The scene opened on the flickering glow of a television screen.
On the Screen:
A lavish, rain-swept balcony. A woman in a silk gown stood defiant, her back to a man in a tailored suit. The orchestral score swelled, all trembling violins and heartache.
Woman (voice trembling with raw fury): "I will hate you. I will hate you for every sunrise I am forced to see without my heart. There will never be a day, not one, where I love you. Even if I die—especially if I die—I will never, ever stay with you!"
The man didn’t rage. He took a step closer, his expression one of devastating calm. He reached out, not to grab her, but to gently touch a strand of her hair blown loose by the storm.
Man (voice a low, romantic thunder): "Then hate me. Let it be the fire that keeps you warm. I will worship you in every lifetime you spend cursing my name."
The music crashed. He leaned in. She turned, a tear tracing a perfect path down her cheek—
*Click.
The screen and the soaring music died at the same instant. A hand had pulled the plug from the socket.
Off the Screen:
Arin (20, final year) blinked in the sudden silence, the phantom afterimage of the climax still painted on his retinas. He swiveled on the sofa to find Miyuki standing behind him, arms crossed, a single eyebrow arched so high it threatened to disappear into his neatly styled hair. Miyuki was all practical cuts and clean lines, a stark contrast to the emotional hurricane that had just been playing out.
“Oh my God,” Miyuki said, his voice flat. “Mainlining the ‘I-hate-you-but-my-soul-is-yours’ nonsense again? Your taste is muy, Arin. Just… muy.”
Arin scowled, defensive. “You don’t get the intensity of it, Miyu. That’s the whole point. You wouldn’t know a grand passion if it hit you with a bouquet of tragically wilted roses.”
Miyuki rolled his eyes, a practiced, elegant motion. “I’d rather stay single forever than be in a relationship that requires its own dramatic soundtrack and a nightly rain machine. That’s not passion, that’s a public nuisance.” He tossed a bundled-up hoodie at Arin, which hit him in the chest. “And this is reality. Sit here consuming another episode of emotional chaos, and you’ll definitely be late for your shift at the cafe. And don’t,” he added, pointing a stern finger, “text me later to cover for you. I have a project draft due.”
Arin caught the hoodie, the fight seeping out of him. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going.” The grand tragedy was over, for now. The real world, with its shifts and deadlines, waited.
KYOTO UNIVERSITY OF THE ARTS - LUNCHTIME
The gentle, bittersweet melody of Aimyon’s “Marigold” filled Miyuki’s left ear as he stepped into the courtyard. Sunlight dappled through the yellow ginkgo leaves. He spotted an empty bench and began to head toward it.
“Miyuki-san!”
He turned. Hana from his painting class was waving, her smile warm. She was sitting with Leo, the exchange student, who was enthusiastically gesturing with a onigiri.
“Join us,” Hana called. “It’s too nice to eat alone.”
Miyuki paused the music and gave a small, polite nod. He walked over and sat beside Hana.
“We were just talking about Professor Sato’s landscape assignment,” Leo said, shaking his head. “He is a very… passionate man.”
“He wants us to see the spirit of the place,” Miyuki said softly, unwrapping his sandwich. “Not just the shapes.”
Hana’s eyes lit up. “Yes, that’s it exactly. I’ve been so stuck on getting the perspective right, I forgot to feel it.” She looked at his simple lunch. “You should try one of these. My mom made too many.” She offered him a perfectly wrapped onigiri filled with pickled plum.
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
“Please. It would make her happy to know it was eaten.”
Miyuki accepted it with both hands, a gentle smile touching his lips. “Thank you. It looks delicious.”
Leo watched the exchange, then grinned. “You are a very kind person, Miyuki. It is nice.” He said it plainly, without teasing.
For a moment, Miyuki just looked down at the onigiri in his hands, a simple kindness that felt unexpectedly warm. “You’re both very kind,” he said quietly.
The conversation drifted to easier things—a new art supply shop that had opened, the upcoming campus festival. Miyuki listened more than he spoke, but when he did, his comments were thoughtful. He wasn’t blushing or flustered; he was just present. A calm, gentle presence in the dappled sunlight.
When lunch ended and they parted ways, Miyuki put his earbud back in. Aimyon’s voice returned, singing of gentle memories. The song felt different now—a little warmer, a little less lonely. He hadn’t been alone. He’d just been with friends.
Leo just smirked at Miyuki secretly after seeing a notification on his phone.
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