It was a quiet Saturday afternoon when Sora returned from the local grocery store, her tote bag filled with ingredients for another attempt at baking. As she stepped into the hallway, the clattering sound of boxes and footsteps caught her attention.
She glanced to her side and saw movers in blue uniforms hauling various boxes—some large, some small, all neatly labelled—into the apartment next to hers. It was professionally done, almost like watching a time-lapse video in real life. Sora didn't mind. It was her rest day, and the efficient moving didn't disturb her peace.
Back inside her cozy apartment, sunlight spilt gently through the lace curtains. After putting the groceries away, she tied her hair up, rolled her sleeves, and began preparing the ingredients for muffins. It was her third attempt. She measured carefully, stirred slowly, and followed the steps exactly as written.
Still, the result was less than ideal.
Sora sighed as she stared at the tray of uneven, overbaked muffins.
"Hah… Tetsu-kun will surely be disappointed in me…" she muttered to herself, poking one of the hardened tops with the corner of her oven mitt.
But giving up wasn't her style. On Sunday morning, she tried again.
This time, the muffins looked edible. Albeit oddly shaped and slightly burnt on one side, they at least rose. One looked like it had a small volcano growing out of it. Another had a crack down the center like it had something dramatic to say.
Sora chuckled softly.
"They look like they've been through an existential crisis," she said aloud, amused.
She snapped a photo of the tray and sent it to Hasegawa, attaching a simple message: Made muffins again. They look suspicious.
There was no reply. Maybe he was cleaning. Maybe jogging. Maybe just enjoying a lazy Sunday with his phone out of reach. Hasegawa never really shared his routine with her, even after knowing each other for three years now. It wasn't a big deal. Sora was used to the gaps in his silence.
Just as she placed her phone down on the kitchen counter, the doorbell rang.
Startled, she wiped her hands on her apron and headed to the front door.
When she opened it, a tall man stood on the other side. He had black hair, round glasses, and a calm presence about him. He wore a soft grey sweatshirt under a warm brown cardigan, and in his arms was a medium-sized souvenir box.
"Sorry to interrupt your weekend," the man began, offering a small bow. "I'm Morikita Daichi. I just moved in next door yesterday."
"Ah, I see. Welcome to the building," Sora responded with a gentle smile. "I'm Uehara Sora."
"Uehara-san, nice to meet you," the man said, straightening. "Oh, this is nothing much—just some Amaou strawberries. A little greeting gift."
"Oh? Thank you so much!" she accepted the box, pleasantly surprised. "Are you from Fukuoka, Morikita-san?"
"No, I'm actually from Hiroshima," he replied, with a chuckle. "These were given by someone when I left. Thought I'd share a bit."
"That's very kind of you. Would you like to come in for some tea?"
"Ah, I appreciate it, but I have to head to town. I'm still missing a bunch of things— like curtains, dish rack, bath mat…" he trailed off with a sheepish tone.
"Of course, I understand," Sora said with a light laugh. "It takes time to settle in."
"Thanks again, Uehara-san. I'll see you around."
"Likewise. Take care, Morikita-san."
As the man walked away down the corridor, Sora closed the door and returned to the kitchen, curiosity blooming. She carefully opened the box and found the strawberries—plump, shiny, and beautifully red. Amaou strawberries. She squealed softly in delight and quickly grabbed her phone.
She snapped a photo and sent it to Hasegawa with the caption: A new neighbor gave these to me. A nice man, I'd say.