The next morning came softly, wrapped in the pale light of Tokyo before the city was fully awake.
The train swayed along the tracks, its steady rhythm filling the quiet.
Yukino sat by the window, Honoka on her lap, the little girl holding a neatly wrapped bento tied with a pale blue ribbon. Her short hair brushed against her sister's arm as she waited, eyes fixed on the train doors.
Everything felt familiar now — the rails, the seats, the faces. Every morning the same. Until he appeared.
The next stop chimed. Cold air slipped in as the doors opened.
And then he stepped in.
Ken.
Tall, calm, wearing a black coat. His dark hair was brushed back loosely, his eyes — deep blue and unreadable — scanned the car with quiet ease. His presence changed the air without effort, as if stillness had its own gravity.
Honoka's eyes widened. A small smile bloomed across her face — bright, pure, impossible to miss.
Before Yukino could speak, Honoka carefully climbed down, clutching her bento in both hands.
"Honoka—wait—" Yukino whispered, but her sister was already crossing the aisle, small steps certain and light.
She reached the seat across from Ken and climbed up on her knees so she could see him properly.
Beside Yukino, Momo blinked. "She's really going again, huh?"
Yukino exhaled, unsure whether to laugh or sigh. "I… guess she is."
Ken's gaze flickered briefly toward the little girl now sitting before him.
Honoka smiled up at him, nervous but full of warmth. After a quiet pause, she began to unwrap her bento.
Inside were uneven rice balls, small omelets, bits of fruit arranged with clumsy care — the kind of meal a child makes with all her heart.
She looked at it, then up at Ken. Her stomach growled softly.
Ken paused, then reached forward. Without a word, he took the chopsticks from her hand, broke a piece delicately, and held it out.
Honoka blinked, surprised — then leaned forward instinctively, mouth opening just a little.
He fed her gently.
Piece by piece, the motion repeated — simple, quiet, kind. Each movement seemed to hold its own warmth, unspoken yet complete.
Across the car, Yukino watched, heart thudding. Why does he seem so gentle with her?
Momo leaned closer, whispering, "That's so sweet it almost hurts."
"Shh! People are watching!" Yukino hissed, cheeks warm.
But it was true — the whole carriage had softened. A few smiles, a few whispers. Even the elderly couple near the door watched with tender eyes.
Honoka chewed happily, a small hum escaping after every bite.
When the last piece remained, Ken looked at the chopsticks — then quietly ate it himself.
"Oishii," he said.
Delicious.
The word rippled through the train like sunlight across water.
Honoka's eyes shone. Her smile widened until it looked like spring itself.
Yukino found herself smiling too, without meaning to. Something gentle settled in her chest — the kind of warmth that didn't need to be named.
For the rest of the ride, Honoka stayed beside him, humming softly. Her bento box sat empty, neatly folded. Ken had gone back to his book, calm and quiet, but every so often his eyes drifted toward the window's reflection — to the small girl leaning happily at his side.
The train slowed. The next stop was announced. Ken stood, slipping his satchel over his shoulder.
Honoka looked up quickly, panic flickering in her eyes.
He turned to her, voice low but steady. "See you tomorrow then, Honoka-chan."
The air stilled. Even Yukino's breath caught.
Honoka's lips trembled before she smiled, radiant. "Y-Yes!" she said softly.
Ken gave a small nod and stepped out. The doors closed. The platform slid away behind them.
Honoka pressed her palm to the glass, watching the fading silhouette until it disappeared.
For a long moment, there was only the sound of the rails.
Then Momo nudged Yukino, teasing, "So, this mysterious guy who makes your sister light up like that — what do you think?"
Yukino blinked, flustered. "I-I think he's just… nice, that's all."
"Oh? You think he's handsome too, don't you?"
"Momo!"
Momo laughed, leaning back. "Hey, who wouldn't? Even I'd wait on a train for that face."
Yukino pouted, cheeks warm. "It's not like that. He just… makes Honoka smile."
Momo's grin softened. "Then that's enough, isn't it? If someone can make her smile like that…"
Yukino looked out the window, where the city glimmered in morning light. Her voice was quiet. "Yeah… I guess it is."
Honoka leaned sleepily against her, holding the empty bento box like a small treasure.
Yukino brushed her sister's hair, murmuring almost to herself, "See you tomorrow, huh…"
And somehow, the words felt heavier — and kinder — than they should have.