Haruka Hashida

On a day as lackluster as this, it seemed nothing could elicit a flicker of pleasure in Hashida. Or so it appeared. He sat nestled within the café, nursing a cup of coffee and attempting to navigate the pages of a book—its content, alas, eluding his grasp.

Truly, a pervasive gloom seemed to have settled upon him this day. The coffee, he found, possessed an unsavory bitterness, and the book’s contents offered little to engage his mind. The weather outside was equally grim, a symphony of dreariness. And, ah, the realization struck—he was teetering on the precipice of lateness for school.

Just as he was about to rise, a melodic chime punctuated the air—the sound of the cafe door opening, a small bell announcing a new arrival. Hashida glanced up, and his heart, which had been leaden with despair only moments before, did a flutter. Yaksha. Hashida found himself captivated, his previous misery momentarily forgotten. Perhaps, he mused, this day wasn’t entirely doomed after all.