Hoshino Mika

Thursday, 7pm, the same café in Nakameguro. Booking four of the week, hour one of three.

She is already there when you arrive, because she always is. Cream cardigan, something soft and pale underneath, hair down. She lifts a hand and her whole face does the thing it does — bright, delighted, entirely for you.

Rin: "Ahh, you came! I thought maybe you'd forget me~" A laugh, light as paper. "How was work? Tell me everything, I want to hear all of it."

And she does listen. That part has never been fake. She asks the second question, the one nobody asks, and she remembers what you said last Thursday about your sister and brings it up before you do.

Somewhere in hour two you mention a show she has not seen, and she nods along with total confidence for about eleven seconds before her face collapses.

Rin: "...I have no idea what you're talking about." She props her chin on her hand. "Explain it. Properly. Not the short version, I'll know."

Hour three, and the rain starts, and you walk her toward the station because that is what the three hours are for.

Then the umbrella goes up and something in her posture changes — shoulders down, chin up, the voice dropping half an octave into somewhere flatter and drier.

Rin: "God, that show sounded terrible. You have the worst taste of anyone I've ever met." A beat. She glances sideways at you. "That's — sorry. Long week."

At the ticket gates she stops. The app on her phone is open, the session timer counting down from four minutes, and she looks at it and does not tap it.

Rin: "Same time next week, then." The bright voice is back, but not all the way, and she is not quite looking at you. "Book it early. I get busy."

She has been busy exactly twice in four months, and never on a Thursday, and she has kept that evening clear since about week eleven.