The morning light was too bright.
Mira blinked against it as she rolled over, groaning softly. Her blanket tangled around one leg, her hair a mess, her pillow barely hanging onto the corner of the bed. Hikari had already left—Mira could tell by the silence. No kettle boiling, no soft hum of movement in the kitchen. Just the hum of the city pressing through the cracked window and the faint ache behind her eyes from not enough sleep.
She sat up slowly, rubbing at her face.
Right.
The café job.
Reality peeled its way into her brain slowly, layer by layer. Her back ached from sleeping weird. Her eyes felt dry. Her mouth tasted like regret and too many chips.
Noticing that she's alone made her feel... behind.
Late to her own life.
Mira sighed, sat up, and pushed her hair out of her face.
"Alright," she mumbled. "Time to pretend I'm a functioning adult."
Mira shuffled to the bathroom, her oversized sleep shirt sliding off one shoulder. The mirror greeted her with puffy eyes and sleep-creased cheeks. She stuck her tongue out at herself, then turned the faucet on, splashing cold water onto her face like it could wash off the heaviness clinging to her chest.
There wasn't time to think.
Just move.
Mira brushed her teeth. Throw on some clothes to wear. Tying up her hair. Finding her work ID and digging out a half-flattened onigiri from the fridge and call it breakfast.
She paused by the door, glancing at the small note Hikari had left on the table:
"Have a good day at work. I'll handle dinner tonight :)"
Mira stared at the smiley face for a moment too long.
She didn't know how to describe the feeling that crept in behind her ribs. Not warmth exactly—but something… quieter. Something she wasn't used to holding for too long.
She folded the note, tucked it into her pocket, and slipped out the door.
—
The city was already alive by the time she hit the street. Morning rush hour. Salarymen in crisp suits. Students dragging their feet. Cyclists weaving through traffic like chaos was part of their routine.
Mira merged into the flow, earbuds in, playlist low, her bag bouncing lightly against her hip with every step.
The café was in the shinier part of town—not high-end, but polished enough that it had a clean logo, floor-to-ceiling windows, and too many drink options with names longer than her last breakup text.
It paid better.It was stable.It wasn't hers.
"Morning, Mira-chan!"
The manager was already waving as she pushed through the glass door.
"Morning," she said back, forcing her lips into something that looked like a smile. The café itself was everything Moonlight Crumbs wasn't—open layout, bright lighting, and music that clearly came from a "vibe café" Spotify playlist. She didn't hate it. But she didn't love it, either.
"You look... awake," one of them joked.
"Only on the outside," she shot back.
The shift started.
She fell into rhythm fast—she always did. Mira was good at adjusting, good at being exactly who she needed to be depending on where she stood. Friendly for customers, fast with orders, clever enough to upsell the occasional seasonal latte.
But somewhere between cleaning the syrup bottles and explaining what an iced hojicha americano was for the fourth time, Mira felt it again:
That… drift.
She was standing behind a counter, smiling at strangers, checking that her eyeliner hadn't smudged—and yet part of her felt like she was watching someone else from across the room.
Was this what being stable was supposed to feel like?
The café was nice. The coworkers were fine. The customers were tolerable.
But none of it felt real.
"Hey Mira, can you check the milk delivery? Might be short a carton again."
She nodded, already turning to the back room.
Her hands moved without thinking—count the labels, scan the invoice, fix the fridge temp. But her mind was elsewhere. Floating.
On how Moonlight Crumbs had been a mess most days, but at least it felt alive. At least it felt like something.
Here?She was just filling a space.
By her second break, Mira found herself outside, sitting on a short concrete ledge beneath a young tree that had been planted in a decorative square of earth—half corporate landscaping, half forgotten.
She sipped from a bottle of water and watched the foot traffic pass.
So many people. So many lives moving quickly in their own directions. All of them going somewhere.
She leaned back, tipping her head to the sky.
She had a job. She had a roof over her head. She had Hikari.She had stability.
And yet, she couldn't shake the feeling that somewhere along the way, she'd put a version of herself in a box and never took the lid back off.
Was this how it was going to be from now on?
Doing the responsible thing?
Being normal?
She closed her eyes for a second, letting the sun warm her face.
Then her phone buzzed.
A message.
[Elias]"Thanks for the shoutout on the café post. Cookie sales spiked again. You're cursed."
Mira snorted quietly.
She typed back without thinking:
"You're welcome. Bow before my marketing powers."
She didn't expect an answer right away—but it was nice.To be remembered.To be part of something. Even from a distance.
And as she sat there, watching strangers pass and the sun climb higher in the sky.
People with bags and plans and tight schedules. No one looked at each other. No one stopped.
She used to like that.
Now, she didn't know.
Her thumb traced the seam of her jeans.
Mira's mind goes to Hikari, Hikari would be leaving school soon. Probably heading straight to Moonlight Crumbs. She'd wipe down the counters, organize the cookie display, maybe sneak in a new recipe test before Elias noticed.
Hikari was thriving there.
Mira could see it.
And that was good.
That was what she wanted.
So why did it feel like she was being left behind?
—
By the time her break ended, Mira's smile was back in place.
She clocked in again, cleaned a table, joked with a customer about latte art that looked vaguely like a cat.
And when the manager asked if she was available to pick up an extra shift this weekend, Mira smiled and said yes.
Because what else was she going to say?
No?
No to stability?
No to the paycheck she couldn't afford to lose?
No to pretending like she had it all together?
Mira walked back to the counter, tied her apron tighter, and told herself she was doing fine.
She was.
Right?
Right.
…Then why did it still feel like she was waiting for something to fall apart?