Mira was the first one home for once.
That never happened.
Usually, she walked through the door to the sound of Hikari shuffling around the kitchen or humming off-key to some ancient playlist. But today, the apartment was still, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the low creak of the wooden floor beneath her feet.
She set her bag down, pulled off her shoes, and stood for a second too long in the silence.
It was… peaceful.
But she didn't trust it.
She crossed the room and opened the fridge, mostly out of habit. A pack of tofu sat on the middle shelf, right where Hikari said she'd put it. A sticky note was stuck to it in blue pen:
"Don't even THINK about ordering takeout tonight. Let me cook something decent <3"
Mira stared at the heart.
She rolled her eyes. Smiled. Then closed the fridge.
She wasn't used to being taken care of. Even in small ways like this.
And as stupid as it was, it made her nervous. Like if she got too comfortable, the whole thing would vanish.
She flicked on the electric kettle, then moved to the table to clear some flyers that had piled up. One of them was from the university down the street—a boring printed ad for a free business seminar. But Mira's eyes snagged on the header:
"For Current & Former Students Seeking Career Direction."
She froze.
Her thumb rubbed the edge of the paper, caught in that stupid spiral.
Former student.
That's what she was now, wasn't it?
Someone who left halfway through.
Someone who didn't finish.
Someone who—
The kettle clicked.
Mira jerked, tossing the flyer aside and standing up too fast. The sharp scrape of the chair legs snapped her out of it.
She poured the water. Breathed.
This was fine.
-
Mira woke up before her alarm.
The sun hadn't fully risen, but the city had already started murmuring—trucks humming down distant roads, the rhythmic pulse of pedestrian crossings blinking through thin curtains.
She stared at the ceiling for a moment, listening to the soft breathing from the futon in the other room.
Hikari had fallen asleep while studying last night, her notebooks still half-open, pen dangling from her fingers. Mira had covered her with a blanket and left the lamp on low. Neither of them had said much after dinner—just the kind of silence that felt settled, not strained.
But Mira's chest still felt… full.
Not with joy. Not with sorrow. Just… full.
Like there were too many thoughts, and not enough space.
She sat up, pulling her hoodie over her head, and padded barefoot to the kitchen. The floor was cold, the air still smelled faintly of miso soup and green onions from the night before. She moved slowly, quietly—pouring hot water into the kettle, reaching for two mugs out of habit.
It struck her again.
This routine.
This life.
Shared.
Normal.
Stable.
And yet, as the steam rose, Mira found herself reaching for her phone again. Not to scroll, not to post. Just to check. As if something might appear that would answer the question she hadn't even asked.
But there was nothing.
Just an email she hadn't opened. A message from her café manager asking if she could cover a shift.
Another message from her old classmate. The one who still posted motivational quotes and wedding photos in the same breath.
"Hey! You free to meet this weekend? Haven't seen you in forever!"
Mira closed her phone.
Not now.
-
By the time she stepped into the café, she had reapplied her lipstick twice. It didn't matter. She still felt too pale.
"Morning, Solace-chan," someone called.
She offered a half-wave.
The shift passed like clockwork—orders taken, drinks prepared, receipts printed, smiles exchanged. The noise filled the air, but it didn't reach her.
Not really.
Until—
"Solace-san, there's someone here asking for you."
She looked up, blinking. "Huh?"
"Table by the window."
And there she was.
Helena Solace.
Her mother wore a beige trench coat, hair tied neatly at the nape of her neck. A sleek tablet case rested in her lap—not opened, not touched. Just placed there, as if to remind Mira she had somewhere else to be.
Mira's heart dropped to her stomach.
For a split second, she considered hiding in the back.
But her feet moved anyway.
—
"Mom."
Helena looked up. Her face barely shifted.
"Mira."
Silence settled between them like a third person.
"I had a meeting nearby. Saw the sign," Helena said, finally. "Didn't expect to see you through the window."
Mira stood still. "I work here now. I quit my old one."
"I see." Helena's gaze flicked around the café. "It's… nice."
Mira didn't respond.
"I didn't come to fight," her mother said.
That surprised Mira more than anything else.
"I just… I keep seeing your name. Your little bakery thing online. People mentioning you whenever they talk about that bakery."
'Little bakery.' Of course that's how she'd say it. Like it was a hobby I hadn't outgrown.
"You've been watching?"
Helena paused. "Enough to notice."
More silence.
"I didn't think you'd care," Mira muttered, arms crossing over her chest.
"I always cared," Helena said, too quickly. Then quieter: "Just… not in the right way, maybe."
Mira stared at her.
This wasn't how she pictured it.
This wasn't an apology.
It wasn't closure.
It was just two people, sitting in a café, unsure of how to rebuild something they let slip through their fingers years ago.
"I'm not going back to school," Mira said suddenly.
"I figured."
"I'm not asking for anything."
"I know."
Helena's hands fidgeted in her lap.
Mira let out a slow breath.
"I'm… not doing amazing. But I'm doing something."
"I know," her mother said again.
They looked at each other.
Neither smiled.
Neither cried.
But something shifted.
Not reconciliation.
But recognition.
That was enough.
For now.
—
Later that night, Mira sat on the floor of her apartment, back against the couch, hair unbrushed, makeup smudged from the long day.
Hikari came home humming softly, carrying a bag of fresh bread from Moonlight Crumbs.
She paused at the door.
"…Are you okay?"
Mira looked up at her.
And smiled.
Not the café smile. Not the customer smile. A small one. Crooked. Real.
"I think I saw a ghost today," Mira said.
Hikari blinked. "What? A ghost?"
"You know… it's nothing. Just tired."
Hikari tilted her head. "Want some soup? Kobayashi-san give me some ebi tempura for us to eat"
Mira nodded.
"Yeah. I'd like that."
And in the warm silence that followed, Mira realized—
She hadn't healed.
But maybe she was finally moving forward.
Somewhere between what was… and what could be.