The morning sun bathed the quiet streets of a small town in a golden hue as Ichika flipped the sign on her diner's door. Open.
Ichizawa's Diner was a cozy little place, tucked between a bookstore and a florist, with the scent of fresh coffee and buttered toast wafting through the air. Ichika, in her signature blue apron, tied her hair back and adjusted the small menu board outside.
"Good morning, Ichika-san!" called Mrs. Tanaka, the first customer of the day, a retired schoolteacher who always came in for her usual—miso soup and grilled salmon.
"Good morning, Mrs. Tanaka. The usual?" Ichika smiled, already preparing the order.
As she moved gracefully around the kitchen, the bell above the door chimed again. A new customer entered—a young man in a business suit, looking exhausted. He hesitated, then took a seat at the counter.
"First time here?" Ichika asked, placing a glass of water in front of him.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Just moved to town. Long night at work."
Ichika studied him for a moment. Dark circles under his eyes, a loosened tie—someone in need of a comforting meal.
"How about a hearty katsudon? Something to lift your spirits," she suggested.
The man blinked in surprise but nodded. "That… sounds nice."
As the sizzling aroma of deep-fried pork cutlet filled the air, more customers trickled in—an elderly couple celebrating their anniversary, a university student cramming for exams, a mother with a giggling toddler.
Ichizawa's Diner wasn't just a place to eat. It was a place to be seen, to be heard, to find warmth in the form of a home-cooked meal.
And for Ichika, it was a place where every dish had a story.