The sea breeze carried a soft scent of salt and roasted beans.
It was the kind of afternoon where sunlight didn't blaze — it lingered, gently brushing everything it touched. From the wooden terrace of Café Hoshikage, the horizon shimmered like melted gold.
Inside, the café hummed with small sounds: the clink of cups, the soft rustle of napkins, and the faint hiss of the espresso machine that hadn't quite cooled down.
It was my third day working here, but it already felt like a place where time could slow down.
A Quiet Beginning
"Careful with the tray, Hayashi-kun," said Fujimoto-san, her tone soft but steady. "It's heavier when you stack more than two mugs."
"Ah—right. Thank you, Fujimoto-san." I adjusted my grip, trying not to spill anything.
She smiled faintly. "Good. You're learning."
Her smile wasn't forced. It had that warmth that people who live by the sea often have — gentle, but hinting at stories deeper than the waves.
Meanwhile, Tanabe, the other part-timer, was whistling as he wiped the glass panels on the door.
"Man, I swear this salt air sticks to everything. We clean it today, and tomorrow it's back again."
"That's just how it is here," Fujimoto-san replied with a knowing smile. "The sea gives, and the sea takes."
Tanabe grinned. "Sounds poetic. You sure you're not secretly writing a novel?"
She laughed quietly. "If I were, you two would be my tragic protagonists."
"Tragic?" I blinked. "Why tragic?"
"Because you're both still figuring out what you want," she said simply, turning back to the counter. "People like that always end up in the sad chapters first."
Her words hung in the air.
Tanabe shrugged. "I'll take 'sad chapter' over 'no story' any day."
I couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. That makes sense."
The Afternoon Rush
The bell above the door chimed. A small group of tourists came in — a couple and their daughter, maybe eight years old.
They sat near the window, pointing at the ocean.
"Welcome!" Fujimoto-san greeted. "Three iced coffees and one chocolate parfait, right?"
The girl giggled. "How did you know?"
"Just a guess," she winked. "It's the 'Parfait Smile Combo.' Works every time."
I watched her move between tables — calm, precise, like she'd been doing this forever.
It wasn't just about serving coffee; it was about reading people. She could sense moods, match energies, soften tensions.
Even the shy father, who kept glancing at the dessert menu, eventually relaxed.
I delivered their drinks. With a calm demeanor, I managed everything without a hitch.
The girl's eyes widened. "Whoa, that's so pretty!"
Her parfait sparkled under the light — a swirl of chocolate, whipped cream, and tiny star-shaped cookies.
Fujimoto-san leaned toward me and whispered, "See? Pretty food makes people happy."
I chuckled. "I guess I can see the point. I'll remember it."
A Slow Hour
After the mini rush, the café fell quiet again. The sound of waves mixed with soft jazz from the radio.
Tanabe slumped against the counter. "I swear, these hours before sunset are cursed. Too early for dinner, too late for lunch."
"You could use that time to clean the grinder," Fujimoto-san suggested sweetly.
He groaned. "You're ruthless."
I laughed, wiping a glass. "But at least you didn't waste your time on unimportant activities."
"Eh? You too, Hayashi?" he said dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest.
"Stop complaining and help him, Kaito," Fujimoto-san added playfully.
"Wait, me too?!"
Tanabe smirked. "You heard the boss. Don't let me slack off."
"Shut up. That doesn't mean I intend to help you," I said.
…So, we cleaned together.
The two of us worked behind the counter, polishing tools and stacking mugs while sunlight poured through the windows.
"Hey," Tanabe said suddenly, not looking up. "Why'd you take this job, anyway?"
I paused. "…I guess I just needed something to do."
He raised an eyebrow. "That's vague."
"Yeah, I know," I admitted. "But… it's quiet here. Peaceful. So, I think I wanted that."
He nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. Everyone's got their own reason for running to the sea."
I tilted my head. "You too?"
He smiled faintly. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just bad at staying still."
Before I could ask what he meant, Fujimoto-san's voice called from across the room.
"Daichi, don't forget the terrace railing!"
"On it!" he yelled, grabbing a cloth.
He looked at me, grinning. "See? Supervised."
"Do whatever you want then," I muttered, returning to cleaning the grinder.
The Terrace Moment
Around 4:30 p.m., the light began to change — that soft golden phase where everything looks gentler, like the world's been dusted with honey.
Fujimoto-san stepped out to adjust the umbrellas, and I followed her with a tray of empty cups.
The sea stretched endlessly before us, waves rolling in lazy rhythm.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" she said, gazing at the horizon. "No matter how many times I see it, I never get tired."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "It's kind of… calming."
She smiled. "That's what we try to give people here — a moment of calm. Even if it's just for a cup of coffee."
I nodded. "It seems like that really works."
She chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're getting good with customers, by the way. They seem comfortable around you."
I blinked. "Really? I thought I looked awkward half the time."
"You do," she said, laughing lightly. "But it's a good kind of awkward. Honest."
I couldn't help but smile. "Thanks, I guess."
From inside, Tanabe called out, "Oi! Don't flirt with the manager! We still got tables to clear!"
Fujimoto-san rolled her eyes, chuckling. "Ignore him. He just hates being left alone with the dishwasher."
"I know, right?" I said. "That thing sounds like a dying whale."
She laughed again — the kind of laugh that made the whole place feel alive.
A Gentle Pause
We worked side by side for a while, stacking chairs and wiping the wooden floor near the terrace door.
Customers came and went — a cyclist grabbing iced tea, a painter with a sketchbook, a pair of elderly ladies sharing cake.
Small scenes of quiet lives, blending with the smell of salt and roasted beans.
At one point, Tanabe leaned on the counter, staring out the window.
"You ever think about how many people come here just to sit and do nothing?"
"Yeah," I said. "It's kind of nice, isn't it?"
He nodded slowly. "It is. Guess sometimes 'nothing' is what people really need."
"Like you?" I asked.
He smirked. "Like us."
"Why bring me along? Aren't you the only one who does that, when you don't know what to do?"
"Because… that's what we do if we didn't know what to do."
Sunset Approaching
The light began to fade. Shadows grew longer, stretching across the wooden floor.
The ocean outside turned into a mirror of amber and rose.
Fujimoto-san wiped her hands and looked around the café with a soft sigh. "Almost done. Just a few more orders."
I nodded. "Got it."
Tanabe stretched, cracking his shoulders. "Think I'll grab a surf after this."
"You're crazy," Fujimoto-san said. "The water's freezing."
"That's what makes it fun," he replied.
She smiled, shaking her head. "You two are opposites. Hayashi-kun here seeks peace, while you chase chaos."
"Balance, boss. You need both," he said.
"Only you think that," I muttered.
The doorbell chimed again before I could respond.
A customer stepped in — a girl around my age, wearing a white cardigan and holding a sketchbook.
She looked familiar, somehow… my heart skipped a beat, though I couldn't say why.
But before I could think too much, Fujimoto-san said softly,
"Another table, Hayashi-kun. Let's make her something nice before the sun sets."
I nodded, tightening my apron.
The faint orange light filled the room, the smell of coffee blending with the sea breeze.
And as I turned toward the counter, I couldn't shake the feeling that this quiet afternoon — this moment — was about to change something.