I figured.

A pause.

Then, before he can stop himself, he types:

> Why didn’t you ever ask for my name?

It’s something that’s been sitting at the back of his mind for weeks. Maybe months.

She never asked. Never once.

And maybe that’s why he never offered it.

Because if she didn’t know, then they could keep existing like this—two strangers wrapped in late-night conversations, untouched by reality.

But if she did know—

His phone buzzes.

A single message.

> I already know. Taku.

Taku stills.

His breath catches in his throat.

It’s different seeing it there, his name typed out so effortlessly, like she’s known all along. Like she’s never questioned it.

Like she’s been waiting for him to figure it out.

His fingers hover over the keyboard.

There’s so much he wants to say.

But for the first time, he’s the one who lingers.

And for the first time, Yuki is the one who isn’t running away.

Chapter 22: The Space Between

For a long moment, he just stares at the message.

> I already know. Taku.

It shouldn’t make his pulse stutter. Shouldn’t make his fingers tighten around his phone like it’s suddenly holding something fragile.

But it does.

Because she’s known.

All this time.

The late-night messages, the debates, the effortless rhythm they’ve built—she’s known exactly who he was, and yet, she never said a word.

Never once used his name.

Never once made it real.

And now that it is real, Taku doesn’t know what to do with it.

> So that’s it? You just knew?

A pause. Then—

> Wasn’t hard to figure out.

Taku exhales a sharp laugh, rubbing a hand over his face.

> And you didn’t think to say anything?

> You never asked.

A smirk tugs at his lips. Of course.

He should have expected that.

> Alright, fair.

> Were you ever going to tell me?

> Maybe. But you got there first.

Taku shakes his head, something warm and exasperated settling in his chest.

She really let him wander in the dark all this time.

But he can’t even be annoyed.

Because now, for the first time in months, the distance between them doesn’t feel so wide.

And as the city lights blur past the train window, as the tracks hum beneath him, Taku realizes—

He’s going home.

But maybe, just maybe—

He’s also heading toward something else entirely.

Chapter 23: Waiting Without Waiting

She watches the message sit there, glowing against the dim light of her room.

> Were you ever going to tell me?

Her fingers hover over the keyboard, but she already knows the answer.

> Maybe. But you got there first.

Simple. Honest.

Taku’s response comes quickly.

> Figures.

She smiles slightly.

There’s something amusing about how predictable this whole thing was—how he had spent weeks, maybe months, wondering if she knew, while she had simply waited for him to catch up.

And maybe that was cruel of her.

But she liked the in-between.

Liked how it felt before reality had a chance to ruin it.

Because now, the shape of them is changing.

Before, they were just two people with no names, no history, only words exchanged in the quiet hours of the night.

Now, they are Yuki and Taku.

The boy from the bus. The stranger from the café. The one she searched for without meaning to. The one who kept slipping away before she could hold onto him.

And he’s coming back.

She exhales, shutting her phone screen, letting the weight of it settle.

What now?

Does this change anything?

She doesn’t know.

All she knows is that, for the first time in months, she isn’t waiting for fate to intervene.

Because this time, he’s already on his way.

Chapter 24: No Longer Strangers

The café is the same.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, the soft hum of conversation fills the space, and the familiar creak of wooden chairs echoes lightly across the room.

Everything is the same.

And yet, everything is different.

Because this time, Yuki isn’t sitting alone, waiting for someone who will never come.

And this time, Taku isn’t walking in without knowing what he’s looking for.

They are both here, at the same time, at last.

—

Taku steps inside first.

He scans the room, heart drumming in a way that feels both stupid and inevitable.

Then he sees her.

Sitting at their usual table, hands wrapped around a coffee cup, eyes flicking toward the door just as he walks in.

For a second, neither of them moves.

Then, slowly, a small smile tugs at the corner of Yuki’s lips.

Taku exhales, something settling inside him.

It’s real.

She’s real.

And finally, finally—they are no longer waiting.

—

Yuki watches as he walks toward her, casual yet careful, like he’s testing reality itself.

Like he’s still not sure if this moment is something he’s allowed to have.

She understands the feeling.

But when he reaches the table, when she looks up and meets his gaze—

Everything else fades.

“Hey,” she says, simple and soft.

Taku huffs a small laugh, shaking his head. “Hey.”

Then, as if the weight of all those missed moments has never existed, he slides into the seat across from her.

Just like that, it’s easy again.

—

They talk.

Not about fate or missed chances or what this meeting means.

Just about things.

The new books Yuki’s been reading. The weird jazz album Taku listened to on the train ride back. Mika’s ridiculous conspiracy that their band is secretly working with an anime studio.

It’s effortless, like slipping into something familiar, like they’ve done this a thousand times before.

And maybe, in some way, they have.

Just never like this.

Never with reality fully catching up to them.

—

Eventually, Yuki reaches into her bag and pulls out the notebook.

The one that started it all.

“I believe this is yours,” she says, sliding it across the table.

Taku glances down, fingers tracing the worn edges.

For a second, Yuki wonders if this is the part where he thanks her, where he tucks it away and moves on.

Instead, he pushes it back toward her.

She blinks. “What?”

Taku shrugs lightly, voice casual—but his eyes are serious. “It’s yours.”

Yuki frowns. “It’s your notebook.”

“Yeah.” He leans back slightly, tilting his head. “But most of what’s inside is about you.”

Her breath catches.

Taku’s lips quirk up slightly. “So it’s only right that you keep it.”

She stares at him, at the quiet certainty in his expression, at the way he says it like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

Like it was always meant to be hers.

And suddenly, she understands.

This—whatever this is—has never been about searching.

It’s about finding.

And finally, finally—

They found each other. 

Epilogue: Not a Stranger Anymore

The city hums around them, a quiet melody of late afternoon traffic and distant conversations.

Inside the bus, the world moves gently past the window—soft golden light casting long shadows, the gentle sway of motion pulling them into something familiar.

Yuki exhales, head resting lightly against the cool glass.

She still loves bus rides.

Even now, after all this time, there’s something about them that feels like possibility. Like a reminder that even the smallest moments can lead to something unexpected.

Beside her, Taku stretches his legs out, arms crossed loosely over his chest, gaze drifting lazily over the city.

They are both different now.

Yet somehow, they are still the same.

—

The years have shifted things.

Yuki writes now—not just in quiet spaces between work hours, but as something real. Something she’s allowed herself to believe in. She spends her days shaping stories, editing manuscripts, weaving words into meaning.

Taku’s world has changed too. The band is growing, their music reaching places he never thought it would. The weight of a record label, the pull of bigger stages, the reality of the career he once dreamed about.

But the one thing that hasn’t changed is this.

Them.

What started as missed chances has slowly turned into something steady. Something unshaken by time or distance.

They don’t take it for granted anymore.

Not after knowing what it’s like to search without finding.

—

Yuki shifts slightly, stretching her fingers absently against the fabric of her coat.

Then she stills.

Something is there.

A cool band of metal.

She blinks, looking down.

A ring.

On her finger.

She turns to Taku, confused. “What—”

He doesn’t even glance at her, gaze still fixed lazily out the window. “Just figured I should put it there before you start overthinking it.”

A beat of silence.

Then—

Yuki laughs.

Soft and sudden, bubbling up before she can stop it.

Because of course.

Of course, this is how it happens.

Not some grand proposal. Not a carefully planned speech.

Just him, slipping a ring onto her finger in the middle of a quiet bus ride.

Because that’s how it’s always been with them.

Casual, inevitable.

Like the way their lives have always found a way to intertwine.

Like the way searching has finally turned into staying.

Yuki turns the ring between her fingers, feeling the warmth of it settle into her skin.

“Guess I should keep it, then,” she murmurs.

Taku finally looks at her, smirking slightly. “Guess you should.”

The bus keeps moving, carrying them forward.

And this time—

Neither of them are looking back.