---
The next morning, I do something stupid.
Not dangerous stupid.
Not public confession with roses and megaphones stupid.
Just... emotionally reckless in the kind of way that might leave you staring at a vending machine pretending to be chill.
At 7:42 A.M., I get off the train one stop early.
Not because I'm lost.
Not because I overslept.
But because she gets on at this station.
---
It's a small platform — quieter than mine.
A few people. A sleepy old lady watering her plants across the tracks.
A vending machine with nothing but Pocari Sweat and bad decisions.
I check the time.
7:43 A.M.
Then I wait.
Like an idiot.
---
She shows up.
Hair a mess. Sleeves rolled up.
Half-asleep and brushing bread crumbs off her uniform.
She doesn't notice me at first. She's humming something — probably from our playlist. Maybe one of the lo-fi tracks we both pretended not to like but secretly saved.
Then she spots me.
And freezes.
---
"You're off schedule," she says.
"I switched routes."
She narrows her eyes. "This is still the same route. Just earlier."
I shrug. "Maybe I wanted a better view."
She walks up slowly.
Stops just close enough to squint dramatically.
"…You got off early to see me?"
"I plead the fifth."
"This isn't a courtroom."
"I still plead it."
She stares for a moment.
Then exhales — and smiles.
It's a dangerous kind of smile.
The kind that makes the world tilt a few degrees warmer.
---
"I thought maybe you'd run away," she says.
"Why?"
"Because things are different now."
I nod.
"They are."
"And you're okay with that?"
I think for a second.
Then say:
> "If different means getting to see you like this — sleepy, humming, almost late again — then yeah. I'm okay with different."
She blinks.
"Who gave you permission to be charming?"
"Nobody. I'm winging it."
She laughs, covering her mouth like she's embarrassed it came out so fast.
And just like that… the weird tension from yesterday melts.
---
The train rolls in.
We step on together.
She pats the usual window seat.
I sit beside her.
For a second, there's quiet.
Not awkward.
Not heavy.
Just... full.
Then she says:
"By the way, I'm picking today's music."
"Deal."
"And we're doing a lyric challenge."
"That's not a real thing."
"It is now. You get five seconds to guess the next line or you owe me melon pan."
"You're making up rules."
"Welcome to dating me."
I freeze.
So does she.
The word just… slips out.
---
She tries to cover it.
"I mean—like, if we were—hypothetically—"
"Hikari."
She winces. "Yeah?"
"I'm okay with that word."
Silence.
Then—
"…Which word?"
"Dating."
She goes still.
Like, train-just-stopped-in-a-tunnel still.
Then quietly:
> "Me too."
---
We don't say anything else for a while.
She starts the playlist.
First song is a chill beat with guitar loops and soft vocals.
We both listen.
We both smile.
At the same time.
Like idiots.
---
When her stop comes, she doesn't get up.
She just glances at me.
"I've got one more stop in me today."
I raise an eyebrow. "Gonna be late?"
"Worth it."
---
As the train pulls into my station, she stands and stretches.
Before stepping off, she turns and says:
> "Hey… thanks for coming to find me."
I grin.
> "Next time, I'm bringing the masks."
She groans. "Not the tanuki again."
"Tanuki and fox. It's tradition."
Then, just before the doors close, she tosses something at me.
I catch it instinctively.
It's a folded note.
On it, in messy handwriting:
"I don't like mornings. I like you."
---
The train doors slide shut.
And I sit there, heart doing jazz solos inside my chest.
---