The café had settled into a soft quiet. The waves outside shimmered faintly, catching the last slivers of sunlight through the windows. The air smelled faintly of roasted coffee beans mingled with salt and the distant ocean breeze. A few seagulls called lazily, circling high above the horizon, their cries echoing faintly.
The doorbell rang, a crisp chime cutting through the calm.
"Welcome," Fujimoto-san said, glancing up from the counter with her usual gentle smile.
Rika Aoyama stepped inside, clutching her sketchbook to her chest. Her light brown hair fell neatly around her face, and her eyes scanned the café with careful, deliberate attention—as if cataloging every detail before committing it to memory.
When her gaze met mine, there was a quick flicker of surprise before her polite, practiced expression returned.
"Um… Hayashi-san, right?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her voice soft but precise.
Recognition hit me immediately. "…Aoyama-san?"
Her eyes widened slightly, then softened. "You remembered."
I rubbed the back of my neck awkwardly. "Hard to forget someone who almost fought me for the last onigiri."
She let out a quiet laugh, smooth and controlled. "Ah… you still remember that," she said, though there was a subtle distance in her eyes.
The café felt quieter suddenly, as if the clinking of cups and the hum of the espresso machine had softened into the background.
"I didn't expect to see you here," I said finally.
"Me neither," she replied, glancing toward the terrace windows. "I was walking along the beach and saw this café. It looked… nice, so I thought I'd come in."
Her voice was soft, but there was a kind of calculated calm to it—like she had rehearsed how to sound casual, perfect.
"Do you… live nearby?" I asked.
"Not far," she said with a slight shrug. "Visiting relatives for a short break." She paused, then added almost too quickly, "It's nothing important."
I nodded, sensing that familiar "fake heroine" perfection, polished and polite yet slightly distant.
"Do you work here?" she asked, eyes briefly meeting mine.
"Yeah," I said, motioning toward the counter. "Part-time. Just started recently."
She tilted her head and smiled faintly. "It suits you," she said, like reading from a script. But it was… nice, anyway.
She ordered an iced tea and chose a seat near the terrace, opening her sketchbook. I watched her pencil move in precise, careful strokes, occasionally glancing at the sea as if trying to capture something fleeting.
It was peaceful, almost too peaceful.
Fujimoto-san passed by, whispering with a grin, "She's cute."
I ignored her. "Table three ordered a refill," I muttered.
"Ehh, cold as ever," Fujimoto-san teased under her breath, walking away with a grin.
I carried the iced tea to Rika's table, and she looked up from her sketchbook.
"Thank you," she said softly, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "…You look different from before."
"Different how?" I asked.
"Back then, you looked like someone who didn't know where he was going," she said, smiling faintly. "Now… you look like someone starting to find his way."
Her words were simple, but they carried weight. Something she noticed, even behind her composed exterior.
"I… thanks," I said, unsure how to respond.
She quickly looked down. "Ah… sorry. That was strange to say."
"It's fine," I said with a small smile. "You still talk the same way."
She laughed softly, eyes crinkling. "I'll take that as a compliment?"
"Yeah… sure."
Her smile softened, and I caught myself glancing at her repeatedly, drawn to the warmth slipping through her perfect composure.
She returned to sketching, pencil moving carefully, but I noticed her hand tremble slightly when she lifted the page to check her work. Just a tiny imperfection—but enough to make her feel more real.
I couldn't resist teasing a little. I nudged the table slightly as I walked past.
"Hey—watch it!" she said, frowning but smiling at the same time, like she knew I was teasing.
"It's the table's fault, not mine," I replied with mock seriousness.
She rolled her eyes, then sighed dramatically, pretending to be offended. "I see… still the same Hayashi-san."
"Guilty as charged," I said with a grin, heading back behind the counter.
The café hummed quietly, customers murmuring in soft conversation, the espresso machine hissing occasionally, waves rolling lazily outside. The sunlight glinted off the glasses and wooden tables, painting everything gold.
A sudden memory flashed—me fumbling at the convenience store months ago, Rika politely insisting on taking the last onigiri. That small, clumsy interaction seemed so distant now, yet familiar.
She looked up from her sketchbook, glancing toward the sea for a moment before focusing again. I noticed the faintest crease between her brows, a shadow of concentration or maybe thought. Even perfect heroines had moments of vulnerability.
By the time the sky deepened into shades of amber and rose, she packed her sketchbook.
"It was nice seeing you again, Hayashi-san," she said, bowing slightly. "And thank you for the drink."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Take care, Aoyama-san."
She waved politely and left toward the beach. The bell chimed softly behind her.
I watched her walk toward the setting sun, her silhouette small against the ocean light. For a moment, it felt like time had looped—replaying that awkward first meeting—but with softer edges, warmer colors.
Fujimoto-san's voice called out, breaking the quiet. "Hayashi-kun, can you help close the terrace blinds?"
"Yeah," I said, turning away.
As I returned to work, a quiet thought lingered: some people aren't meant to stay in your life. But they leave a trace—like footprints in the sand, washed by the tide, yet somehow never forgotten.
I returned behind the counter, still hearing the faint echo of the doorbell settling into the quiet.
Fujimoto-san leaned against the counter, smirking. "She seems… interesting."
I frowned slightly. "You noticed that too?"
"Of course," she said, eyes sparkling. "Anyone who sits quietly and draws the ocean like that… there's something about her."
I wiped a cup a little too slowly, trying not to let my thoughts drift back to Rika.
"Don't tell me you're already thinking about her," Fujimoto-san teased, tapping the counter lightly.
"It's not like that," I muttered, though my voice sounded weaker than I intended.
She raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh. Sure. 'Not like that.'"
I groaned. "Can you stop reading my mind?"
She laughed, soft and warm, the kind that made the café feel even cozier. "I'm just observing. You're a hard one to miss, Hayashi-kun. You get… distracted easily."
"Distracted?" I echoed. "I'm focused! I'm just… reflecting."
"Reflection, huh?" she said, leaning closer. "Careful, you might turn into a poet at this rate."
I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "I don't think I'm ready for that."
Tanabe passed behind me, wiping the counter lazily. "Hey, Hayashi, is it just me, or does the café suddenly feel… quieter?"
"Maybe just your imagination," I muttered, though I didn't look away from the terrace.
"Quiet? More like… the calm before the storm," Tanabe said dramatically. He leaned closer, whispering, "You're staring again, aren't you?"
"I'm not—" I started, but Fujimoto-san cut in, laughing.
"Oh, please. He's been staring at the terrace like a kid looking at candy."
I groaned and wiped the counter harder, hoping they'd drop it.
But I couldn't help sneaking glances at her. Rika sat near the railing, sketchbook open, pencil moving slowly, deliberately. The sunlight brushed her hair, making the tips glow like copper in the late afternoon. Every now and then she looked out at the ocean, then back at her drawing, as if trying to trap the last golden light on paper.
She looked calm. Almost too calm.
Fujimoto-san leaned over my shoulder and whispered, teasing, "She's cute."
"Ignore her," I muttered. "Table three ordered a refill."
"Sheesh, cold as ever," Fujimoto-san replied, grinning.
Tanabe elbowed me. "So… you're just going to keep 'observing'?"
"I'm… paying attention to her technique," I said, hoping it sounded plausible.
"Uh-huh," he said, clearly unconvinced. "The technique of stealing hearts, maybe."
"Shut up!" I said, cheeks heating slightly.
Fujimoto-san chuckled and went back to cleaning. "He's hopeless," she whispered to Tanabe.
When I finally brought Rika's iced tea to the table, she looked up from her sketchbook and smiled softly.
"Thank you," she said, then paused. "…You look different from before."
"Different how?" I asked.
"Back then, you looked like someone who didn't know where he was going," she said, tilting her head. "Now… you look like someone who's starting to find his way."
Her words were simple, but there was a weight behind them. I didn't know how to answer.
She noticed my pause and looked down quickly. "Ah… sorry. That sounded weird."
"It's fine," I said, giving a small smile. "You still talk the same way."
She laughed softly. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"Yeah. Sure," I replied, smiling faintly back.
She returned to her sketching, quiet and focused. I went back behind the counter, but I kept sneaking glances at the terrace.
For a moment, I found myself thinking about why she seemed familiar in every subtle way—the tilt of her head, the way she concentrated on small details. I realized I'd been watching her for longer than I intended. Not out of anything weird… just curiosity. And maybe because it felt nice to have someone quietly present, like a peaceful shadow in the café's light.
The afternoon slowly passed. A few customers came and went—a man with a notebook, a young couple sharing a slice of cake—but the terrace and its solitary artist felt like the center of a little universe all on its own.
Tanabe leaned against the counter, watching me glance outside. "Still thinking about her, huh?"
"I'm… observing," I said, trying to sound casual.
He snorted. "Yeah, sure. 'Observing.' Bet your heart's racing."
"Shut up," I muttered, though the corner of my mouth betrayed a small smile.
Fujimoto-san called from across the café. "Hayashi-kun, finish the last trays and close the terrace blinds soon. Sunset's coming."
I nodded and walked toward the terrace. Rika had already started packing up, sketchbook tucked under her arm. She looked up and smiled.
"It was nice seeing you again, Hayashi-san," she said, bowing slightly. "And thank you for the drink."
"Yeah," I said quietly. "Take care, Aoyama-san."
She waved, then left, the bell chiming softly behind her.
I watched her walk toward the beach, her figure framed by the last golden streaks of sunlight. For a moment, it felt like time had looped back to that evening months ago—soft, fleeting, and unforgettable.
As I returned to the counter, Fujimoto-san nudged me. "Some meetings aren't meant to last forever. But they leave a mark, right?"
I nodded. "Yeah… like footprints in the sand. Washed away, but still there."
The sky outside faded into amber and blue, the waves reflecting the last light of the day. And for a quiet moment, I felt… full, even if only for a little while.