The bakery was always filled with the scent of cinnamon and milk, but it was not the same.
When Kaito entered through the back door, Haruka was drably wiping down the glass display case. She didn't greet him. Didn't even look up.
Kaito greeted the old lady with his customary cheer, helped carry in a tray of fresh buns, and circulated the store like everything was normal.
But all of it was different.
For Haruka, at least.
It had been days. Days since she saw him with that girl—no, woman, resting her head on his shoulder as he and she stood beside the gravestone of his grandfather. Haruka could still picture it in her mind. The way she fit so comfortably against him. The way Kaito didn't push her away.
And there he was today, smiling as usual, as if nothing ever happened.
Haruka's grip on the fabric became tighter.
"Kaito, could you please put these boxes on top of one another for me?" the elderly woman shouted.
"Of course, right now!" he replied, walking past Haruka. "Hey," he whispered to her alone, "it's great to see you again."
She didn't reply.
He stood there for a moment, but when nothing happened, he moved on.
Later in the afternoon, while they were both standing at the back of the counter, restocking shelves in uncomfortable silence, Kaito finally spoke up.
"Are you mad at me?"
"No," Haruka said, too quickly.
"You're ignoring me."
"I'm just busy."
"With what, avoiding eye contact?"
Haruka sneered. "Why don't you just go back to talking with your girlfriend? You two get along great."
Kaito blinked. "Wait, what?"
Haruka spun to him, sarcasm seeping from her words. "The one you were dangling off of at the funeral? The one you didn't even name? Sticky note her forehead or something."
Kaito scowled.
And then, to her complete confusion, he laughed.
"What's funny?" she spat.
He chuckled, shaking his head. "Wait… you thought she was my girlfriend?"
Haruka crossed her arms and looked away. "I don't care who she is."
"You mean the girl beside me at the cemetery?"
She didn't answer.
Kaito leaned against the wall, still smiling. "That was Ayaka."
Haruka glanced at him. "…Who?"
"My stepsister."
Haruka blinked. "Stepsister?"
He nodded. "Yeah. She's my mom's husband's daughter. We don't hang out, but she helped out at the funeral. She was with my mom mostly, but I guess she was at the grave when you saw us."
Haruka didn't respond. Her ears burned.
Kaito raised an eyebrow. "So… you were jealous?"
"I wasn't."
"You were."
She denied it once more, embarrassed.
He smiled. "You're a bad liar."
"I was just… surprised," she grumbled, looking down.
"Well, for what it's worth, I'm kinda glad you care enough to get jealous."
Haruka glared at him. "Don't say things like that."
"What? That I'm happy?"
"No. That I care."
"But you do, right?" His voice was gentle now, sincere. "You do care."
Haruka hesitated. Her chest tightened.
Yes. Of course, she cared.
But that wasn't the point.
"You disappeared," she breathed. "You left without a word. And then you just. showed up again. With someone."
Kaito's grin fell. He took one step closer, but not far. "I know. I didn't want to hurt you. I just. didn't know how to deal. My grandfather. he was the only father I had for a very long time."
Haruka looked up.
Kaito's smile disappeared from his eyes.
"And I didn't want to burden you," he said. "You already had too much responsibility."
Haruka's throat closed up.
"I would have listened," she whispered.
"I know. And I'm sorry I didn't allow you to."
They stood there for a moment in silence.
Then Kaito pulled something from his pocket.
A yellow sticky note.
"Here," he said, placing it down gently on the counter. "For the record, I never stopped thinking of you. Even when I was gone."
Haruka stared at the note.
This one said: "Not everything needs to be spoken. But if you want to hear it—yes, I missed you."
Her heart stuttered.
Kaito smiled at her gently. "I'll be in the back if you need me."
Then he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with the note and the searing heat that filled her chest.
She folded it up, cradling it as something fragile.
Perhaps… not everything was broken.
Perhaps some things were simply misunderstood.