The house had found its morning rhythm by the end of the first week.
Not by design — nobody had sat down and agreed on a schedule. It had simply emerged, the way rhythms do when people share a space long enough, each person's habits finding their slot in the day's architecture.
Yuki: coffee shelf operational by six fifty AM. No exceptions.
Nana: rice cooker on by seven. The smell reaching the upstairs rooms by seven fifteen.
Elena: in the garden by six forty-five regardless of weather, checking the herbs with the focused attention of someone for whom how are the herbs was a legitimate first question of the day.
Yoru: kitchen by seven thirty in the hoodie. Eggs. Always eggs. She had strong opinions about eggs.
Tsukasa: appeared quietly, helped without announcement, left plates where they needed to be.
Haruka: seven forty-five, composed, made tea, stood at the kitchen window and looked at the garden for exactly three minutes before sitting down.
