"Hi… seems like I'm late," I said, brushing a hand through my hair as I approached the table.
"You're not late," she replied almost immediately.
Her voice was calm, precise.
"It's 10:00 AM—"
She glanced briefly at the clock mounted on the café wall.
"—sharp."
Not 10:01.
Not "around ten."
Exactly ten.
Her gray eyes returned to me, steady and unreadable, but there was a slight shiver of what seemed to be a smile.
"Was that a smile?"
"It wasn't."
Her reply came instantly—no delay, no hesitation. By the time the words left her lips, her expression had already settled back into its usual composure.
"What you saw was likely a figment of your imagination," she continued calmly. "I don't smile. I have no emotions."
The statement should have sounded absurd.
But the way she said it—so measured, so matter-of-fact—stripped it of exaggeration. There was no drama in her voice, no attempt to convince me.
Just quiet dismissal.
And somehow, despite how impossible her claim was…
It still felt strangely truthful.
For a brief moment, I simply stood there.
Then I pulled out the chair and sat down across from her.
Tsukiyo had already lowered her gaze to her coffee, the surface of the dark liquid reflecting the café lights in faint ripples. From the outside, she looked exactly the same—calm, composed, perfectly controlled.
But just for a second—
I saw it.
A flicker in her gray eyes.
Something quiet. Something warm.
Joy. Anticipatingly thoughtful joy, one that waits in silent excitement.
Not the loud kind people show with laughter or wide smiles. No, this was silent joy—the kind carefully tucked away, never meant to be seen.
The kind she didn't allow herself to show.
And yet… for that single, fragile moment—
I caught it.
I brushed the thought aside.
Must've been the wind.
The moment passed, and our conversation moved on as if nothing had happened. I ordered blueberry pancakes and a cup of black coffee.
Across from me, Tsukiyo sat quietly with her own coffee, but something about her gaze lingered a little too long on the menu board behind the counter.
Anticipating.
Expectant.
For a second, she drifted into a small daze.
I caught it.
"Do you want something else," I asked, "apart from black coffee?"
"No."
The answer came clean and immediate.
"Your face says otherwise."
Her eyes shifted to the glass window beside us, where her reflection stared back at her—perfectly composed.
"You're wrong," she said calmly. "My face says nothing. It shows no emotion."
"That's not what I see."
For the briefest moment—
her composure fractured.
Not dramatically. Just a hairline crack. A small window of vulnerability opening behind her gray eyes before she could seal it again.
"I'll have a ham and cheese," she said suddenly. "A vegetable sandwich wrap… and a matcha tea, please."
The words came quickly, almost the instant I pointed out the contradiction.
The server nodded and left.
And just like that, Tsukiyo returned to her usual posture—calm, controlled, untouched.
As if nothing had happened at all.
"You're looking away," I said with a sly smirk. "Embarrassed, I suppose?"
"You're wrong. I'm… looking outside."
Her voice was softer than before—hesitant in a way that didn't match her usual precision. She kept her gaze fixed on the window.
"Also, don't make that face," she added quickly. "You're wrong. Very wrong."
From behind the counter, the cashier—a guy who looked to be in his twenties—watched the exchange unfold. After a moment, he couldn't help but let out a quiet chuckle.
I leaned back slightly.
"You're denying it."
"I am."
"And you just admit that?"
"I don't see the point in lying."
"Well," I said, raising an eyebrow, "you just lied earlier."
She paused.
For once, there was no immediate reply.
"…You're right."
For a while, she went silent.
Her gaze drifted toward the clock on the wall, lingering there before moving again. Every so often, she glanced at me, then at the servers moving behind the counter, then toward the small bookshelf resting against the far wall.
She didn't bother to start a conversation.
Her eyes paused on the books longer than the rest.
It looked like she wanted to get one.
But she didn't move.
I thought about talking to her, but she's rather dismissive currently.
The cycle repeated quietly—clock, me, servers, books. As if she were measuring the room in careful intervals.
She made no effort to pass the time. No phone, no restless movements. She simply sat there, composed and still. The calculating sharpness in her expression remained, yet her posture seemed looser somehow.
More relaxed.
Like the tension she usually carried had eased without her noticing.
Then the server arrived, placing our orders gently onto the table.
The server left as soon as our plates touched the table.
For a few seconds, Tsukiyo didn't move. She simply stared at the food as if analyzing it—evaluating texture, structure, probability.
Then, at last, she picked up one of the sandwiches and took a small bite.
"I saw you eyeing the books earlier," I said, cutting into my pancakes. "You read?"
"Read…?"
She paused, as though the concept itself required processing.
"No. Reading requires effort."
"Oh. Okay," I said, taking a sip of coffee. "But you read my messages."
Her eyes shifted toward me.
"You ask a lot of questions."
"Oh," I replied lightly. "So they're an effort too? Do you want me to stop talking?"
"Well…" She hesitated for the briefest moment. "Communication is important."
Another pause followed.
"But the effort has already been spent. Conversing with you… with you…" Her voice stumbled slightly before steadying again. "It's fine."
She took another bite of her sandwich, her face returning to its usual calm neutrality.
"It's more of a required exchange, if anything."
We finished our food in a quiet silence.
The same faint sparkle returned to her eyes when I paid for both of our orders. It appeared for only a moment—quick, subtle, but unmistakable.
Does she mean money is a requirement?
Gosh… she's unreadable.
When we left the café, we took a slow walk toward the mall. The streets were busy, people weaving around us in constant motion. After a few minutes, we found the phone store I had in mind.
Walking beside her, I noticed something I hadn't paid attention to before.
Her posture was small.
Petite.
She's cute… dang.
But the way she moved was strange.
Quiet.
Almost weightless.
More than once, I lost sight of her in the crowd. One moment she would be beside me, the next she would vanish behind passing strangers like a ghost slipping between shadows.
Each time I found her again, she was standing somewhere nearby, looking around with those gray eyes.
And in those brief moments—
there was a faint hum behind them.
A flicker.
Like a lost child trying to orient themselves in a world that was just a little too large.
She stayed quiet the whole way there.
Quieter than before.
There was even something faintly timid about her now—subtle enough that most people wouldn't notice, but it was there.
When we entered the phone store, she walked straight to the display shelves and, without hesitation, pointed at an older model.
"Why are you choosing an older one?" I asked.
"You offered to buy me a new phone," she replied plainly.
Her tone was completely factual. Literal. As if she had interpreted my offer word-for-word and simply selected the phone she wanted.
"Yeah," I said, "but why would you want an old model?"
"You ask too many questions."
She didn't even look up from the display.
"You offered to buy me a new phone. Newer models contain more features. More features require more effort."
And here we go again…
I sighed.
"I'm buying you the older model," I said, "and a newer one."
"That is highly unnecessary," she replied calmly, completely unbothered—and apparently forgetting that speaking itself required "effort."
"Nope. Nuh uh."
A few minutes later, I paid for both: the older model she chose and the third-latest model in the store.
The total came out to about $1,370.
I've got about $5,440 left now.
God damn.
I handed her the small paper bag.
She held it carefully, looking inside with quiet focus, inspecting the boxes like objects she needed to understand rather than own.
"Why are you buying a phone for me?" she asked.
"Felt like it."
"That seems rather inefficient," she replied. "You are acting on impulse by 'feeling like it.'"
"Hm…" I shrugged as we walked out of the store. "Then consider it an investment."
The statement lingered in the air between us.
"Investment…?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. A faint, catlike curiosity entered her voice.
"For what?"
"What do you gain?"
"Well," I said, thinking aloud, "now that you have a new phone, we can talk to each other more… spend time together, I suppose."
"We could still do that with my old phone," she replied immediately. "Your methodology is quite inefficient."
"I am not allowing you to keep using a burner phone."
"Why?"
"Just… no."
"Did you notice yourself talk a lot more, Tsukiyo?" I asked as we walked.
She let out a silent gasp. Her mouth parted slightly and her eyes widened—so faint it could have easily been missed.
But it happened.
"It's what you wanted, right?" she replied after a brief pause. "To... spend time."
She turned her gaze away from me as she spoke, her voice quieter now.
"So... about my phones," she added after a moment. "Are you going to set up my phones?"
We sat down on a bench inside the mall. I took both phones and quietly set them up myself—exchanging our numbers and installing the essential apps.
"Thank you," she said. Her voice carried its usual unhurried calm.
"You're still undeniably cute," I replied with a small smile.
A reaction flickered across her face. She seemed to pause, as if assessing the statement—breaking it down, analyzing it, silently double-checking whether she had heard me correctly.
"You already said that before," she replied at last. "I told you. Looks are subjective."
Her tone remained low and composed, carrying that same mysteriously analytical calm she always spoke with.
"They sure are," I said lightly. "And you're at the pinnacle of them."
"You're— …never mind."
She stopped herself.
Wait… did she just have an actual reaction?
The rest of the day passed quickly—it felt like a blink.
This time, she didn't disappear without a trace. Just before leaving, she turned back to look at me.
"Bye," she said.
Her light footsteps faded as she walked away, gradually blending into the noise of the mall.
"Bye. Take care." I waved before turning toward the way home.
Dang… it's already 6:00 PM.
FYI: This chapter has been MASSIVELY improved my AI. AI has been used in this chapter, the story still stems from my but it has been MASSIVELY polished and improved by AI in terms of vocabulary/ writing and proofreading. But for the most part the story is still made by me, and it follows my storyline that I still had to plan out.
Reminder: I am doing this entirely for fun and please do not harass me for AI usage for I am simply just writing down stories I like.