A bell chimed faintly as the café door opened.
Ryunosuke didn't look up right away—still lost in the page, shading the folds of a coat, adjusting the light in her eyes. But then a soft voice broke the quiet beside him.
"There you are. I was starting to think you bailed."
He looked up and smiled as his aunt, Marisol, slipped into the seat across from him. Late thirties, maybe early forties—sharp features softened by laugh lines and a loosely tied bun, wrapped in a rust-colored scarf that added warmth to the rainy room. She always smelled faintly of bergamot and old books.
"I wouldn't ditch you," Ryunosuke said, closing his sketchbook halfway.
Marisol raised an eyebrow. "You were a million miles away. You even notice how long I've been standing here?"
He gave a sheepish shrug.
She laughed, signaling to the waiter for her usual. "That's alright. I remember being eighteen. I used to zone out, too—except I was writing terrible poetry in spiral notebooks and thinking I invented heartbreak."
He chuckled.
Their drinks arrived—jasmine green tea for him, a chamomile and honey blend for her.
"I heard from your mom," she said, wrapping her hands around the cup. "She said you've been helping more lately. She sounded tired—but happy."
"She always sounds tired," Ryunosuke replied, gaze on the steam rising from his cup.
"She's been through a lot." Marisol took a slow sip. "So have you."
He didn't respond. The moment stretched comfortably between them.
Then she leaned in slightly. "So… who's the girl?"
He blinked. "What?"
She gestured toward the sketchbook. "The page you just tried to hide. You draw people when they get stuck in your head. You always have."
Caught.
He hesitated. "I… I don't know her."
Marisol gave him a look—half amused, half curious. "You sure about that?"
He opened the sketchbook slowly, revealing the drawing.
Marisol studied it for a long moment.
"She's beautiful," she said. "But… strange. Something about her eyes."
Ryunosuke said nothing. Just stared at the page—soft graphite lines forming a face he couldn't stop remembering. The shape of a presence more than a person.
"She real?"
"I saw her. Once. At the pier."
Marisol studied his face. "And?"
"She said something… about the ocean lying. Then she walked away."
Marisol leaned back, thoughtful. "Sounds like a dream."
"Maybe."
"But you remembered her."
He nodded.
Marisol smiled softly. "Some people pass through like clouds. Some stay like weather."
She didn't press further. She never did. That was what Ryunosuke loved about her—Marisol never needed all the answers to sit beside you while you searched for them.
They sipped their tea in peace, the clinking of spoons and soft jazz cocooning them in a moment that felt just a little outside of time.
And outside, the rain kept falling.Slow.Steady.Just enough to blur the world.