The rain returned that night soft at first, a whisper against Tokyo's skyline, then heavier, drumming against rooftops and echoing in narrow alleyways. The city pulsed with life even under the storm: neon lights reflected in puddles, umbrellas moving like blossoms caught in a tide of motion. And somewhere in that restless rhythm, two hearts drifted closer though neither yet understood why.
Hana sat by the window of her small apartment, a steaming cup of coffee between her palms, her reflection fractured by raindrops on the glass. The evening news murmured in the background, but her mind was miles away.
She had replayed that morning's encounter again and again like a scene from a film she couldn't pause. The café, the spilled matcha, the chaos. Akihiro's expression when their eyes met. There was something unreadable behind it calm, maybe too calm.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Keiko, her best friend since university.
"Still thinking about café guy?"
Hana rolled her eyes, typing back:
"No. Just thinking about how much laundry I've ruined this week."
Keiko's reply came instantly:
"You're a terrible liar, Hana. Also, café guy? Total main character energy."
Hana smiled despite herself, sinking deeper into her blanket. "Main character energy" she'd laughed at that phrase before. But something about Akihiro lingered. The way he looked at her wasn't just attraction; it was as though he knew her. Or wanted to.
She turned her gaze back to the rain. "Get a grip," she muttered under her breath. "He's just a stranger."
But fate, mischievous as ever, had other plans.
Across the city, Akihiro leaned over a desk littered with half-burnt photographs, notes, and a single red envelope sealed with black wax. The dim light of the apartment cast long shadows across his face, highlighting the tension carved into every line. His phone vibrated once,an encrypted message flashing briefly before vanishing.
"Target sighted again. Don't lose her."
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Her.
The words carried weight he didn't want to feel.
Hana Aizawa....;27, freelance illustrator, quiet life, no known connections.
That was what the file said.
But files never told the truth about people.
He'd seen the way she smiled at the stray cat near the station, the way she hummed softly when sketching in that little notebook of hers. Ordinary moments. Yet something about her presence felt… magnetic. Dangerous in its purity.
He touched the scar just below his collarbone, a memory of a life he'd left behind. Don't get attached, he reminded himself. Attachment led to mistakes. And mistakes got people killed.
But as the storm outside intensified, Akihiro knew one thing with quiet certainty: his world had already begun to shift the moment he collided with Hana.
The next morning, the city awoke under a silver mist. Hana hurried down the narrow street, clutching her umbrella, boots splashing through puddles. She had a deadline for a client in Osaka an illustration project that had drained her sleep for days but her thoughts were far from work.
As she rounded the corner near the bookstore, she froze.
Akihiro stood there, leaning casually against a lamppost, a paper bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other. He looked effortlessly composed like the rain bent itself to his rhythm.
"You again," Hana said, half-laughing, half-exasperated.
"Good morning to you too," he replied, that infuriating smirk returning. "You dropped this yesterday."
He held out her sketchbook—the one she'd lost in the café chaos.
Hana blinked. "You kept it?"
"I was going to throw it out," he said, tone teasing. "But then I opened it. You draw… interesting things."
Her cheeks burned. "You looked inside?"
"I had to make sure it wasn't, you know… classified information."
"Classified?" she repeated, crossing her arms. "What kind of person calls sketches of cats and coffee mugs classified?"
"The cautious kind."
She laughed, despite the irritation bubbling inside her. "You're weird."
"So I've been told."
For a moment, the noise of the city fell away. Only the rain, the heartbeat between them, and the faint electricity of something unspoken remained.
"Thank you," she said softly.
Akihiro hesitated, eyes lowering. "Don't mention it."
But in that brief silence, he saw something in her expression a fragility wrapped in courage, the kind of beauty that wasn't made for this world's dangers. And against every instinct, he felt his walls begin to crack.
Later that day, as the sky cleared, Hana worked at her desk by the window. Her brush danced across the digital canvas strokes of color, fragments of memory, and emotions she couldn't name. Yet somehow, everything she drew came back to the same face: a man with dark eyes and a faint scar beneath his collarbone.
Outside, a car idled across the street. A camera lens peeked from the back seat, fixed on her window.
Inside the car, a voice whispered into a comms device, "Subject is in visual range. She's not alone anymore. He's with her again."
Static crackled. Then a low, distorted voice replied, "Good. Let him play his part. When they collide, the truth will surface."
That evening, Akihiro found himself walking the quiet streets of Shinjuku, lost in thought. He'd spent years avoiding attachments no friends, no roots, no risks. But Hana had become a variable he couldn't control. And control was the only thing keeping him alive.
He stopped at a vending machine, the city lights reflecting in his eyes. For a moment, he wondered what life might've been like if he were just another ordinary man someone who could buy coffee, laugh freely, fall in love without consequence.
The thought vanished as quickly as it came.
A ringtone shattered the calm.
He answered quietly.
"Yeah?"
A pause. Then a voice he hadn't heard in years: cold, precise.
"You've gone soft, Akihiro. Don't forget what's at stake. You know what happens if you fail again."
The line went dead.
He stared at his reflection in the vending machine's glass. The face looking back wasn't that of the carefree man Hana thought she'd met. It was the face of a ghost someone who'd already buried too many mistakes.
At that same hour, Hana closed her laptop and stepped onto her balcony. The night was gentle, washed in starlight. The storm had passed, leaving the city shimmering like glass. She breathed in the cool air, her heart strangely restless.
Her thoughts wandered to his smile, to the way his voice carried quiet warmth even when teasing. She didn't understand why, but Akihiro's presence unsettled her in ways she couldn't define. It felt as though he carried entire worlds behind his eyes some of them beautiful, some of them broken.
And as the stars shimmered above, Hana whispered to herself,
"Why does it feel like I've known you before?"
Down below, at the edge of the street, Akihiro watched her silhouette from the shadows, his heart betraying him with a pulse he couldn't silence.
He had been sent to protect her.
He had been told she was dangerous.
But in that moment, staring up at her balcony, he could no longer tell which part was the lie.
The night stretched endlessly between them, two souls separated by secrets, drawn together by something neither yet understood.
And as the clock struck midnight, the city seemed to hold its breath.
The rain began again soft, persistent, inevitable.
.....to be continued....