The night had settled in, casting a gentle stillness over Mahiru's house. The cicadas outside buzzed softly, and a cool breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of summer.
After a long day of exploring Mahiru's hometown, Sam found himself seated at the dinner table with her family.
Mahiru's mother had prepared a beautiful, fully traditional Japanese meal—steamed rice, miso soup, grilled fish, tamagoyaki (Japanese omelet), pickled vegetables, and a few small side dishes. The aroma was amazing, and just looking at the meal made Sam's stomach growl.
"Wow… this looks incredible," Sam said, his eyes wide.
Mahiru's mother smiled warmly. "I'm glad you think so. Please, eat as much as you'd like."
"You didn't have to make so much," Mahiru said, watching as her mother set another dish on the table.
"Nonsense! We have a guest. And a special one at that," her mother said with a knowing smile, making Mahiru blush.
Sam, meanwhile, sat stiffly, feeling the weight of Mahiru's father's gaze.
"You should eat," Mahiru whispered beside him, nudging his foot under the table.
"Right, right," Sam mumbled.
"Thank you for the meal," Mahiru said, pressing her hands together in a polite itadakimasu.
Sam quickly followed her example. "I-Itadakimasu!"
Then, he picked up his chopsticks.
Or at least, he tried to.
The moment he grabbed them, they crossed awkwardly in his fingers. He tried to adjust his grip, but the chopsticks refused to cooperate.
Mahiru, sitting beside him, noticed immediately. "Sam… do you know how to use chopsticks properly?"
Sam froze. His brain screamed, I can do this! I am an intelligent human being!
"O-Of course I do!" he lied, attempting to pick up a piece of tamagoyaki.
The chopsticks wobbled dangerously.
The omelet piece slipped.
He tried again—
It launched into his miso soup with a soft plop.
Silence.
Mahiru covered her mouth, desperately holding back laughter.
Mahiru's mother let out a small giggle, while her father raised an eyebrow.
Sam, his face burning with embarrassment, pretended nothing happened and picked up his spoon instead.
"Haha… yeah, I'll just… start with the soup."
He took a sip of the miso soup, and his eyes widened slightly.
"Whoa, this is really good."
Mahiru's mother beamed. "I'm happy you like it. Would you like a fork instead?"
Sam straightened up. "N-No! I can do this!"
He grabbed the chopsticks again, determined.
"Okay… what do I eat first?" he whispered to Mahiru.
Mahiru blinked. "You can eat in any order, but usually, you take a bit of rice first, then side dishes. The miso soup can be sipped directly from the bowl."
"Oh… that makes sense." Sam scooped some rice into his mouth—simple yet delicious.
Then, he carefully picked up the grilled fish. It was perfectly seasoned, and the moment he took a bite, the rich, smoky flavor spread in his mouth.
"This is amazing," he mumbled.
Mahiru smiled. "See? You're doing fine."
He nodded, but when he reached for the pickled vegetables…
His chopsticks betrayed him again.
The small slice of radish slipped out of his grip.
He tried to grab it mid-air—
It bounced onto the table.
A deep silence filled the room.
Mahiru's father narrowed his eyes.
Sam, now sweating bullets, picked up his spoon instead and forced a smile.
"Haha… maybe I'll just eat the rice first."
Mahiru burst out laughing. "Just admit you need a fork!"
Her mother giggled. "It's alright, Sam. You're trying your best."
Mahiru's father sighed. "At least he's not wasting food."
Despite the struggle, Sam finished his meal, enjoying every bite—even if his chopsticks had betrayed him multiple times.
After dinner,
Mahiru's father cleared his throat. "I'll show you to your room."
Sam gulped. "Y-Yes, sir."
Sam sat on the bed in the guest room, staring blankly at the ceiling.
He was sleeping under the same roof as Mahiru.
The realization hit him like a truck.
Back home, they always parted ways at the station, leaving behind lingering gazes and shy goodnights. But now?
She was just across the hallway.
His face burned.
"Calm down, Sam. This is totally normal. You're just staying over at your girlfriend's house. Nothing weird about it. It's just—"
His thoughts were interrupted by a soft knock on the door.
"Sam? Are you still awake?"
Mahiru's gentle voice sent a shiver down his spine.
"Uh—y-yeah!" he replied, sitting up way too fast, nearly knocking over his pillow.
The door creaked open, and Mahiru peeked inside, dressed in a light pink nightdress, her long hair slightly damp from a recent shower.
Sam forgot how to breathe.
"I just wanted to check if you were comfortable," she said, stepping inside.
Sam swallowed hard, trying very hard not to stare. "Y-Yeah! Everything's great! Perfect! Absolutely no problems at all!"
Mahiru blinked at his panicked tone but smiled softly. "That's good. I was worried you might not be used to sleeping in a different bed."
"Nah, I'm fine!" he assured her, waving his hands too aggressively. "Totally fine. I could sleep anywhere! Even on a rock! Ha ha… ha..."
Mahiru giggled. "You're acting weird."
"I—I'm always weird!" Sam blurted out, immediately regretting it.
Mahiru just shook her head with amusement. "Well, if you need anything, my room is right next door."
That only made Sam more aware of the situation.
He was one thin wall away from Mahiru.
His brain refused to handle this information properly.
"R-Right! Good to know! Haha… okay, good night!" He practically threw himself onto the bed, pulling the blanket over his face like a defensive shield.
Mahiru tilted her head. "Are you really that tired?"
"VERY!" His voice came out too loud.
Mahiru giggled again, clearly amused by his suffering. "Alright, good night, Sam."
As she turned to leave, the door suddenly slid open further.
A deep, dangerous voice rumbled from the hallway.
"Mahiru, why are you still up?"
Sam froze. Goosebumps exploded down his spine.
Standing right there was Mahiru's father—arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
Mahiru, unfazed, simply smiled. "I was just checking on Sam, Dad."
Her father's gaze slowly shifted to Sam, who was now stiff as a board, barely peeking out from under the blanket.
"Ah… h-hi… sir…" he croaked.
Silence.
Then—
"Why do you look so guilty?" Mahiru's father narrowed his eyes further.
"I-I DON'T KNOW!" Sam panicked, sitting up straight like he was at military roll call.
Mahiru facepalmed.
"I was just making sure he was comfortable," she sighed.
Her father's gaze didn't waver. "I see. Well…" He turned his intense stare back to Sam. "Just to be clear—you sleep here. Alone. Got it?"
"YES, SIR!" Sam yelped, saluting instinctively.
Mahiru's father grunted in approval before turning away. "Good. Sleep well."
As soon as he left, Sam collapsed onto the bed, completely drained.
"I swear your dad is scarier than my exams," he groaned.
Mahiru giggled. "He just wants to make sure you don't try anything funny."
"I WOULD NEVER!"
Mahiru smirked playfully. "That's exactly what a guilty person would say."
"I—!!"
She laughed, stepping out of the room. "Good night, Sam."
As soon as she was gone, Sam buried his face in the pillow.
This was going to be a long night.
----