(Silence fills the apartment after they finished eating. It was no longer a heavy silence, but a calm one… like the kind that follows long weeping. Honoka's breaths became slower, and Misaki's shoulders were no longer tense as they were before. Ahmed rises quietly, as if he doesn't want to wake something fragile in the atmosphere.)
(He heads to the kitchen, opens a small tin of Yemeni coffee, and begins grinding it with a steady hand. The faint sound spreads, followed by the aroma… warm, deep, carrying a hint of the earth, home, and memories. A scent unlike any coffee they knew.)
(He pours the coffee into small cups and returns quietly to the room. Misaki lifts her head first, catching the scent, and smiles a slight smile without realizing it.)
Misaki (in a low voice):
"The scent… it's different."
(Ahmed places the cups before them and sits near them, his voice calm as usual—not explaining much, but saying enough.)
Ahmed:
"In Yemen… we drink coffee slowly. It isn't just to wake up… it's to calm down. It's as if you're telling your heart: there is no need to hurry."
(Honoka holds the cup with both hands. Its warmth seeps into her trembling fingers. She hesitates for a moment, then takes a small sip. Her eyes widen slightly—not just from the taste, but from the feeling.)
(The warmth runs deeper this time… reaching her chest, to a place that had been closed for a long time. She closes her eyes unintentionally, as if her body is finally allowing itself to rest.)
Honoka (in a faint voice):
"It… it makes my chest calmer."
(Misaki smiles, takes a sip herself, and feels the tension that had been pressing on her heart begin to melt slowly. She raises her gaze to Ahmed, realizing that what he is doing isn't just hospitality… but a way of providing sanctuary.)
(Minutes pass in peace. No one speaks much. There is no need for words. The coffee, the warmth, and their presence together… all of it says what remains unsaid.)