Ten years had passed since Hayato left, and much had changed for Chiaki. The bright, hopeful girl she once was had become a quiet, reserved young woman, shaped by responsibility and the absence of someone who once meant everything to her. After high school, Chiaki's mother left her job at the Katagiri household and moved back to their hometown to care for Chiaki's aging grandmother.
Though Chiaki understood, it was still hard—she now had to face adulthood on her own. Her mother sold their house, and Chiaki, focused on continuing her studies, rented a small apartment near her university. It was tiny and simply furnished, but it was hers—a quiet space to return to after long, tiring days.
During university, Chiaki worked non-stop, juggling several part-time jobs to pay for tuition and living costs. She waited tables at a café, restocked shelves at a convenience store, and did freelance translation work late at night. Her days blurred together, filled with work, classes, and very little sleep. Most days, she survived on instant noodles and a few hours of rest. The stress wore her down, and she grew even quieter, shutting herself off from others. Without Hayato around, she faced everything alone. Her once bright personality faded, replaced by quiet determination. She had no close friends to lean on, only her own strength to carry her through. Somehow, through pure grit, she managed to graduate.
After finishing school, Chiaki reached a turning point. The job market was tough, and without connections, finding stable work seemed impossible. Just when she felt like she couldn't keep going, Mr. Katagiri contacted her. Though she had pulled away from the Katagiri family after Hayato left, he had quietly kept an eye on her.
"Chiaki, you've worked hard all these years," he said kindly during a meeting at his office. "I know it hasn't been easy. If you're open to it, I'd like to offer you a job at my company. You're like family to us, and I believe in you."
Chiaki looked down, overwhelmed by his kindness. She had always taken pride in being independent, in standing on her own. But now, the weight of everything she had carried felt like too much.
Chiaki thought about turning down the offer, but when she looked into Mr. Katagiri's kind, sincere eyes, she realized she had no reason to say no. "Thank you, Mr. Katagiri," she said softly. "I... really appreciate it."
Before she knew it, three years had passed since she joined the company. Chiaki had settled into her job, and her quiet dedication and eye for detail earned her the respect of her coworkers. She still kept to herself, but the steady work and Mr. Katagiri's support gave her a sense of stability she hadn't known in years.
Even so, a quiet emptiness remained. No matter how far she'd come, Hayato's absence still left a space in her heart that nothing else could fill. She often wondered where he was, what he was doing—and if he ever thought of her too. But those thoughts stayed buried deep inside, as she kept moving forward, one day at a time.
A few months ago, Sohei—now a smart and driven young graduate—joined the company's research and development team, bringing a burst of fresh energy. They would exchange polite greetings whenever they crossed paths at work, chatting briefly about small things like projects or the weather.
Despite the fact that Chiaki's mother had left her job with the Katagiri family many years ago, Sohei still made the effort to check in with her once in a while. But no matter how often they spoke, Chiaki never found the courage to ask him about Hayato. The topic felt too personal, too heavy. She wasn't sure she could bear the answers.
Every now and then, though, Sohei would mention Hayato on his own—how he had worked hard in the U.S., climbed the ranks, and was doing well in his career. Sohei said their parents were proud and often talked about his successes at family gatherings.
Each time Chiaki heard those updates, her chest tightened. It reminded her of how far Hayato had gone, how much he had changed—as if the time they shared had meant nothing at all. She kept telling herself to let go, to move on, to accept that the boy who once meant everything to her now lived a different life, far away. Surely by now, he had found someone else to stand beside him—someone she could never be.
One quiet afternoon, Chiaki and Sohei found themselves at the pantry together, the hum of the coffee machine filling the silence. Chiaki was leaning against the counter, staring absently at the steam rising from her cup, when Sohei's voice broke through her thoughts.
"You look tired, Chiaki. Are you taking care of yourself?" he asked, his tone gentle as he handed her a cup of tea. She offered a small, weary smile, accepting the cup with both hands. "I'm fine. Just busy with work," she replied, her voice soft but tinged with exhaustion. Sohei sighed, crossing his arms as he studied her. "You've always been like that. Pushing yourself too hard," he said, his words carrying a hint of fondness and concern. Then, almost casually, he added, "You know... Hayato would worry about that too."
Chiaki stiffened at the mention of Hayato's name, her grip tightening around the warm cup. "Sohei... I—" she began, but her voice faltered, the words catching in her throat. Sohei leaned back against the counter, his gaze steady and knowing as he watched her. "You never asked about him, not even once. Why?" he pressed, his tone curious but not unkind.
Chiaki hesitated, her heart pounding as she stared into the swirling liquid in her cup. "What's the point? It's been ten years. He has his own life now," she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy, laden with emotions she had tried so hard to suppress.
Sohei exhaled, shaking his head with a faint smile. "You're both so stubborn," he said, his tone light but his gaze piercing, as if he could see right through her carefully constructed walls. There was something knowing in his expression, something that made Chiaki wonder just how much he understood about the unspoken history between her and Hayato.
"Anyway," Sohei added, his voice softening, "if you ever do want to ask... you know where to find me." Chiaki remained silent, her eyes fixed on her cup as her heart ached with memories she had tried so hard to bury. The warmth of the tea in her hands did little to ease the cold emptiness she felt inside, and for a moment, she allowed herself to wonder—what if she had asked? What if she had dared to reach out, to confront the past instead of running from it? But the moment slipped away, and with a quiet sigh, she brushed the thoughts aside—tucking them deep down, like she always did.