The freedom of walking away from the school gates with her was intoxicating.
It was a small rebellion. Skipping one class. For me, it meant nothing academically. For her, it was a step into the unknown, a choice made purely on the spur of the moment.
And I treasured it.
"So," Sina said, her steps light and bouncy beside me. The morning sun filtered through the leaves overhead, dappling her lilac hair in shifting patterns of light and shadow. "Does Mr. Snugglesworth pay you in treats or head scratches?"
I chuckled, playing along. It was easier this way. "It's a freelance gig. I get paid in cryptic prophecies and the occasional dead mouse left on my doorstep. It's very glamorous."
She laughed again, that bright, musical sound. Score one for Kelin.
"And what did his prophecy say about taiyaki?" she asked, her amber eyes sparkling with mischief. "That they hold the secrets to the universe?"
My heart did a little flip.
I remembered Day 42. It was raining. We'd ducked into this same shop to get out of a downpour. She'd ordered custard then, too, her face lighting up just like I knew it would today.
A ghost of a memory, for an audience of one.
"Even better," I said, shoving the bittersweet thought down. "He prophesied that they are ridiculously delicious and a mandatory first stop on any proper quest."
We arrived at the shop. It was a tiny, hole-in-the-wall place tucked between a modern salon and a sterile-looking electronics store. An old wooden sign with a faded, smiling fish hung above the entrance.
WHOOSH.
A cloud of warm, sugary air, thick with the scent of vanilla and cooking batter, enveloped us as we stepped inside. An elderly woman with a kind, wrinkled face smiled at us from behind a counter.
"Just two today?" she asked, her voice raspy and warm.
I nodded, gesturing to the menu board. "What's your pick, Quest-Companion?"
Sina scanned the handwritten options. Red bean, chocolate, cheese... she tapped her chin, hesitating.
My brain screamed. Say custard. Just say custard.
But I couldn't. That would be a tell. That would be a memory I wasn't supposed to have.
"The red bean is classic," I offered casually, "but I've heard rumors... whispers on the wind... that the custard here is legendary."
Her eyes lit up. "Legendary? Well, we can't ignore a legend on a quest, can we?"
"It's against the rules," I agreed solemnly. "Two legendary custards, please."
CLANK. SIZZLE.
The old woman expertly poured the batter into the fish-shaped iron molds. As she worked, Sina pulled the small leather notebook from her bag. She uncapped a pen, her movements precise.
I watched as she wrote. The scratching of the nib on paper was the only sound for a moment. I could guess the words. Skipping class with a strange but funny boy. The messenger of a cat. Going for taiyaki. He says the custard is legendary.
She was trying to build a bridge to a tomorrow she would never remember. She was capturing a moment that, for her, would evaporate into mist by morning.
My chest felt tight enough to burst.
"Here you are, dears," the woman said, handing us two piping hot, perfectly golden-brown fish cakes wrapped in paper.
We paid and stepped back out into the sun. The warmth of the taiyaki seeped through the paper into my hands.
"Okay, Messenger-san," Sina said, her expression serious. "Moment of truth. Does the legend hold up?"
We took a bite at the same time.
CRUNCH.
The exterior was crisp, a perfect contrast to the warm, sweet, molten custard that flooded my mouth. It was heaven.
But I wasn't watching my food. I was watching her.
Her eyes went wide. A small, delighted "Mmmph!" escaped her lips. She closed her eyes for a second, savoring the taste, a blissful smile gracing her face.
And in that moment, all the pain, all the repetition, all the heartache of my strange reality, felt worth it. A thousand times over.
"Okay," she finally said after swallowing. "Mr. Snugglesworth is a trustworthy prophet. This is officially the best thing I've ever tasted."
You said the same thing on Day 42, I thought, a sad smile touching my own lips.
"He has a very refined palate," I said instead.
We found a small bench in a pocket park nearby and ate in comfortable silence for a minute, the city's hum a distant backdrop to our small, perfect world.
She finished her last bite with a happy sigh and wiped her fingers on a napkin. Then she turned to me, her head tilted, that curious gaze back in full force.
"So, Kelin Ishida," she said, and my stomach fluttered when she used my full name. I'd told her on the walk over. "Besides being a cat's messenger, what do you do?"
The question was simple. The answer was complicated. What did I do? I aced tests without studying. I won sports matches without caring. I drifted. I existed.
Until I met her.
"Before today?" I said, deciding on a sliver of the truth. "I was mostly just... bored."
Her brow furrowed. It wasn't a look of judgment, but of genuine confusion. She held up the empty paper wrapper, as if it were evidence.
"Bored? How can anyone be bored when a world has legendary custard in it?"
Her sincerity hit me like a physical blow. She found profound joy in a simple snack, in a single moment, because that's all she could be sure of. I had a lifetime of moments and found joy in none of them.
Until now. Until her.
I looked at her, at the earnest question in her amber eyes, and felt a grin spread across my face. A real one.
"You know what? That's a good question," I said, standing up and offering her my hand. "Let's go find something else that isn't boring. The quest has just begun."
Her hand fit perfectly in mine. It was warm and soft, and for today, it was mine to hold.