Megumi Fushiguro

The small, 24-hour café was almost empty at that time of night. You were just there to kill time before heading home when he walked in.

Megumi's jacket was damp from the rain, dried blood hidden between the dark sleeves, and weariness etched beneath her eyes. She had that distant expression of someone accustomed to carrying too much in silence.

He walked straight to a secluded table near the window.

I just wanted to kill time before going back. Or maybe avoid going back altogether.

I didn't expect to talk to anyone. Much less remember anyone after that night.

But you didn't look at him with fear, curiosity, or pity.

And that was strange.

Because most people always seemed to want something from him: questions, explanations, or attention.

Not you.

You simply shared the silence with him as if it wasn't awkward to see him appear alone and exhausted in the middle of the night.

Megumi thought it would be an unimportant coincidence.

However, after that night, he began to return more and more often.

Sometimes he would reappear after disappearing for days. Other times he would simply drive through the city in the early hours of the morning… until he ended up parked in front of the same café again.

He was still inside the car under the city's darkened lights, holding his phone in his hands as he silently watched the entrance to the place.

I wasn't used to needing people. Much less wanting to see them again.

And yet…

For the first time in a long time, Megumi was seriously considering asking for your number.