Gravity (Ch. 1 – 10)

Keiko never believed in fate—until she kept running into the same stranger. Once was chance. Twice was coincidence. But now, she can’t shake the feeling that their story is just beginning—even if it’s one she shouldn’t be writing.

Disclaimer: The ideas, characters, 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 “Gravity” by One Ok Rock feat. Satoshi from Official HIGE DANDism.

Chapter 1: Coffee, Rain, and the Unfinished Night

The rain had started without warning. It wasn’t a downpour, just a soft, persistent drizzle that turned the streets into mirrors reflecting the neon glow of the city. Keiko pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, her breath forming small clouds in the cold air.

“Seriously, you’re going to catch a cold,” Kyo muttered beside her, flipping up the hood of his jacket. He never understood why she insisted on walking instead of taking the train when the weather was like this.

Tarou, on her other side, smirked. “Let her be. You know she likes the rain.”

Keiko grinned. “It makes everything feel cinematic.”

“You mean unnecessarily dramatic,” Kyo corrected, but he didn’t argue further.

The three of them had ended up at their usual late-night coffee shop, a small place tucked between a bookstore and a 24-hour convenience store. It wasn’t special—cheap coffee, flickering lights, mismatched chairs—but it was theirs.

Keiko stirred her drink absentmindedly, watching the steam curl into the air. The warmth should have been comforting, but there was a restlessness in her chest, an itch just beneath her skin.

Something was missing.

Or maybe she was just being ridiculous.

Tarou leaned back in his chair, watching her. “What’s on your mind, Keiko?”

She hesitated, fingers tightening around her mug. “Nothing, just… do you ever feel like you’re waiting for something, but you don’t know what?”

Kyo sighed. “No.”

Tarou chuckled. “That was a very Kyo answer.”

Keiko rolled her eyes at Kyo’s predictability but didn’t let it distract her. “I mean it. Like there’s something just out of reach, and if you could only figure out what it is, everything would make sense.”

Kyo pushed his glasses up and gave her a look that said, here we go again. “Or, you’re just overthinking.”

“I’m not overthinking,” she huffed. “I’m just… searching.”

“For what?” Tarou asked.

She opened her mouth, then closed it. She didn’t have an answer.

Outside, the rain continued, steady and rhythmic. Somewhere in the distance, a bell chimed—maybe a bicycle, maybe a train. The city never slept, and neither did her thoughts.

Maybe that’s why, when a shadow passed by the fogged-up window—tall, unfamiliar, fleeting—her heart skipped a beat.

Maybe that’s why she couldn’t shake the feeling that tonight was just the beginning.

Chapter 2: The Stranger in the Rain

Keiko couldn’t explain why she did it.

Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was an impulse. Maybe it was that nagging feeling that something was waiting for her just beyond the edges of her world.

But before she knew it, she was standing outside the coffee shop, the door swinging shut behind her. The cold air bit at her skin, and the rain had gotten heavier.

“Keiko!” Tarou’s voice carried through the drizzle, but she barely registered it.

She had seen someone—just for a moment. A fleeting shadow against the glow of the streetlights. A figure passing by the café window, lingering just long enough to be noticed.

Her heart pounded as she stepped onto the sidewalk. The streets weren’t empty, but they weren’t crowded either. The usual mix of late-night students, tired workers, and quiet wanderers filled the city’s veins. And then—

There.

A man stood under the awning of a nearby bookstore, hands in his pockets, gazing down the road as if waiting for something—or someone. His hair was damp from the rain, strands falling over his forehead. He had an air of detachment, like he existed in a world slightly apart from this one.

Keiko didn’t know why, but she took a step forward.

And then another.

“Keiko.”

This time, Tarou was beside her, his hand catching her wrist. His grip was firm but not forceful. “What are you doing?”

She blinked, the trance breaking for just a second. “I thought I saw—”

Kyo appeared behind them, his hood still up, irritation clear in his expression. “You’re seriously chasing a random guy in the rain?”

Keiko frowned. “I wasn’t chasing anyone.”

Tarou exhaled through his nose, clearly unconvinced. “Then let’s go back inside.”

She hesitated, glancing toward the bookstore again. But the man was gone.

A strange disappointment settled in her stomach.

She let Tarou pull her back toward the café, her feet feeling heavier than before.

—

Keiko couldn’t sleep.

The rain had finally stopped, leaving the city washed clean. The quiet hum of passing cars filtered through her window, but Keiko’s mind was elsewhere.

She replayed the moment in her head—the figure standing under the awning, the way he had seemed so still while the rest of the world moved around him.

Who was he?

And why did she feel like she had missed something important?

With a sigh, she rolled onto her side, staring at her phone screen. A message from Tarou was waiting for her.

Tarou: Still searching for something?

She didn’t reply right away. Instead, she stared at the blinking cursor, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Then, finally, she typed back:

Keiko: I don’t know. Maybe.

She set her phone down, closing her eyes.

Tomorrow, maybe she’ll stop thinking about it.

But deep down, she already knew—she wouldn’t.

Chapter 3: A Hand on the Same Page

The bookstore smelled like old paper and fresh ink—a comforting contrast to the crisp air outside. Keiko wandered through the aisles absentmindedly, running her fingers along the spines of books she had no intention of buying.

It was late enough that the place was nearly empty, just the occasional quiet rustle of pages being turned.

She wasn’t looking for anything in particular. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Then, she saw it.

A single worn copy of “Norwegian Wood” by Haruki Murakami sat on the highest shelf, just out of reach. Without thinking, she stepped onto the tips of her toes, stretching her fingers toward the cover—

Only to collide with another hand reaching for the same book.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Her breath hitched as she turned her head slightly, and her eyes met his.

It was him.

The stranger from the rain.

Up close, he looked even more unreal—sharp features softened by the dim bookstore lighting, damp hair still slightly tousled from the weather. His eyes held a quiet intensity, like he was looking through her instead of at her.

“…Sorry,” he murmured, his voice smooth but distant.

Keiko swallowed, her heart hammering. “No, I—” She quickly pulled her hand back, suddenly self-conscious.

He hesitated for just a moment, then took the book from the shelf. For a second, she thought he would walk away with it, just like that.

But instead, he turned the book over in his hands, considering it, before offering it to her.

“You take it.”

Keiko blinked. “What? No, you got to it first.”

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. “You looked like you wanted it more.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You can tell that just by looking?”

“Maybe.”

There was something unreadable about him—an air of detachment, yet at the same time, something that made her feel like she was the only person in the room.

She hesitated, then slowly reached for the book, her fingers brushing against his as she took it from his hands. A strange, fleeting warmth lingered.

“You like Murakami?” she asked, gripping the book a little too tightly.

“I do,” he said simply. “But not that one.”

Keiko raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with ‘Norwegian Wood’?”

His gaze lingered on her for a moment before he answered.

“Some things are too nostalgic. They trap you in the past.”

Something about the way he said it sent a chill down her spine.

Before she could think of a reply, he glanced toward the entrance. “It’s late. You should get home.”

And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving Keiko standing alone in the quiet aisle, the book still clutched in her hands.

She exhaled, barely realizing she had been holding her breath.

Who was he?

And why did she suddenly feel like she was falling into a story she wasn’t ready for?

Chapter 4: The Second Glance

The café was unusually quiet for a Friday evening. The warm glow of hanging lights reflected off the rain-speckled windows, creating an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Keiko sat by the window, absentmindedly stirring her coffee, while Kyo scrolled through his phone beside her.

Tarou was late—again.

Keiko didn’t mind waiting. If anything, she liked moments like these. The in-between spaces where nothing was really happening, yet everything felt like it could.

Kyo, on the other hand, was less amused. “You’d think after all these years, he’d learn how to be on time.”

Keiko smirked. “Maybe he just enjoys making an entrance.”

Kyo rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced at her, brow slightly furrowed. “You’ve been distracted lately.”

She stiffened slightly. “Have I?”

“Yes.” He tapped his fingers against the table. “You’ve been spacing out more than usual. Something on your mind?”

Keiko hesitated. She could brush it off, say it was nothing. But Kyo was the kind of person who noticed the smallest shifts, the unspoken words between the lines.

“I…” She trailed off, gaze drifting toward the street outside. And that’s when she saw him.

The mysterious stranger.

He was across the road, standing near the entrance of a bookstore—the bookstore. His posture was relaxed, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, but there was something about the way he held himself that made it seem like he was waiting for something.

Or someone.

Her grip on the coffee cup tightened.

Kyo followed her gaze, and she felt his entire body shift beside her.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Kyo exhaled sharply. “Him?”

Keiko blinked, turning back to him. “What?”

“That guy.” Kyo’s tone was unreadable, but his eyes were sharp. “You’ve seen him before.”

She swallowed. “Not really. Just… once.”

Kyo’s expression didn’t change, but he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “And now you’re staring at him like he’s some kind of unsolved mystery.”

Keiko forced a laugh. “I’m not—”

The café door chimed just then, and Tarou finally walked in, shaking off his umbrella. “I swear, the train schedule was made just to mess with me.”

Keiko barely registered his words. Because when she looked back outside, the stranger was gone.

Chapter 5: A Name in the Night

It wasn’t supposed to happen again.

That’s what Keiko told herself as she wandered through the quiet side streets, the city humming softly around her. She wasn’t looking for him. Not really.

But when she turned the corner near the bookstore, she saw him.

This time, he wasn’t just a fleeting shadow in the rain or a distant figure beyond a café window. He was standing right there, leaning against the brick wall, flipping through a book under the dim streetlight.

Keiko stopped.

For a second, she debated walking away. But then, as if sensing her presence, he glanced up.

Their eyes met.

“Following me?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Keiko scoffed, stepping closer despite herself. “I was here first.”

He smirked, closing the book with a soft thud. “So, we meet again.”

She crossed her arms. “Seems like it.”

The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was charged. He wasn’t like anyone she had ever met—there was an air of mystery about him, but not in an obvious way. He felt out of reach, like a character in a story she wasn’t meant to finish reading.

“You never told me your name,” she said finally.

He tilted his head slightly, studying her before answering. “Ryou.”

Keiko let the name settle on her tongue. It suited him—simple, yet enigmatic.

“Keiko,” she offered in return.

“I know,” he said, and for some reason, that sent a small shiver down her spine.

Before she could ask what he meant, Ryou glanced toward the street. “You should go. It’s late.”

Keiko frowned. “You always say that.”

His smirk faded just a little. “Because it’s true.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he was already turning away, disappearing into the night before she could stop him.

And just like that, he was gone again.

—

Keiko sat cross-legged on the floor of Tarou’s apartment, nursing a half-empty cup of tea. Kyo sat on the couch, flipping through a textbook, while Tarou leaned against the counter, arms crossed.

“I met him again,” she said.

Kyo didn’t even look up. “Of course you did.”

Tarou raised an eyebrow. “The guy you were staring at earlier?”

Keiko nodded.

Kyo finally set his book down. “And?”

She hesitated. “And… we talked.”

Tarou waited for more, but when she didn’t continue, he sighed. “Keiko.”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know. There’s something about him. He’s… different.”

Kyo gave her a long, knowing look. “Different doesn’t always mean good.”

Keiko frowned. “You don’t even know him.”

“I don’t have to.” Kyo’s tone was calm but firm. “I just know you.”

Tarou studied her for a moment before asking, “What do you want from him?”

Keiko opened her mouth—then stopped.

What did she want?

She didn’t have an answer.

But as she sat there, the weight of Ryou’s name still lingering in her thoughts, she realized something.

She didn’t want to let this go just yet.

Chapter 6: Between Logic and Romance

Keiko stretched out on Tarou’s couch, her head resting on a pillow she had stolen from him years ago. “You guys just don’t get it,” she sighed dramatically. “Some connections just happen—like fate.”

Kyo, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a notebook in his lap, barely looked up. “Or you’re just romanticizing a coincidence.”

Tarou, leaning against the kitchen counter with a fresh cup of coffee, sighed. “Here we go.”

Keiko sat up. “Okay, Mr. Logic, explain this: I’ve met him three times now. Three. In completely different places. Doesn’t that mean something?”

Kyo finally glanced at her, unimpressed. “It means you both live in the same city.”

Keiko groaned. “You have no imagination.”

“I have too much imagination,” Kyo countered, flipping a page in his notebook. “Which is why I recognize when someone is overthinking things.”

Tarou raised an eyebrow. “And you think Keiko is overthinking?”

Kyo gave him a look.

Tarou shrugged. “Fair.”

Keiko threw a pillow at Kyo, which he dodged effortlessly. “You just don’t believe in magic.”

“I believe in patterns, not magic.”

“That’s depressing.”

“It’s practical.”

Tarou sighed again, rubbing his temple. “Okay, can we focus on the bigger issue here? This guy is a total stranger, Keiko.”

Keiko huffed, crossing her arms. “I know that.”

Tarou shot her a look. “Do you? Because you’re acting like you’re already in some kind of novel-worthy romance with him.”

Kyo, ever the opportunist, added, “And we all know how those end—usually with heartbreak, or murder.”

Keiko scowled. “Oh my god, Kyo.”

“What? Statistically speaking, strangers who appear too perfect tend to be hiding something.”

Tarou groaned. “Not everything is a psychological thriller.”

Kyo smirked. “Tell that to her.”

Keiko rolled her eyes. “You’re both impossible.”

Kyo closed his notebook. “And you’re stubborn. But seriously, Keiko—just be careful.”

Tarou nodded, his expression more serious now. “We just don’t want you getting hurt.”

Keiko looked between them—Kyo, ever skeptical, and Tarou, ever protective.

She knew they were right to be wary. But something inside her refused to let this go.

She wasn’t done with Ryou yet.

Chapter 7: Coffee, Psychology, and the Art of Seeing

The café was warm, the scent of coffee and vanilla drifting through the air as soft jazz played in the background. Keiko sat across from Kyo, her café mocha steaming beside her untouched notebook. Kyo, ever disciplined, was already halfway through his Americano and had three highlighters uncapped on the table.

It was supposed to be a study session.

It had turned into an argument.

“I’m just saying,” Keiko insisted, tapping her pen against the table, “not everything about people is logical. Sometimes we feel things first, and reason comes after.”

Kyo, unimpressed, turned a page in his psychology textbook. “That’s literally confirmation bias. You’re just proving my point.”

Keiko groaned. “It’s not bias! It’s human nature. We see the world through emotions as much as through facts.”

Kyo smirked slightly, taking a sip of his coffee. “Then explain why people tend to romanticize coincidences.”

Keiko stiffened slightly, immediately sensing where this was going. “Not everything is just a coincidence,” she muttered.

Kyo leaned back, folding his arms. “Murakami said, ‘People see what they want to see and what they want to believe.’”

Keiko frowned. “And Pascal said, ‘The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.’”

Kyo raised an eyebrow. “That’s not an argument. That’s just you cherry-picking philosophy to fit your narrative.”

Keiko huffed, finally taking a sip of her mocha. “And you’re cherry-picking psychology to kill the romance of life.”

Kyo chuckled, shaking his head. “You really think like a novelist, don’t you?”

Keiko smirked. “And you think like a scientist.”

“Which is why you should listen to me.”

“Never.”

They stared at each other for a moment before Keiko broke into a grin, and Kyo sighed in defeat, though there was amusement in his eyes.

After a beat, he softened. “Just don’t let feelings blind you to reality, Keiko.”

She blinked, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.

For all their debates, Kyo wasn’t just arguing for the sake of it. He was concerned.

She looked down at her cup. “I know.”

And for the first time that night, she wasn’t sure if she believed herself.

Chapter 8: Three Perspectives, One Keiko

The ramen shop was loud, the clatter of bowls and chopsticks filling the air as Keiko, Kyo, and Tarou sat in their usual corner booth. Their meals had just arrived—Kyo with his plain miso ramen, Keiko with a bowl overloaded with toppings, and Tarou casually stirring his broth while watching them like an amused older brother.

“So,” Tarou said, breaking the silence, “are we going to talk about it?”

Keiko, mid-bite, blinked. “Talk about what?”

Tarou gave her a flat look. “The mysterious stranger you keep conveniently running into.”

Kyo didn’t even look up from his bowl. “We’ve already talked about it. She’s ignoring reason.”

Keiko scowled. “Excuse you, I am not.”

Kyo finally glanced at her, unimpressed. “You’re treating this like it’s some great novel-worthy moment instead of an actual real-life situation.”

Keiko rolled her eyes. “Not everything has to be analyzed to death, Kyo.”

Kyo took a sip of his tea. “Says the girl who turns everything into a metaphor.”

Tarou snorted. “He’s got a point.”

Keiko groaned, setting her chopsticks down. “Look, I know you guys are worried, but I’m not being reckless. He’s just… interesting.”

Kyo arched an eyebrow. “And by ‘interesting,’ you mean you’ve built up an entire fantasy around him?”

Keiko shot him a glare. “Why do you always assume the worst?”

“I don’t,” Kyo replied evenly. “I assume the most probable outcome.”

Tarou sighed, rubbing his temple. “Okay, I’m not saying you can’t talk to him, Keiko. I just… want to know what you’re looking for.”

Keiko hesitated.

What was she looking for?

Ryou wasn’t just some random guy—he felt like something pulled from a dream. A person who existed on the edge of reality, slipping in and out of her life like a character she wasn’t sure was real.

And that scared her.

Because she wasn’t ready to let go of that feeling just yet.

“I don’t know,” she admitted softly.

Tarou watched her for a moment before sighing. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Kyo, ever the realist, leaned back and added, “And when this all comes crashing down, just remember—I told you so.”

Keiko kicked him under the table.

Tarou laughed. “See? This is why I don’t pick sides.”

Keiko huffed, but as she looked at the two of them—Kyo, always too sharp for his own good, and Tarou, always trying to keep the peace—she felt a familiar warmth settle in her chest.

Whatever happened next, at least she still had them.

Chapter 9: An Unwelcome Observer

The bookstore smelled of old paper and freshly brewed coffee from the small café tucked in the corner. Keiko ran her fingers along the spines of novels, her eyes scanning the shelves until she landed on a familiar name—Haruki Murakami.

She reached for a copy of Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman at the same time as someone else.

Her breath hitched.

Ryou.

He looked almost amused as their fingers brushed against the book’s cover. “We really have to stop meeting like this,” he said, his voice carrying the same quiet charm that had drawn her in from the start.

Keiko managed a small laugh. “Maybe it’s fate.”

From a few feet away, Tarou exhaled sharply.

She had almost forgotten he was there.

Ryou turned his gaze to Tarou, his expression unreadable. “Friend of yours?”

Keiko hesitated for half a second too long. “Yeah, this is Tarou.”

Tarou didn’t extend his hand. He didn’t smile. He simply nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Keiko shot him a warning glance, but Tarou didn’t react. He was studying Ryou in the way he did when something didn’t sit right with him.

Ryou seemed unfazed. He turned back to Keiko. “Murakami, huh? What is it about his stories that pulls you in?”

Keiko brightened at the question. “I love how his books feel like dreams you’re not sure you ever woke up from.”

Ryou hummed in agreement. “There’s something hypnotic about the way he writes. Like you’re stepping into another world.”

Keiko nodded eagerly, already feeling that familiar pull toward him.

And then Tarou spoke.

“So, Ryou,” he said casually, though there was a sharpness to his voice. “What do you do? Besides hanging around bookstores and running into Keiko?”

Keiko shot him another look. Tarou.

Ryou chuckled, seemingly unbothered. “I’m a writer.”

Tarou raised an eyebrow. “Of course you are.”

Keiko’s stomach tightened. “Tarou.”

Tarou ignored her, still watching Ryou carefully. “Anything published?”

“Not yet,” Ryou admitted. “But that’s the dream.”

Tarou leaned against the bookshelf, arms crossed. “Funny. Keiko’s a dreamer too.”

Keiko clenched her jaw. What is he doing?

Ryou only smiled. “Then maybe we understand each other.”

Tarou’s expression didn’t change. “Maybe.”

The air between them felt charged, like an unspoken conversation was happening beneath the surface. Keiko wasn’t sure if she should step in or let it play out.

Ryou glanced at his phone. “I should go. But I’m sure we’ll run into each other again.”

Keiko felt her heart skip—hopeful, despite everything. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Tarou didn’t say a word until Ryou had disappeared through the doors.

Then, finally, he turned to Keiko.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Chapter 10: Kyo Sees Too Much

Keiko knew Kyo would be annoyed.

She just didn’t expect him to be this quiet about it.

They were back at their usual café, her café mocha growing cold while Kyo stirred his Americano absentmindedly. He hadn’t said much since she told him about Ryou—the new encounter, the way Tarou had been protective, how it had felt like a moment pulled from a novel.

For once, Kyo wasn’t arguing.

And that unsettled her more than any lecture would have.

Finally, he spoke. “You really like this guy, huh?”

Keiko hesitated, fingers tightening around her cup. “I don’t know if ‘like’ is the right word.”

Kyo scoffed. “Right. Because getting lost in the idea of someone isn’t the same as liking them.”

She frowned. “It’s not like that.”

Kyo leaned back, watching her. “Isn’t it?”

Keiko looked away. He wasn’t wrong.

There was something about Ryou that pulled her in—not just attraction, but something deeper. The feeling of stepping into a story she had always dreamed of, of something meaningful unfolding in ways she couldn’t predict.

But Kyo wasn’t looking at this like a novel. He was seeing it for what it was.

“You’re obsessing,” he said, his voice quieter now. “And you don’t even realize it.”

Keiko bristled. “You make it sound like I’m losing myself.”

Kyo’s gaze didn’t waver. “Aren’t you?”

The words hit deeper than she wanted to admit.

She opened her mouth to argue, to tell him he was overthinking things—but this was Kyo. He never overthought. He simply saw.

And what he saw in her right now?

She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.